
The

Violinist

By

C.R. Tyra
Copyright © 2018 by C.R. Tyra  
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof  
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever  
without the express written permission of the publisher  
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Printed in the United States of America

Second Printing, 2019

www.CRTyraBooks.com
1

The Den of the Lioness

AS THE HULL of the Reconnaissance rocked violently beneath his feet, James Tolston struggled to swallow the lump in his throat. Horace Burns stared him dead in the eye, approaching him unsteadily with the same grimace that had darkened his face since discovering James eavesdropping.

"You see this, boy?" Burns asked, swiftly raising both hands and waving his fingers about. "The Witch does not have these like you and I. You'd think it a curse if you ever looked upon the long black knives she has in their place! She'll jab right through your frail little rib cage and tear out your beating heart!"

Burns jabbed his fingers into the center of James' chest, causing his necklace, a stainless steel chain with a small cross, to wriggle out from under his collar. Burns and the other men snickered.

James could hardly stand the sight of the veteran sailor, a grimy, sniveling ferret of a man whose skin was like sandpaper and eyes constantly bloodshot. A deep red scar ran down the left side of his face; a good portrait of the man's personality by James' count. Burns had made the young sailor's life a living hell, starting the moment he discovered a rookie dwelling in the crew's midst. How the man came to know that fact in the first place was beyond his reckoning. All the same, James now wished he had just continued on to his own bunk instead of stopping to listen.

Of course, he hadn't expected to be seen at all. There was just no resisting the stories of the Lioness—an evil being with a history of tearing entire ship crews to shreds— when such tales slithered past a sailor's ears.

"Except for one," Burns said to the others as he ran a hand through his unkempt black hair. "All sailors beware, for only one will the Lioness spare."

In all of the recorded attacks by the Lioness, there was always a sole survivor, spared only to recount the fate of the doomed crew.

Burns flicked the metal crucifix. "This—trinket—will not save you out here, boy,"

"With God, there is nothing to fear," James said, almost in a whimper.

"Oh, you are so wrong." Burns' voice shifted from sneering to sinister as he spoke. The other men in the cramped room remained silent. James felt all the blood drain from his face.

"You know why I'm out here in the middle of the ocean, Tolston? Why I chose this over working in a dirty warehouse, tilling land, or some other worthless shit?"

James shook his head.

"Your politics and religions amount to nothing when you're surrounded by water as far as the eye can see. They can't control us out here. Can't tell me what to think, what to believe. Ain't a soul got jurisdiction on the sea. Save for that very devil—the Lioness herself."

James couldn't tear his gaze away from Burns' frightening eyes, bloodshot and inflamed from too many nights without sleep and too many days without a glimpse of the sun.

"I've been out here for many, many years. Never have I witnessed any all-powerful being made of light, in a white robe with a long, gray beard. But pure evil is out here. It's waiting and always watching." Burns shook his head. "I cannot believe that goddamn fool Merlot would even allow a rookie on a voyage with such implications." He turned and sneered. "Nephew or not," before concluding, "with a rabbit's foot like you, we're sure to see her!"

James gulped. "I—"

Burns cut him off. "Do you want to know why no one is too keen on having a rookie around, huh? Why nobody likes you?"

James assumed it was for the same fact Burns had just pointed out. "The Lioness is partial to the blood of the dirty," the sailor continued. "She'd spare an innocent shrimp such as you, no doubt, and become drunk on the blood of the rest of us." He paused, allowing his eyes to become even wilder. "But don't be so quick to breathe a sigh of relief. Surviving the Lioness is simply a delay to a fate already marked and measured. You'd be nothing but a raving lunatic to those academics back in Zargo. When you tell a land dweller the things you see out here, they'll lock you right the fuck up. The straitjacket will cook you up nice and tough. Just the way she likes for when she returns to finish the job."

"Don't be ridiculous Burns!" came a deep, throaty voice from the doorway where James had initially been eavesdropping. He turned to see a shirtless man, built like a steam engine, complete with two white puffs of smoke for a beard. James' bunkmate, John Crawford, the oldest and toughest member of the crew, stood with his arms crossed.

"Unless you're ready to admit that you speak from experience? I expect you got the dirtiest blood on the ship." Crawford approached and pressed his meaty fingers into Burns' chest, pushing him back out of James' face. Burns stared directly at the old bearded man, face painted with disgust.

"Atwood, Captain needs you above deck," Crawford said to the bulkier of Burns' cronies before placing his hand against James' shoulder to guide him out of the bunk.

"Don't worry about that asshole; his brain is half fried anyway."

"From what?" James asked, looking up at the old man. John Crawford said nothing and turned to go up to the deck. James continued walking to his own bunk, bewildered. It had been the first time Crawford had said more than a word to him, much less shown kindness. Perhaps thing were finally looking up.

James climbed over two supply barrels to hoist himself into his hammock as the ship carrying him and the others tore across the sea. Despite only containing the two barrels, two hammocks, two personal supply crates, and a large coil of rope piled in the corner, the space felt borderline claustrophobic. James wondered how close they were to finding the missing ship—the _Orion_ , he believed they had called it. He had specifically neglected to take part in any of the wagers regarding how far off course they would find it. He only meant to keep his head down, do his job, and take the experience to his next contract, where, with any luck, he'd no longer be considered the rookie. James laid himself back into the center of his hammock, pondering the words of Horace Burns.

How is it that he knew so much about this supposed witch? Could he know firsthand, as Crawford had half pointed out?

James longed to be home again sharing a drink with his father and brother. To escape the pangs of homesickness, he went over the pre-departure briefing again in his mind. The _Orion_ was making its return journey to Port Zargo from one of the larger islands in the northeast quadrant of the Atlantic Ocean. It never arrived, disappearing completely with three foreign diplomats and a handful of important politicians aboard. Ten days after the _Orion's_ anticipated arrival date with no word from the missing ship, the port authorities dispatched the _Reconnaissance_ to investigate.

*~*~*

Not long after midnight, James' bunkmate stirred him from a light slumber with news the _Orion_ had been spotted. "Just on the horizon, well under five leagues from her charted course," Crawford said gleefully. "Can't say how much you had on it, I picked up a few notes' worth."

"I didn't." James shook the sleep from his eyes and the two made their way to the deck to join the others.

The captain of the vessel and older brother of James' mother, Francis Merlot, said very little to his men. James looked on intently as the captain instructed them to be thorough but wary in their search. He admired Captain Merlot a great deal. The man embodied his title in every sense and had been far kinder to him than the others. Though, James did wonder how much a feeling of obligation had to do with it.

The captain had known well enough already of James aspirations to someday captain a vessel of his own. When they spoke, it was mostly business; discussing the roles aboard the ship and how they relate to one another. James learned a tremendous amount standing in the captain's mountain of a shadow. Merlot was everything that James looked up to and had ever aspired to become during his loftiest daydreams. From his polished boots to his long curling mustache, everything about Merlot's powerful figure commanded respect. From the unshaven peach fuzz of his eighteen-year-old chin, to his clothing, a ratty set of discolored garments missing every other button and boots with leather already separating from the soles, James' own appearance was stark in contrast. He grabbed one of the lanterns at Merlot's feet, ignited it, and followed the captain and other crewmen across to the _Orion_ to begin the search.

*~*~*

Aboard the _Orion_ , a dark and eerie feeling permeated the air. James looked around at the large wooden deck and double masts that very much resembled the _Reconnaissance_. He walked cautiously with every step, nearly choking as the foul, heavy atmosphere clawed at his lungs. Before heading below deck, a strange glow caught his attention. He looked up at the main mast to see a large lantern lit and shining brightly, hanging from the top.

"Bad omens afoot," echoed the raspy voice of Crawford from behind him. James turned. "Go down below and see for yourself. Not a soul to be found. It doesn't feel right if you ask me." The old man then pointed at the beacon atop the mast. "Whatever did this wanted to make sure we found it."

Crawford turned and walked away. James sensed the same fear in his bunkmate's voice that he felt crawling under his skin. As if under a spell, James found himself wandering down and into the mess hall. As Crawford had already stated, not a person was present but nothing else looked out of place. No overturned chairs signaling a struggle, with the table still spread with a meal which seemed to have been served just before the ship's crisis began. Each setting held a partially eaten plate of food and a nearly full glass of wine. Bites of food, seasoned with puffs of mold, lingered on the ends of forks that were otherwise suspended in time. The meal gave the impression it had been standing for several months rather than only a couple weeks. The stench and sight forced James' hands over a tightened mouth and nose, pushing a chill down the length of his spine.

*~*~*

Captain Merlot found the dark aura enveloping the _Orion_ to be deeply troubling. He watched the fear and paranoia on the faces of his men grow. Instead of pondering what calamity the ship must have come upon, he tried to think of where the missing crew might be. They could have escaped and survived aboard lifeboats in the relatively calm ocean, but he'd looked and found the full complement of lifeboats still tied securely to the ship.

In the captain's quarters, amid stacks of books and shipment manifests, Merlot discovered the only clue, the last entry made in the captain's journal, dated the fifth day of August, 3319. Twenty-two days past. The entry seemed to have been frantically scribbled with its author under heavy duress.

_I've seen the thing with my own eyes... I can never hope to describe it... The creature caught the corner of my vision creeping between shadows. I saw its eyes and by God I wish I hadn't! When I met the evil thing's gaze... I felt I was... peering directly into Hell. I know that we will not survive this voyage. God help us and whosoever should find..._ At the bottom of the page, in large dark red letters of a different handwriting, the last line scratched downward, clinging to the paper with all its might... what is real?

The log sent a shudder through Merlot. After a brief hesitation, he turned to a previous entry.

The men are unwell. There have been repeated complaints of nightmares. This, by itself, would not be particularly unusual. Five men individually described the same nightmare. All of a lurid monster seeking a precious jewel of particular shape and hue, slaying any that stand in its way. I have been plagued by abhorrent dreamscapes as well. I wouldn't burden my worst enemy with the images my own mind subjected me to. What disturbs me most is the great resemblance between the crew's dreams and my own. I know not what to make of it. There's talk of a shadowy creature aboard the vessel but I have seen no such thing.

With his heart pounding in his ears, Merlot slammed the book closed, not entirely sure what to make of the logs. Such dreams and hallucinations could be attributed to seasickness or cabin fever. The last thing he wanted to do was feed the superstitious fire of men like Horace Burns. He pocketed the log, choosing not to dishearten his comrades any further with its contents.

After nearly an hour of investigation, Merlot followed his crew as they grimly made their way up to the deck of the desolate _Orion_. He scanned the faces of his men. Each looked back at him waiting for orders, their faces awash with anguish and fear. He placed a hand on the ship's side railing. Strangely, the boat felt completely motionless while a stiff gust of wind could be felt accompanied by the sound of flapping sails.

"I know this looks hopeless and many of you may feel as though we failed, but we are not going to give up on our brethren! Look around you. No blood has been spilt! Nothing turned asunder! The men that were aboard this vessel are alive somewhere, and we will find them and finish the job we set out to do!" Mingled shouts of superstition and fear followed the captain's speech.

"The Lioness has come and taken them back to her den!" someone yelled.

The fearful verbiage of the captain's logs hung in Merlot's mind as he singled the man out. He recognized the voice immediately as that of Horace Burns. "I know the island of which you speak, Burns." Merlot didn't care much for him, especially after he discovered the man to be fresh off a lessened prison sentence received in exchange for working on his ship. He knew Burns had acted as the leader of the campaign against the rookie throughout the entire voyage. He would never have allowed the troublemaker aboard in the first place but he often was given little say in the crew that the harbor issued him.

Merlot turned to his crew and glared at them with his brow furrowed and his jaw clenched tight.

"We are not far from this island now. Given its proximity to our present location, and all superstitions aside, the island is a realistic possibility. I will not forsake the men of this vessel. We will go to this island and search it top to bottom if need be!"

"But Captain, you do not understand," Burns cried, now becoming quite the nuisance in the captain's eyes. "The Lioness is a resident of Hell. We will not find these men! We would do well by leaving these waters with our lives!"

The crew responded to his words with a mixture of shouts and jeers. The captain raised his hands to settle everyone down.

"I will not force this crew to risk their lives without having a choice, so we will put this decision to a vote. Those of you wishing to give up here and turn back, raise a hand."

Nearly half the crew raised their hands. The captain counted the hands in the air and then asked for a vote to push onward and continue looking for the lost crewmen. For the second vote, he counted the same number of hands extended into the night air.

"Goddammit! Who didn't vote?"

Merlot could hear his voice echo with the tension of the moment, angrier than he had intended. He always kept an odd number of men aboard to avoid such a predicament as this. His eyes searched the gathering of men before him until his gaze reached the far left side of the deck. James stood alone with his attention out over the sea.

"Tolston!" he barked.

"Aye Captain!" James turned to face him in a flash, red with embarrassment. "The vote is tied and with you the lone straggler. Which way will you vote, son?"

He watched James fumble with his thoughts. He felt for him, since the boy had the undivided attention of every man in the crew. After nervously looking around at the faces surrounding him, James gave his answer.

"I would choose to continue onward, sir."

James' vote was met with both outrage and hearty praises. The captain watched the crew carefully. "Good man," he murmured under his breath, approving of the boy's courage and sense of duty.

Moments later, he saw the reaction he had been expecting as an enraged Burns charged the adolescent, grabbing him by the throat. He quickly moved to stop the altercation.

"You've doomed us!" Burns cried. "You will be the death of every man here, you little son of a—!"

Merlot reached out with his large hands and stopped Burns short. "I believe those potatoes down in the galley are calling your name, Burns," he growled, shoving the greasy rat away from where James stood. "James will attend to your post."

He winked at his nephew before moving to lead his men back to the _Reconnaissance_. He continued to study their dispositions following the act of democracy; more men than not appeared stone-faced and wrought with worry. He attempted to comfort his wary crew by squeezing a shoulder or patting a back as he passed them. Once back aboard his own ship, he took his place at the helm and gave the order to raise anchor and adjust course for the _Lioness' Den_.

*~*~*

As James made his way across to the _Reconnaissance_ with the rest of the crew, he worried about whether he had made the right decision. He knew if he was among the missing men, he would hope someone would make the decision to continue the search. But what if Burns was right?

At his new post tending the forward sails, a strange sound drifted past his ear in a fleeting manner, as though carried by a gust of wind and then gone. He went to the side of the boat and strained to pick up the sound again. After several seconds of silence, the sound drifted by once more. He began to fear he was losing his mind. The sound resembled the voice of a woman and bore a hauntingly beautiful, melodious quality. He glanced around to see if anyone else had noticed the odd singing. No one had broken away from their tasks or seemed to notice the distraction at all. He struggled to make out any more of the singing, hearing nothing except the crashing of the ship's hull through the rough ocean. Not wanting to be caught shirking his duties, he chalked it up to a spooked imagination and went back to work.

After little more than a day of sailing with full sails, the _Reconnaissance_ approached the small island known by seafarers as the _Lioness' Den_. By the time the dinghies were being made ready to sail ashore, James had already heard more than he would like about the island. He overheard crewmen other than Burns talking about the witch who came to inhabit the island from the fiery depths of Hell itself. They spoke of she who possessed a thirst for young men, quenchable only by blood. James tried with little success to dismiss the stories from his mind as utter nonsense.

"I will need my best men in case of trouble out there," Merlot called aloud. James breathed a sigh of relief and glanced across the deck to see Burns leaning against the mast, shaking his head in disgust. "Crawford, Parker, Welding, both Baker brothers, and Tolston; you six are coming with me to search the island."

The captain's choices were obvious for the most part. Bill and Sol Baker, two brothers who'd served together in the navy before becoming contract sailors. James knew the Baker brothers as two of the most efficient sailors no matter what job they were given aboard the ship. He already knew Crawford, his bunkmate, was made of iron. The other two men, Phillip Parker and Archer Welding, were closer to James' age and were the resident guardsmen of the ship. Each of them carried two pistols and several knives of varying length and purpose.

James stood frozen, unable to believe his own name had been called amidst the group of other men. When he finally approached his superior, the captain gave him a wink. "You can row with me in this boat."

"Unc—, I mean Captain, I don't understand, you said your _best men_."

"Indeed I did."

"How do I fit into the same mold with these others?"

"Don't worry about any of that. This is for you to learn a thing or two. Stick close to me and you'll be fine."

James was trembling as he climbed into the small vessel after the captain and waited to be lowered into the sea. With a pair of oars each, they rowed in silence until they were about halfway to shore, when the captain turned to look over his shoulder at James.

"Mind yourself out here. I've heard my fair share of stories about this place; many boats have ventured into this island's waters and never returned. And while I do not believe in monsters, I do believe in missing men."

James felt his stomach sink.

"Aye, sir."

He barely managed to get the words out around the terror clogging his throat.

James turned nervously to look over his own shoulder to see the approaching mound of forbidding dark forest lurking behind a brief expanse of sand.

After gliding through an unnervingly still tide, their boat came aground on a beach haunted by with silence. With caution, he followed the captain plunging a boot into the pale sand and nearly gagged when met by the same putrid air he had found aboard the _Orion_. He looked around to see the other men, all except for Crawford, with scarfs tied around their faces. James followed and tied his own.

"It's too quiet," he heard the captain murmur beside him. James stood still and noticed the same. There were neither birds cawing, nor a single breath of wind, not even a tide washing onto the beach. So quiet, in fact, he felt as though he could hear his own beating heart.

The captain set out ahead, followed by James, then the five other men who happened to have all voted in favor of searching the island.

With the exception of what appeared to be a path cut into the wood ahead of them, the monstrously dense forest appeared to have stood untouched for thousands of years. As they moved into the trees, darkness enveloped them as the forest canopy seemed to swallow the sunlight. The atmosphere grew thick and cloying, and the utter stillness that pervaded the island shrouded the wood in silence. The lanterns they lit to light their way seemed to barely penetrate the blackness that descended upon them. James struggled to breathe, his heart pounding in his ears. His throat burned and his mouth was dry as dust. He regretted his deciding vote more and more with every step into the opaque murk of the wood. The trees seemed to draw in towards the path, creating an ominous feeling of threat. A sense of dread moved across the party, their shoulders hunched over further and their pace dropping slower and slower as their feet began to drag.

As James continued his dispirited trudge, the sound of a woman singing drifted again into his ear. He stopped, whirling around to pinpoint the location of the ethereal sounds. The rest of the men stopped and watched quizzically as he frantically twisted back and forth, vainly trying to locate the source of the mysterious singing.

"What's the matter?" Merlot asked, giving James a worried stare.

"Don't you hear it?" James cried.

"Hear what exactly?"

"That voice! It has to be the sweetest sounding voice I've ever—" James' voice cut off when the singing faded back to silence. His frustration grew as he saw the blank looks of the others.

"I don't hear anything," chimed one of the Baker brothers.

"Neither do I," said the other. Merlot looked at James with piercing eyes and pursed his lips; it was clear he hadn't heard the singing either.

"Let's continue on and stay sharp. I've seen forests such as this one before, and above all else, they succeed at playing tricks on those trapped within," the captain said with a grim tone.

James shuddered to think there could be other places in the world as terrifying as this dark island. He knew already this was as close to Hell as he had ever been and ever wanted to be.

The men walked for what felt like endless miles. Without being able to see the sun, all sense of time was lost. They might have been walking for minutes or hours. The deeper the men walked into the forest, the more oppressive the darkness became. James had never in his life craved the light of the sun as he did now. And then, as if Divine Providence had taken pity on his tormented suffering, a light began to grow in the darkness ahead. The entire group quickened their pace as the light silently beckoned them forward. A clearing opened in the trees before them with a giant bonfire raging in the center. As James stepped into the clearing, every bit of relief he felt was wiped away by a horror that his mind struggled to grasp. The men blinked in the roaring firelight, rooted to the ground in fear.

James felt his joints turn to ice, gripped by a paralysis of terror as his eyes took in the grotesque contents of the trees surrounding the brightly lit clearing. Several men were hung upside down by their ankles from thick tree branches. The men's throats, torsos, and faces were covered in deep slashes as though meant to bleed out. His eyes finally turned to the bonfire in the middle, seeking respite from the gallery of mutilated corpses. But the fire was no better - a blazing mountain of charred skeletons. The flames leaped towards the slowly darkening sky of twilight.

James could tell the others were as transfixed by the sight as he was. A movement in the shadows drew his attention and horror turned to abject terror as he realized they were not alone. A dark figure rose from the top of the bonfire and stood, clad in a flowing robe of flame, before descending the pile of bones with twisted, jerking movements. The figure moved as a silhouette but it was not difficult to identify the characteristics of the monster that scourged the sea lanes of the world - long slimy hair, inhumanly long, black, razor-sharp claws and deep red eyes that burned with the fires of eternal torment.

"My God, it's the Lioness—she is real!" the terrified voice of Archer Welding cried out.

"Run!" Merlot's bellow rang out across the clearing.

James turned and ran for his life, because it was clear that was what was at stake. He heard the other men storming after him. Back in the now welcome dark of the wood, James ran blindly, swinging his arms wildly to clear branches from his way. Ringing out in the darkness, James could hear a deafening roar that seemingly came from all around them.

The roar of a lioness.

He shuddered and ran faster, throwing himself down the dim path, whimpering in fear, his breath tearing at his lungs.

Another shriek of terror echoed through the trees. James did not look back. Another scream followed, a voice he recognized as the unstoppable John Crawford's. He looked back this time to see the dark figure huddled over the man who had seemed a force of nature, casually ripping out his throat. Tears stung James' eyes and coursed down his cheeks as he and the remaining men sprinted for their lives.

Screams continued to pursue James as he made his way toward the beach and their boats. The Baker brothers apparently decided to stand and die together as he heard their war cries ring out, only to be replaced by howls of utter agony. It did seem to slow the monster down and the remaining men redoubled their efforts to escape the monster's relentless pursuit.

James heard Philip urging the captain to "get the boy and get to the beach."

He suspected the guardsmen were going to sacrifice themselves to allow the captain and James to escape. The roar of gunfire and the flare of muzzle flashes were met with an answering roar from the monster. The two men drew steel and charged forward but James was caught by the captain and shoved toward the beach. "Move, Tolston! NOW!" Momentary screams told him that the guardsmen had fared no better than the brothers.

James and the captain burst through the last of the trees and onto the beach. James' muscles were screaming and his breath was a shriek. With his last strength, he hurled himself into the boat as the captain hastily shoved it into the water. They both rowed with all of their might and the dinghy raced back toward the ship. As he rowed, the memories of his fellow sailors dying in such grisly fashion turned his blood to ice and twisted his gut into knots.

Relief at their escape was short-lived. Something felt off. There was no further sign of the monster emerging onto the beach. James kept peering at the island as he rowed but there was no sign of movement. As they approached the Reconnaissance, the silence in the air was spit by piercing screams along with the now familiar roar.

"But, how?" James voice mirrored the bafflement written on Merlot's face. They pulled alongside the ship and Merlot turned to James. "Tolston, stay here and wait for survivors. Do not come aboard the ship unless I tell you it is safe to do so. Do you understand me?"

"But Captain..."

"Do you understand me, sailor? That's an order!"

"Aye captain."

"That's my ship and Lioness or no, she'll not be having her." With a wink, Merlot was out of the boat scrambling up the side. James waited, frozen in terror, trying to make no sound. Screams and angry cries continued to ring out as a battle raged on deck. Somebody began tossing things overboard as if seeking to lighten the ship's load. Something crashed into the water close to James and with a turning of his stomach, he recognized the face of Horace Burns, who now had a slashed throat to go with the scar that adorned the left side of his face. His sightless eyes seemed to stare accusingly at James, his perpetual sneer wiped away by a look of utter terror.

As the ghastly rain of bodies subsided, James looked up to see his uncle, the captain of the Reconnaissance, peering over the side at him. His heart leaped as he imagined the captain emerging victorious from the battle with the hellish demon. But then he noticed the black claws blossoming from the captain's chest like a deadly flower. The monster lifted the captain from the deck, impaled on her claws. Merlot just had time to yell "James, GO!" before the monster casually swept his head from his shoulders.

Fighting panic and disbelief, James threw himself under the blanket from under the forward seat. Before the blanket covered his eyes, his gaze caught that of the bloodthirsty abomination motionlessly staring down at him—the Lioness. The red eyes burned nightmares into not only his mind but deep into his soul. Losing his hold on reality under the unrelenting gaze of purest evil, James heard again the mysterious singing so achingly beautiful that now sounded like tears, washing him away into the darkness.
2

The Concert

LUCIEN MOONCASTER STOOD among the one hundred ten members of the Zargo Philharmonic Orchestra surrounded by whispers and anxious murmuring. The limited space offered by the Berlioz Amphitheatre backstage hall forced his colleagues in a little too close for comfort.

Impatiently, Lucien retrieved his bronze pocket watch and popped it open. Fifteen after five. He immediately returned it as the conductor, John Michelo, a ninety-seven year old man with more hair on his chin than the rest of his head combined, finally walked out from the backstage office followed by someone Lucien couldn't make out through the throng of musicians. It seemed obvious that the announcement that had the entire orchestra jammed into the backstage area waiting would have something to do with whoever the newcomer was. He gently pushed his way through the crowd until he could get a better look.

When he reached a space clear enough to see, he froze as though he'd seen a ghost. Beside the ancient maestro was a young woman with long platinum blonde hair pinned up extravagantly. She wore a long white formal dress not dissimilar to what many of the other women in the orchestra had donned for the evening. She calmly returned Lucien's stare, a faint smile tugging at her lips. All the blood drained from his face and he felt sweat starting to bead on the back of his neck. The woman's eyes were as blue as the afternoon sky and as deep as the cosmos. His mind seemed filled with fog and he shook his head to clear it. At that point, he was rescued by Michelo clapping his aged hands to get everyone's attention.

"I must apologize for the late notice. Here we are, about to go on in nearly an hour," the maestro said, looking down at his own watch. "Jacqueline has come down with a severe case of tendinitis and will not be able to perform. So firstly, be sure to keep her in your prayers. I have sent a letter letting her know we are thinking of her and to take all the time she needs to recover. It is providential that Ms. Helayna Margott here was available to stand in for her and perform on the harp. Believe me, she is quite able. She learned from one of the best and already knows much of our repertoire."

Lucien stared down at his feet as a knot formed in his stomach. Michelo was speaking of his mother. She had been this woman's teacher back before _it_ had __ happened.

Has it really been five years?

"Everyone here knows what kind of a bind we would be in without a harpist for the pieces we have planned. Please do show your appreciation and, of course, best of luck tonight," Michelo concluded, clasping his hands once more.

Lucien looked back up. Helayna was surrounded by other members of the orchestra as the maestro signaled for everyone to return to their own performance preparations. Lucien took advantage of his chance to disappear. He did not want her approaching him before he had the chance to think.

Would she after the way things had been left?

In his dressing room, he tried to dash the woman from his thoughts and focus on the performance at hand. The task proved to be easier said than done. Lucien had cared a great deal for her when he'd known her. They had practically done the second half of their growing up together. Despite all of that, he had never been able to form the right words to tell her how he felt. To make matters worse, on his darkest day, she had come to his door and offered simply to be there for him. Selfishly, he had turned her away, electing to instead wrap himself in his beloved solitude. A decision he came to regret wholeheartedly when she disappeared from his life not long after. The memory still felt sharp and jagged, like a piece of a broken mirror.

Lucien spent the better part of thirty minutes meticulously cleaning and tuning his prized violin, an old, unpolished, scratched up Stradivarius model that concealed its true value deep within. He looked up at the mirror sitting perched over the dresser. He combed several locks of sandy brown hair to the side, revealing eyes that were grey, though once upon a time they'd been a brilliant shade of green. He scratched his chin and ignored the voice in his head telling him he needed a shave. He looked back down at his violin. Having been passed down from his great-grandfather, scratches and blemishes covered the surface, many occurring naturally over the course of the instrument's century-long lifespan. Lucien rubbed his thumb over a relatively recent and particularly deep scratch. The memory of his father striking him after playing too many wrong notes rushed back in a jolt of painful nostalgia. He could still feel the instrument flying from his grasp and crashing dryly against the stone floor. Lucien could smell the repugnant stench of spirits as though his father were still there, leering over his shoulder.

He lifted the instrument to his chin and swiftly played through several octaves of his favorite scale, in the key of D minor. The unique body composition, a blend of maple and a rare form of spruce found in only one forest in the southern region of the Scandinavian Peninsula, resonated with a sound many luthiers tried unsuccessfully to replicate over the years.

He swept the thoughts of the unbearably demanding figure of his father from his mind and reminded himself why he'd stayed involved in music up to that point: the citizens of Zargo and, more importantly, his mother.

_Just one more concert,_ he thought.

Lucien ran a cloth over the floral ivy engravings on the sides of the peg box as he remembered the pure jubilation his playing had brought to his mother. She'd taught him to see the music dance before him as if it were a living thing and even to dream in it. What he wouldn't give to play for her just once more.

When it was time, Lucien made his way to the aviary, just down the hall from the dressing rooms. He reached for the door handle, but before he could grasp it, the door burst open and a woman with a trombone in one hand and a small emperor lyrebird perched on the other rushed into him. The woman's cheeks turned red and her bird had to rapidly flap its wings to keep balance.

"Oops, sorry there Lucien," she said, stopping to hold the door open with her dainty foot, an impressive feat considering the weight of the door.

"No trouble, Beth. Thank you," Lucien nodded respectfully and quickly grabbed the open door to relieve her. He entered the large-domed, copper-colored room lined with planted trees and other fixtures aimed at making the flock of the orchestra's lyrebirds feel more at home.

Lucien looked all around for his own bird, one distinguished from the others by green rings around its eyes, and one who, like his owner, was the leader of the flock. The aviary was home to over one hundred emperor lyrebirds, one for every musician. Lucien stepped over a small trough filled with dead insects and spiders before kneeling at the edge of a shallow pool.

"There you are, Perseus," Lucien said, extending his hand toward a bird splashing about the middle of the pool. The bird turned and began to sing triumphantly at the sight of its master. Perseus jumped up and down in the pool before hopping onto Lucien's outstretched finger. It shook the water from its light gray wings and long blue-striped tail feathers as though it were a dog.

Lucien felt compelled to tell Perseus that he may have to adjust to a new master, a feat for an empire lyrebird, but still most likely inevitable. He couldn't bring himself to dampen the bird's spirit.

"Ready to go?" Lucien asked instead with a smile. The small bird chirped an acknowledgment and Lucien stood and turned to leave. It had been some time since the orchestra had debuted a piece of music, thus necessitating the birds' presence on the stage so that later they could rebroadcast the music all over the city. On his way out, Lucien caught sight of the platinum blonde hair and brilliant white dress of Helayna Margott. She was speaking with an aviary attendant and no doubt being acquainted with a young lyrebird of her own.

_That seems a little unnecessary if she's only filling in for a night or two_. He began to suspect that Jacqueline was hurt worse than she had been letting on.

On the stage, Lucien found the first-chair violinist seat at the end of the string section and let his eyes drift over the section of musicians behind him. All but two chairs filled. Mills and Barman were late. Again. He checked his pocket watch once more.

My God, where are they? This is cutting it too close.

He placed Perseus on the perch built onto the end of his music stand and looked down at him. The small bird gave Lucien a look he knew too well.

"One now and there will be more later, okay?" he said to his bird before retrieving a small dead grasshopper from his pocket. Perseus chirped excitedly and snatched the insect from Lucien's fingers with the tip of its beak.

The missing occupants from the last two chairs of his section finally brushed past, mumbling their apologies, and took their seats. Each placed their own lyrebirds on the perches of their music stands before giving Lucien a look to indicate readiness. Lucien glanced up at the currently vacant conductor's podium, then around at the other musicians all preparing for the performance. His eyes drifted over the orchestra, moving from one section to the next looking for anything amiss - from the bass and lower pitched instruments as well as many of the horns sitting on the right side of the stage, through the rest of the brass and woodwinds in the center and finally to the strings and percussion sitting on the left, all seated in front of the giant seashell backing constructed to project the orchestra's collective sound. As he completed the scan, his eyes came to the end of the percussion section where sat the single, elaborate harp and... Helayna. His eyes locked onto hers for no more than a second before a rush of anxiety forced him to look away.

Just one performance. Just make it through one.

Perseus gave a soft squawk and cocked its head to one side. Sometimes that bird was more intuitive than Lucien liked. He chuckled and retrieved another grasshopper from his pocket, allowing Perseus to quickly snatch it again.

"Maybe in another life," he mumbled, almost under his breath.

He turned his attention to the audience. Almost no empty seats could be found. Zargo's largest amphitheater comfortably seated over fifty thousand guests and boasted acoustics enabling every seat the ability to hear even the softest of notes. Tonight, eager patrons occupied each seat, ready to be entertained by the best musicians in the world.

Lucien waited patiently for a nod from each of the string principles in the orchestra. As concertmaster, he did much of his coordinating beforehand. Going from violin to violin, ensuring nobody's instruments were giving them fits and that all the proper adjustments and notes had been made to the sheet music. Doing so allowed him the ability to simply sit and wait for confirmation from the head of each violin, viola, and cello section that all the players were ready to begin.

Lucien checked his watch as he waited for the second violins. They were waiting until the last second, as always. He could see his childhood best friend, Rhys Bittlebee, the principal of the second violins, moving from chair to chair ensuring readiness. Lucien sighed. Rhys had served as Lucien's lone confidant in an often dark childhood and knew more about Lucien than any other living soul, but they were complete opposites. Where Lucien was compulsively organized, Rhys turned waiting to the last minute into an art form. Where Rhys was tall, bronze and graceful, Lucien was short, pale and awkward. When he received the nod from his friend, he turned his attention to the podium as the crowd erupted into ear-shattering cheers and applause.

Maestro Michelo made his way across the stage through the thunderous applause and took his place at the podium, facing every member of the orchestra. The man of unrivaled age had spent the better part of forty-six years as the Philharmonic's lead conductor, twice as long as Lucien had even been alive. With precise agile movements belying his incredible age, the maestro turned to the crowd, gave a short bow, and turned back to fully address his musicians. The applause and cheering turned to collective murmuring and then finally to dead silence. Michelo didn't believe in conducting using a wand, so with a graceful raising and lowering of his hands the orchestra began to play. The legendary maestro possessed the ability, with his two hands, to control every aspect of the grand orchestra, regardless of the piece being performed.

For two and a half hours, every member of the crowd was dazzled by gorgeous velvety melodies from the string section, deep bombastic rhythms from the bass and percussion sections, and glorious uplifting fanfare from the horns. The textures on display could not be experienced anywhere else in the world; Zargo's orchestra was the preeminent orchestra of the age and had been for as long as anyone could remember. Lucien and the other musicians poured their heart into their playing and made absolutely sure their audience received their money's worth, every performance.

Lucien felt himself fall into his usual zone of concentration, completely oblivious to the reaction of the crowd. It was a point of pride to Lucien that he memorized every piece of music they played. This allowed him to play with his eyes closed, locked in a trance where he could feel the music coursing through his veins and out through his fingers. He would open his eyes to find himself no longer sitting at the end of the stage where he began the performance but surrounded by an endless void the color of midnight. Cool blue jets of light danced around him, rising and falling with each note of the melody. Lucien danced in the rays of plasmic light as they jetted through the infinite velvet vacuum like comets, forgetting himself completely.

The performance drew to a close after five pieces of heart-wrenching music Lucien was sure the audience would not soon forget. Lucien returned to himself in a sea of thunderous applause, slowly blinking his eyes as if waking from a dream. Tucking his violin under his arm, he joined Michelo in bowing before the ecstatic crowd, then turned and directed the orchestra through their bows. As with all performers, he lived for these moments, soaking in the crowd's adulation. After one final bow, he signaled the orchestra to leave the stage and waited patiently for the other musicians to depart from their seats before following suit.

While exhilarated from the performance, he was glad the concert was over. He lived to entertain the orchestra's fans, but the conclusion of the concert generally gave way to a night of comfortable solitude at home with his books. Tonight it gave way to something more, the culmination of years of meticulous, painstaking preparations.

He paced the backstage floor with nervous energy after carefully packing his instrument away and returning Perseus, trying to keep relatively but not obviously near to the exit doors. He kept an eye on the evening's stand-in harpist, talking animatedly to a group of musicians on the opposite side of the room. He still didn't know what to make of her return or how he felt about it. He just knew that he was not ready to face her yet. His brooding was brought to a halt as the orchestra finished gathering and their maestro entered to address the musicians.

"That was quite the performance, everyone. You continue to set the standard for the world when it comes to performing these pieces, and I want to thank you all for your hard work each week." The old man paused momentarily to peer at a small notepad he retrieved from his coat pocket. "Ah yes. We're looking at a one week break before our next concert but we will still meet to rehearse on our normal schedule. That would be day after tomorrow, 2:00 in the afternoon, Miss Margott. I would like for you all to enjoy the day off and then come prepared to go to work. I, myself, will most certainly be doing so. Thank you, again!"

Lucien took his cue and slipped through the back doors before anyone could stop him.

"Hey! Wait up!" Lucien heard the voice of his friend Rhys call after him. "What's the rush?"

"Sorry," Lucien turned to see his friend hurrying after him, he quickly conjured a lie. "I've been reading a new book and I'm a little anxious to finish it."

"Are you sure you weren't trying to escape from someone? Because that's what it looked like."

"Not sure what you mean," Lucien felt his cheeks flush.

Rhys rolled his eyes and shook his head before continuing the assault. "I mean, that was some kind of announcement, right? It's crazy to suddenly think back. I wonder where she's been all these years."

"Yeah, that sure was something," Lucien said, garnering an amused chuckle from his friend. Lucien took a firm step toward him, holding his violin case like a shield. "Well, what then?"

"Don't you think it's time you stopped running away from your past and from people in general, and from _one_ person in particular?"

Lucien scowled and said nothing. Rhys liked to have this conversation on what felt like a yearly basis. Clearly, the arrival of Helayna had reset the schedule.

"Look, you don't have to take my advice," Rhys said solicitously. "I've only known you most of your life. She's been gone for five years now and you may have only one chance to clear the air before she's gone again. Or would you rather things just stay the same?"

Rhys was certainly right about his likelihood of seeing her again. Lucien wondered very briefly about what his friend might think of the plan he was fixing to carry out. He thought it best that Rhys just carry on believing his life consisted of coffee and reading. Like it had in the old days.

"Frankly, I have no problems with my life right now."

Rhys sighed. "It's not like I'm asking you to start going out with us, Lucien. Don't think I don't remember what happened the last time. It does bother me, you know?"

Ah, the moment that contrived this whole affair.

Lucien shook his head. "I don't care about that and I'm as happy as can be." The lie slid off his lips almost too easily. "So, I don't know what to tell you. Except please get Mills and Barman home at a decent hour."

Rhys chuckled and shook his head. "Suit yourself." Without allowing Lucien a reply, he jumped into a waiting hansom and was off into the night.

Lucien started to make way for his own carriage parked at the end of the street, but stopped. Rhys had made a good point about clearing the air and he knew deep down he would never forgive himself if he did not at least speak to Helayna after all the years spent apart. He returned to the backstage area, rushing to catch her before she left.

As he pushed his way back through the doors, he almost ran over the woman he sought, who was deep in conversation with the orchestra's principal flautist, Korra Flanagan, just inside the doorway. He pulled up startled, not wishing to interrupt, but the massive rear doors of the amphitheater had no such compunction, slamming to with a thunderous clank that echoed through the cavernous hall. He blushed furiously as Helayna turned to face him, wearing the smile he remembered so well, a smile that turned his legs to melted butter and his jaw into an anvil. "Well hello, Lucien."

He smiled nervously and opened his mouth to speak, to his horror, nothing came out. He simply stood there feeling like a complete fool while Korra attempted not very successfully to conceal her amusement. Helayna cleared her throat and looked at Korra before turning her attention back to Lucien.

"We really must get going. I suppose I'll see you around. It is so very good to see you again," she said, placing her hand on his arm momentarily.

"No, not too likely of that," Lucien stuttered. Helayna turned around and the constriction of his throat seemed to keep his heart from leaping clear out of him.

"You won't be present at the next rehearsal?"

Lucien fumbled with his words settling with, "oh, um, of course. You will see me then without a doubt."

Helayna smiled at him again, chuckled softly, and turned to join Korra walking towards the front lobby. Lucien wiped a handful of sweat from his neck. Backstage suddenly felt strikingly similar to a furnace set on full blast. He returned the way he came through the thoroughly unhelpful rear doors, fuming all the way to his carriage.

Smooth, Lucien. Really smooth.
3

Castello Mooncaster

LUCIEN WATCHED THROUGH the window as his driver, Mr. Canning urged the carriage pulled by two white horses onward through the cobblestone streets of Zargo. The smooth clicking of horseshoes echoed off the stacked stone buildings in metronomic rhythm as he rode. The first navigated down the length of Fifth Street, an avenue known for its eccentric choices of food and drink. After five or six blocks, the horses came to a halt at an intersection allowing Lucien the opportunity to take in the wondrous aroma of the Fifth Street Corner Cafe. He never tired of it. Despite the firelight of a nearby gaslit lamp post reflecting a giant closed sign, a rich scent of roasted coffee beans still lingered.

The carriage made a left turn onto a smaller street lined by crooked apartment buildings made of wood and white stone, all seemingly held upright by the network of copper pipes used to carry the music of the lyrebirds to every corner in town. The stagecoach rested at another intersection to allow a smaller carriage to cross. Lucien could hear, very faintly emitting from a bell at the end of the nearest corner's copper pipe, a familiar quintet in which he'd forgotten the name. Despite the diminished crackling quality, he enjoyed the fact that superstitions aside, music was made available even to those who couldn't afford a ticket.

Lucien turned away from the window and reflected on his meeting with Helayna. She was such a warm, friendly soul, enough for him to briefly consider not embarking on the journey he had planned. He remembered their last exchange.

_Lucien, I heard about what happened. I know you would rather be alone but could I come in... please?_ Lucien winced at the thought of the interaction with her coming just before she'd left. Thoughts of _that_ day filled his mind like smoke in an empty room—thoughts of the day his parents went out to sea never to return. The five-year anniversary was fast approaching. He rearranged the position in which he was seated and wiped the back of his hand across his forehead. No matter what he did, he couldn't escape his memories.

He was there again, sitting on the beachhead waiting for days. He had waited there for, ultimately, nothing. What came in after nearly two weeks were little more than the shattered splinters of the boat they'd gone out on.

_No. I'm sorry, I can't. I-I just can't,_ he had told Helayna before shutting the doors to his home and receding into the abyss of his mind. It didn't seem like she'd returned after 5 years to demand an apology, but she certainly deserved one.

Lucien felt the speed of the stagecoach slow and he heard the usual exchange of words outside between Mr. Canning and the guards of the west gate. Before too long, the carriage picked up speed again, easing down the slope into one of several tunnels connecting metropolitan Zargo to the numerous outlying estates, all procured by wealthy families who refused to move inward with the coming of the reachers some hundred years before.

Helped by the glow of lanterns lining the tunnel, Lucien checked his watch. He'd hoped to already be home by now. There was a number of things to do in preparation of the following day. He still needed to move a supply of food and water into the boat. He needed to leave Mr. and Mrs. Canning a few months of advance pay, and select a book or two for the journey. Lucien's thoughts were interrupted by a cold eerie feeling. The stagecoach had stopped but they were still in the tunnel. The flame of the closest lantern curled and flickered as if pressed by a gust of wind.

"Everything alright out there?" Lucien called through the window.

"Fine sir, horses' spooked is all." The driver let loose a menacing yah and lashed the reins. Both horses neighed defiantly and took off in a charge, forcing Lucien back into his seat in a flash. Lucien kept his eyes shut and his hand latched to the bar along the side of his seat until he felt the ground come up and a cool breeze find him through the carriage window.

"Here we are sir."

Lucien graciously departed the transport and looked up at the tall ivy-covered walls of the manor centered within the Mooncaster estate. Drops of rain began to fall.

Mr. Canning grumbled incoherently before racing off again for the stable.

_Moo-ncaster,_ whispered a soft but sinister voice from behind Lucien stretching the first syllable to the fullest extent of a clearly aging breath. Every hair on the back of Lucien's neck stood on end.

He turned and threw a glance over his shoulder, eyeing the space between the bars of the front gate. A dark silhouette stood watching with eyes of a sinister, glowing red. Lucien jumped and turned the rest of the way around to face the thing. He vigorously rubbed his eyes, almost certain they were fooling him. He hoped they were, at least. He opened them and took a few steps closer to the gate. The lurid thing still stood there, just within a thicket of massive tree trunks, staring directly at him.

_Moo-ncaster,_ came the voice again in his ear. The creature was much too far away and yet it had to be that thing speaking to him. A rush of nausea squeezed Lucien's inside, twisting them as if wringing water from a wet rag. With supreme caution in his movements, he stepped closer and checked the lock on the gate. As he did, the sinister eyes faded to black, and the shadowy figure moved into the depths of the woods.

Lucien continued to stare into the blackness of trees, not sure what he wanted to see. He certainly didn't want to see a return of those eyes. A part of him began to question if what he'd seen was even real, another part dug through his nightmares for anything as terrifying as being stalked by such a creature.

And if it was real, just what the hell was that thing?

Suddenly he remembered himself and urgently called the name of the estate groundskeeper. With a moment's notice, Mr. Canning came running from the stable, rifle in hand. He addressed Lucien when he reached the gate.

"There is something out there!"

The old man with a long, withered nose and several deep lines on either side of his thin cut mouth glared out toward the line of trees. He leaned closer to the rusted metal bars grumbling as his eyes surveyed the darkness.

"Don't see a thing out there." He turned allowing his beady black eyes to stare hard at Lucien.

"I-I saw something out there. It was like a shadow but with red eyes."

"Hmm. Did it turn into a bat and fly away?"

Lucien gave the caretaker a sideways look and turned around. "Do keep an eye out will you." Mr. and Mrs. Canning didn't much like being bothered. They did their jobs well and like to keep to themselves. Precisely the reason they were the only members of the staff Lucien kept.

Through the courtyard, rife with ravenous patches of purple thistles and towering weeds that had been present for years, Lucien walked to the front terrace of the manor. The garden typified a broken promise he continually renewed. He longed to return it to the courtyard of his childhood but something more pressing always seemed to come first.

With the colossal doors shut behind him, he paused for a moment to take in the wonderful solitary ambiance. The lack of bustling noise from the staff that had accompanied his youth was especially satisfying. He breathed a heavy sigh of relief, especially glad to be home after such an eventful end to the carriage ride. The clicking of his polished dress shoes echoed against the dark walnut wooden tiles as he walked to the end of the high-ceilinged front foyer. He turned and hung his coat on the rack and ran his fingers over the large wooden chest beside it. _His_ two rifles sat inside but he wouldn't take those to the boat yet with it raining. He set his violin case down beside it, also to be gathered in the morning.

From the foyer, Lucien walked up the from staircase, down the residential hall and into his bedroom. He quickly changed from his performance tux into a more casual set, brown wool pants, a narrow-collared loose white shirt, and boots. The first two items in his search lay beside his bed. A half-century old copy of _Wuthering Heights,_ and his current read, _The Life and Times of Baldrick the Bludgeoner._

From his room, he made further stops in the oversized kitchen, gathering a small wheel of cheese, a few loafs of bread, several apples, several bars of dark chocolate, a bag of coffee grounds, and a bundle of dried bacon into a sack and made his way back outside.

Around behind the manor was his project of the past four years. Slowly he'd garnered as many original pieces as he could to reconstruct (with the help of numerous contractors) the very same boat his parents took out to sea for the last time. The boat sat in a custom in-ground aqueduct he'd had installed for the purpose of delivering the boat to the sea just after sunrise the following morning.

She was a medium sized wholly wooden vessel with two sails and the details painted blue. Lucien took the food down to the lone below deck compartment and stashed it in the cabinetry. He checked the ropes securing each of the sails and performed the final act of restoration, securing the anchor to the side.

After the task was complete, he took a step back to admire his work. He was going to do it. After five long years he was going to go out there and find the small island the very same boat had wrecked upon. Were his chances of success favorable? Maybe not, but knew one thing. He knew he could no longer sit and enjoy the fine things he once did. He had to avenge the cold-blooded murder of his parents. He'd read enough stories and infiltrated enough tavern throngs to bring a better approach than the naval guard could have. All the grimiest sailors Lucien could find seemed to share the same opinion. The Lioness has a weakness for music. He would play while his boat drifted and then he would be waiting with silver-cased bullets.

Not sure he would even be able to sleep, Lucien settled himself into the oversized sofa centering the manor lounge with a roaring fire before him, a book in one hand and a steaming mug of cocoa in the other. He slipped almost instantly, with no gradual heavying of eyelids into a deep slumber, dreaming of dancing rays of colored light.
4

The Bargain

TENEBRIS BRUSHED the dirt from his polished leather shoes, crouched behind the enormous trunk of an ancient chestnut tree. He stroked the end of his greasy black goatee as he eyed the masses of thick-trunked trees surrounding him. There was a change in the breeze and then he heard her—the one he had come to see. The sobs of pain carried to him by the wind tickled his tormented heart. He could hear over the ocean, the wind, and the birds, the faint dull cry of a woman whose tears had all but run out.

He peered silently around the side of the gratuitous trunk; his forked tongue slathering the dry side of his thinly cut mouth. With a great deal of caution in his movements, he stood and slinked toward the sound until he was close enough to hear the cries with some degree of clarity. He slid and crouched behind another tree. The siren—clad in a dress of an almost unbelievably pure white—sat against a ruined column surrounded by rubble, her jet-black hair flung over the part of her face not cupped in her hands.

He poked his head from around the tree and considered if he was ready to approach her. The ruins of a once great stone building surrounded the weeping immortal. He knew of the great tragedy she had experienced over a century ago. When her younger sister met her bitter end and the jewel that had bound her sibling's immortal life force went missing, and more importantly, stayed missing. He knew of her scourge on the sea in search of the amulet. But her pain was like a mere splinter. No amount of suffering was enough to compare to the prison she'd cursed him to so long ago.

He returned himself to his hiding spot and tapped the ends of his fingers together in a steady rhythm. The time for revenge was at hand. He knew she would find only joy in news he'd brought, maybe even enough for her to trust him.

He couldn't proceed in any of the ways he had before. He needed to be careful. He tilted his head up until he could barely see her. Once upon a time, he'd longed to be the shoulder on which she could cry. To caress the silky surface of her saturated cheek and whisper to her, _everything will be all right_. But those feelings had gone rotten inside of him centuries ago.

He slowly unfolded his legs, extending to his slender height of over six feet, and used his hands to brush the wrinkles from his pinstripe suit. He took a deep breath and left his hiding spot, walking casually toward the woman. The rustling of twigs beneath his feet pulled her attention from the palms of her hands up to face her uninvited guest. She immediately grunted in disgust.

"What the hell are you doing here, Tenebris?"

He ignored her condescension. "I know you haven't been feeling quite yourself lately; I was hoping there may be something I could do to lift your spirits," he said with a silky sustenance he knew was unlikely to have any bearing on her.

"I haven't been myself in over a hundred years. And no, the only thing you can do for me would be turning around and leaving."

Tenebris looked taken aback. "I doubt that is the case. After all, we do hail from the same neck of the woods. We need to look out for each other."

She scoffed loudly. "Coming from you? A demon who's only ever looked out for himself?"

"Do you not believe that an individual can change for the better if he truly desires it?" He took a step closer to her.

The woman took an equal step back. Her face bore a look of pure contempt. "Even if that _were_ possible, you're still you. After what you did, you will never change in my eyes."

"What's it been? Something like four thousand years? How can you—"

"I don't give a damn how many years it's been. I will never forget what you did."

Her words felt like shards of broken glass, but only to a small part of him, a lingering, festering part of him he would cut from his body with a rusted dagger if that's what it took. For the most part, the meeting was going as he'd anticipated. He leaned back against the truck of a tree and pretended to straighten his already perfectly straightened tie.

"I suppose I'll cut short the formalities and get right to the point then."

"Aha! You're learning," she said, voice thick with sarcasm.

Tenebris snorted before speaking. "Our history aside, I know that you've been more than just lamenting the loss of your sister for the past century. I know of her jewel, much like your own, that you were never able to recover."

The woman rose in a fury, clenching her fists hard enough to force the blood to rush away from her knuckles. "And just how do you presume to possess such knowledge?"

Yes Lyra, show me your greatest weakness. That fervid rage that spilleth from thy woeful cup.

"Why, it was easy enough," he said with a dubious smirk. "The man whose blood granted you your vengeance kept a journal. He knew all about the necklace, courtesy of your sister's nasty little habit of talking in her sleep. It seemed he documented it all before he took her life."

Tenebris took a few steps toward the woman so as to whisper in her ear. "But you knew all about that, didn't you? You knew you could get the jewel's whereabouts from him with ease but your bloodlust had other plans."

The woman scowled as he placed a hand on either side of her cold shoulders. The touch of her soft skin felt like ecstasy and torture. His fingers didn't linger long.

"Little effort was required on my part to discover its true whereabouts after piecing together all of the clues," he said. "And with your _limitation_ , you would have never found—"

He couldn't even finish the sentence before she'd turned and wrapped her fingers around his neck. In the blink of an eye, she demonstrated physical strength far superior to what her appearance let on.

"You mean to taunt me?" she asked in a rage.

"Not at all."

Her grip continued to tighten.

"You will tell me now exactly where the jewel is! I'm not playing your games, Tenebris!"

Her irises flashed from deep emerald green to a brilliant fiery red. The skin around her eyes darkened and trembled. Tenebris grasped at her wrist, pulling himself into a position where he could speak.

"I know that the jewel being lost and not in the possession of a siren causes a great agony so deep that it ravages your very soul. That with such an imbalance in your being, your existence is little more than a hollow misery bounding on endlessly," he wheezed. "Only a siren such as you can utilize such a jewel's power. We both know that. There exists no way for me to turn this against you. I only mean to help..."

As he pleaded, her grip lessened and her features softened. Slowly, her eyes returned to their normal shade. She removed her hand from his neck and placed it on her hip. Tenebris immediately fell to his knees and grasped his throat with both hands.

"I know you too well," she said, standing over him with her hands folded behind her back. "Even if any of this were true, you wouldn't have bothered to dig it up nor would you have come here without some unholy desire of your own. You might as well spit it out."

Tenebris cleared his throat. "Fair is fair. There is something I would like; a human soul, quite simply."

"Quite simply?"

"Yes," Tenebris said. "A pure soul will allow me to walk as you do now. My senses do very little for me in this world. I don't get to enjoy simple pleasures like taste, smell, or even touch as you do." He lifted his hand to her cheek and chuckled as she pulled away.

"So, a soul is it? You'd like to live amongst the mortals?" she asked, having arched both of her beautifully articulated eyebrows. "I can't say I blame you. Can you believe so many of them fear something as sweet as dying? The most beautiful release life has to offer. It's ironic."

Tenebris smirked. "My time has finally come. Their queen has never been more vulnerable; her days in this world are numbered. With no heirs, a successor could come from anywhere—even the shadows," he hissed with an air of self-satisfaction.

"I see. You intend to rule the whole of the civilized world," she said as she sat herself against a ruined column.

"I've waited long enough. Under the new order, my kind will flourish. For too long we've been bound to the fire of Hell. For too—"

"Hell is a state of mind, it can become your reality in this world at the drop of a hat," the siren interrupted with a smug expression on her face.

"Really? Have you actually been there?"

She chuckled and ignored the question. "Do you really think it will be as easy as all of that?"

"Very much so. It is in the nature of the mortals to bow before great power. They talk big when it comes to freedom and choices but deep down, they crave a ruling hand over them more than anything else. I will show you."

The siren narrowed her eyes as she looked up at him. "Why are you unable to do any of this yourself? Have you grown so weak you cannot even possess a physical body anymore?"

Tenebris scoffed. "Possession is a challenge because since the Collapse, nobody believes. Not in God. Not in the devil. And while this is a little more involved than a simple possession, the same principle applies. Belief, which of course is where you will come in. With your ability to manipulate a man's will, disbelief will hardly be an obstacle."

Tenebris paused to adjust each of his cufflinks with trembling fingers. "The right soul will allow me to manifest physically so long as he stays unharmed for three days after reading from the good book." He retrieved an ancient, leather-bound manuscript from his pocket and held it out to her. "By which point the binding will be permanent. The subject will perish and his life force will be transferred to me."

She took his offering and began flipping through its discolored pages, dust wafting up in barely-there puffs with each turn. "And if this subject doesn't remain unharmed?"

"That mustn't be allowed to happen. If he dies before the three days have passed, my new physical body would die along with him and my current connection to the world would be severed. Utterly wasteful."

She grimaced in his direction. "That sounds like quite a risk."

"The man who just so happens to possess your precious jewel is an easy one to keep an eye on. If you want the jewel, you will see that he makes it. He lives in seclusion, away from other people. The risk is minimized."

Tenebris paused as the siren nodded before continuing. "You know well enough your sister's jewel cannot truly change ownership unless the previous owner dies," he said. "When all is done and our target is dead, I will tell you where the jewel is hidden. Trust me when I say it will be ripe for the taking."

Tenebris rubbed his hands together while the siren ran a finger along the line of her chin, considering the proposal.

"Come and walk with me." He stood and began to walk back the way he had come. After several steps, he looked back to see her following as he requested, her bare feet impervious to the jagged glass and gravel.

Tenebris paused to step over a downed tree and then held out his hand to aid his companion over. She, of course, found her own way over the rotting trunk, dismissing the outstretched hand altogether.

"Now, regarding your limitation. How long can you go without contact with sea water?"

They walked all the way to the beach to stand before a brilliant auburn sunset. Tenebris remained in the sand while his host continued walking until the tide washed over her toes.

"About an hour," she said, turning back to face him. "Give or take."

He cocked his head to one side and stepped closer, until his toes stopped at the furthest reach of the tide. "That won't do. This man lives near the ocean—just outside of that wretched Zargo. A young violinist—Mooncaster is his name. Even given his proximity to the sea, it will be suspicious if you're sneaking off to the beach once every hour. But it's no bother. In exchange for this favor, I can take care of that for you."

The siren rubbed the underside of her chin. "Mooncaster? Wait, you can't mean—?"

"Don't act so surprised," he interrupted. "It was a Mooncaster who first took the jewel to begin with. It's become somewhat of a family heirloom for them." Tenebris stuck his right hand forward in an offer of his half of the bargain. "Now do we have a deal?"

Though still seeming reluctant, she took his hand and squeezed tight, staring up at him as fire danced in her eyes.
5

The Woman

A THUNDEROUS CRASH shook Lucien from a deep slumber. He opened his eyes and found his surroundings a blurry mess. His fire had dissipated, leaving the glow of the dawn sky peeking through the windows as the only source of light in the room. He shook the haze that tended to accompany deep sleep extraction and heard another blood-curdling shriek. The unhinging sound seemed as though it could have traveled miles before reaching his ears.

He stood still, anxious to listen more closely now that he was fully awake. Though ready to analyze, he hoped desperately that his brain had fooled him. After a moment of silence, the sound burst into his residence once more. This time there was no doubt, someone was screaming for help. He found a pair of boots lying in a corner of the room and frantically yanked them onto his feet. Each scream became more panicked and dire than the last. Adrenaline coursed through his veins while his heart thrashed against his rib cage. He splashed water on his face and ran outside in a flash, sprinting through the courtyard faster than he knew his feet could carry him. As he ran, he wondered and hoped that nothing else in the wild may be stirred by the cries.

He slammed into the gate at full speed and pressed his face between the rusted bars to try to spot the source of the sound. He could hear a deep pounding in his chest as he moved in unison with its pace along the length of the gate, stopping at a spot that provided a prime view of the beach. There, his heart leapt into his throat.

The figure of a woman lay huddled in the sand with the tide washing over her. From his position, perhaps fifty yards out, he couldn't tell if she was moving or even alive at all. His eyes darted all around the surrounding area before returning to her.

"Oh, damn it all," he muttered aloud.

Lucien retrieved his large key ring from his pocket and fumbled with them, he grabbed his wrist with the opposite hand to calm the tremors before finally unlocking the gate. His stomach tied itself in knots as he stepped through. He couldn't remember the last time he'd stepped foot in the wilderness.

He looked over at the woman's huddled body and still couldn't tell whether she was alive. As he took his first step toward her, he caught a glimpse of a hideous movement a short distance up the road. He stopped momentarily to look directly at it and shuddered at the sight of the reacher. He felt the air stolen from his lungs as the faceless, black-scaled monster approached, dragging its grotesque clawed arms behind it.

Lucien found himself sprinting for the woman on the beach. He looked back toward the road and saw the creature making for the same spot. Though bipedal, the strange monster couldn't run. It was only once they got within an arm's reach that they became truly dangerous. It would be the only advantage he could count on.

He reached the unconscious woman surrounded by splintered pieces of wood and quickly regarded her. Unsure of what exactly to do, he dropped to his knees and lightly shook her shoulders.

"Miss? Can you—?" he tried to say in a panic before accepting that she was not going to respond. He looked up the hill to see the reacher turning off the road to make its way down to the beach before placing his ear over her mouth. She was breathing. It was shallow and labored but she was alive.

Lucien could hear the cackling growl drawing nearer. His stomach performed a circus act inside him and the outline of his vision blurred as he picked the woman up and hoisted her over his shoulder. He didn't look back before taking off in a dead sprint for his home. Sweat poured over his brow and stung as it ran through his eyes. He barely noticed how unnaturally light the woman felt.

Coupled with the hideous growl emitting from the creature, Lucien could hear ripples in the air behind him. The creature must have gotten close enough to start swinging its claws. As light as she was, the weight of the extra person slowed him more than he had hoped it would. He knew if he slowed even a step, he and the woman, if she wasn't already, would be dead.

He slammed his lead shoulder into the slightly ajar front gate, swinging it open with a loud rusted creak. Bounding over weeds and bushes, he waited for a second sounding of the gate moving on its great metal hinges. Lucien counted to four before the sound came, providing him a most welcome message that he'd gained on the predator. He knew he'd need those extra steps.

Lucien leapt up the stairs to the terrace two at a time and stopped to heave the front door open with his one free arm, each breath bound by searing pain.

The sound of the monster's cackling growl and the whistling of the air around its claws felt little more than a hair length behind. Finally, the gap in the door was wide enough to fit through. Lucien lowered the woman from his shoulder and threw himself through the doorway, turning his body to land on his back as to shield the woman from the blunt force of the manor's tiled floor.

*~*~*

Lucien opened his eyes with heavy breath and a pounding heart. He was alive, that much he knew. He looked up at the grand double doors and knew he was still lying on the tile floor of the front foyer. He tilted his chin down to look at the woman he'd carried in from the beach. Her head lay peacefully again his chest with her arms sprawled on each side against the floor. Her tattered, white dress was soaking wet and her skin felt ice cold. He cocked his head to the side to get a better look at her face when a strange object grabbed his attention.

A dark blue jewel hung loosely from a bronze chain and lay against his thin clothe shirt. Despite its size, it felt immensely heavy. But even more interesting than the weight was its appearance. He'd never seen a jewel of such size shaped like a rose in full bloom. It shimmered in such a way to indicate it somehow acted as its own light source rather than being reflective of outside light. The glimmer of the jewel mesmerized him. He found himself trapped, marveling at the detail put into the rose's intricate petals as though it had him under a spell.

Before Lucien realized what he was doing, his hand had of its own accord, reached up to touch the brilliant jewel. When his fingertips lingered only millimeters away, about to graze against the smooth surface of the sapphire rose, the previously unconscious woman's deep emerald eyes burst open and immediately locked onto his. Her face filled with a mixture of shock and terror and Lucien could not break his gaze from hers. He was entranced by her. Her skin that had been near blue on the beach warmed to a soft olive hue. Her facial features were almost inhumanly symmetrical.

"Can it really be? Anders?" Her delicate voice soothed every nerve in his body.

"Anders? No, my name's Lucien. Just stay calm, there was a shipwreck. You're safe now." He tried to reassure her and perhaps even more so, himself. The strange woman simply continued to stare at him with trembling lips. She narrowed her eyes, as if studying his face before her pupils rotated up into her head and she collapsed against him.

Lucien softly rolled the strange woman onto the floor and climbed to his feet. He carefully considered what had just happened to him as he stared down at her motionless body. The woman surely needed a hospital but they were trapped. Remembering the terror that had very nearly taken them both, he scurried to one of the tall windows cut out of the stone alongside the door. It was still there, lumbering about the courtyard and ripping dead shrubs from the ground as it dragged its claws behind.

Lucien shivered and returned to his soaked guest. He picked her up and, now unaided by adrenaline, was more coherently surprised by her lightness. He felt water trickling over his fingers and onto the floor and began a brisk march toward the sitting room. His eyes moved back and forth between the path to the door and the mysterious woman's face. There was something about it drawing him in. He didn't want to look away.

Once he arrived, he laid her on the couch nearest the fireplace. He lit a fire and rummaged through one of the room's cabinets for a thick blanket. He kept a handy stash for the nights that he didn't feel like going upstairs to sleep. He wrapped one around her before heading to change his own clothing.

Lucien walked to his bedroom with his mind racing. The mysterious woman's penetrating gaze was etched in his mind. He felt himself still staring up at her from the cold tile floor. The thought felt so vivid, as if a different version of him was still there and a different version of her was still resting against him instead of lying on the sofa, warming by the fire.

At least she can rest now.

He quickly changed his pants and shirt. He threw a glance toward his bedroom window and remembered what he had planned to do when he'd awoken that day. How could he leave the woman alone in his house and go out on the sea to return—who knew when? He fought himself briefly and decided it wasn't the worst thing in the world to simply delay the quest until his guest had recovered and gone on her way.

Thinking that she would likely desire to change her clothes as well upon waking, Lucien retrieved several old dresses from the wardrobe in his parents' vacant room and placed them at the end of the couch where the nameless woman soundly slept. He knew it was a long shot for them to fit properly or be to style standards so he made a mental note to get her specifics when she awoke so that he could go into town to get her new clothes.

An icy thought stopped him in his tracks. Had he already forgotten his brush with death? He wouldn't be going anywhere with a reacher meandering the courtyard. What if the woman needed medical attention? He tried to take a deep breath and not think of the stacking consequences. He thought of Mr. And Mrs. Canning. With his expedition, he'd unfortunately told them there was no need to even come over to the manner from the private house for at least a week.

He turned around and left the room. No more than two steps down the residential hallway, he stopped again, only this time due to perhaps the worst smell Lucien had ever encountered. He slung an arm up to his face as the fragrant aroma of rotting flesh completely overwhelmed his nostrils. An icy chill crawled underneath his skin and he felt distinctly that he was being watched. In a flash, he whirled around to face the corner of the hall opposite of his bedroom door. The corner was unreachable by daylight and instead washed with blackness. Something standing within the confines of the shadow was watching him; he was sure of it.

He stared at the abysmal stone corner; certain some abhorrent thing would step forward. Perhaps it would be the red-eyed creature from the wood. Yes, that was perfectly reasonable. Lucien squinted and stared until at last, the smell disappeared. It left in such a fashion he began to question if it had been there at all. He forced himself to take a deep breath and unconsciously backed into the stone wall. The rough, jagged surface did little to provide comfort.

"What the hell is going on?" he muttered. He needed a mental breather—some distraction until he thought of a way to lead the reacher away from the manor. He saw the woman's face in his mind again, the quick contraction of her irises, he heard her sweet voice speaking unintelligible words, drowned out by violin music echoing off the walls of his home. In a flash the image and noise ceased.

Yes, he thought. Perhaps trying to work could help me think.

For some time, he had been chipping away at his first violin sonata, he was overdue to give it some more effort. His endeavor in writing the piece had started strong, rapidly progressing until dying, plagued by writer's block. Feeling much better, Lucien made his way down to his dungeon music room.

The door he took—one of many that led to the dungeon was through a hall that fed into the large sitting room where his guest lay sleeping. He quietly opened and shut the heavy reinforced door behind him, trying not to disturb her. When the door shut behind him, he began a more casual walk down the steps into the dungeon.

The converted living space had been cleaned of most the dust and cobwebs, but proper gas lighting remained on the to-do list. One by one, he lit each of the wall candles with a match and then stepped to the first bookshelf to find his current work in progress. Several large shelves had been required to hold every piece of sheet music in his and the orchestra's repertoire. The room was still very much a dungeon as evident by the barren prison cells that had once been stacked with extremely old sleeping cots. The cots had existed as little more than a set of artifacts until it occurred to him to use the old cots as a lining against the hard-stone walls. The acoustic difference had been like night and day afterward. As dank as the old stone room may have been, Lucien was quite comfortable in it and he enjoyed the acoustic qualities that the size and shape of the area offered.

He took his unfinished sheet music to the desk and unpacked his violin. He tuned it, applied resin to the strings of the bow, and began playing from the beginning. He played the first twelve bars, a sweet but subtle melody intended in the grand scheme of the work, simply to set the stage. The following several bars, a rise in the harmonious tension that would build slowly into a jubilant main theme. It was the main theme that had yet to be cracked.

He played through what he had two more times before setting down his violin to pace the room. He had never had this kind of trouble in writing smaller pieces of music. He thought of some of the works he'd completed over the past few years, mostly string trios, but some quartets and quintets as well. The ease in which the works flew from the pen served as the original inspiration to go for something big. He picked the instrument back up and closed his eyes, attempting to visualize the notes. His melody was a soft beam of light in an otherwise dark, empty space. The light took on a bright red hue and danced up and down with each subsequent note on the page, eventually fading as the notes ran out.

He played through one more time before being interrupted by a scuff against the stone floor at the top of the stairs. He laid the violin back on the table and made for the steps to investigate.

"It's beautiful."

The voice came from above him. He cautiously stepped toward the stairwell. The voice sounded like velvet and he'd only heard just such a voice aloud once before; earlier in the day, when the woman he rescued called him Anders. The same woman gracefully stepped the rest of the way down the stairs to meet him.

Lucien was rattled by the sight of her. He wanted to respond to the compliment but found it tremendously difficult. He tried to swallow his nerves and finally spoke.

"Thank you; it's still very much a work in progress."

"I love it nonetheless."

She stared at him once they were eye to eye, the same as before—as though something about him was odd to her. Lucien watched her pupils quickly dilate and return to their normal size. He felt a tingling sensation wash over him, taking the place of the nervousness that was there before. He then felt an ardent urge to press his lips against hers.

How ridiculous, he thought, stifling the compulsion and averting his eyes in embarrassment. He pretended to tune his instrument while he waited for the awkward feeling to alleviate. She had changed into one of the white dresses he'd left on the couch for her and pinned her hair up as though it had been done at a salon. The dress not only fit perfectly but also accentuated her figure.

He regarded her up and down before remarking, "It's a miracle you didn't receive any injuries. We'd have been quite stuck if you had."

The woman looked down each arm and then leaned forward as though to look at her toes. "Yes, I suppose you're right. But—what do you mean stuck?"

Lucien gestured at the ceiling. "Up there, out on the grounds. There's a reacher. I'm not sure where you're from but I'm sure you've at least heard of them."

"Yes, unfortunately I have." She paused to brush a lock of hair from her face. "I imagine that thing was out there at the time I washed ashore. I can only think of what might have happened had you not been there. So, thank you."

She looked up at him with her eyes glowing and her opulent scarlet lips resting slightly apart curled at the ends.

"No need to think of it that way," he told her. "But I don't believe you've told me your name yet."

She smiled from ear to ear as a hint of blush caressed her cheeks. "It's Lyra."

Lucien smiled back before looking down at his watch. "That's a lovely name. You must be half starved by now; shall we go upstairs and eat something?"

"That'd be wonderful," she replied.

Lucien led his guest out of the dungeon and showed her to a spot at the end of the long table in the dining hall. When she was seated, Lucien retreated to grab a large bowl of leftover soup and plate of bread from the kitchen. They didn't say much until the end of the meal, and every so often, he caught her eyeing him with the same suspicious gaze. When she noticed he'd caught her, she quickly looked down and continued to eat. To Lucien, her face appeared as though she'd seen a ghost. Like she saw something she simply couldn't believe.

"May I ask you a question?" Lucien asked, setting his spoon down in his empty soup bowl upon finishing.

"Go ahead," she answered.

"Well, the name you mentioned earlier. Who is Anders exactly?" Lyra set her spoon down as well and began to chew the side of her lip.

"He was—" she started hesitantly, pausing to allow the direction of her eyes to wander up toward the ceiling.

"He was someone I knew a long time ago. It's practically another life at this point. You look very much as he did; it was rather startling is all."

Lucien nodded. He saw that the question had upset her. He made a mental note not to bring the name up again and also an effort to change the subject.

"You must have been headed to Zargo—when your crashed. Is anyone there expecting you? Or, back home if you don't return?"

"I'm afraid not," she said. "Where I'm from, it was only my sister and me for a long time. After she died, some time ago, it's been just me." She paused for a moment, again chewing the side of her lip. "Honestly, all of the sudden, I can't even remember for what reason I came here."

All the life had faded from her face as she spoke. The hollow tone in which she spoke had alone been enough to cause a sympathetic pain in his heart.

"My God, I'm terribly sorry to hear that. I had no idea."

"There's no need to apologize," she said after slurping a spoonful of soup. "It's been quite some time now."

Lucien tried to guess the woman's age as her words processed in his mind. She couldn't have been any older than he was.

Just how long is quite some time after all?

Lucien emerged from his thoughts to find her eyeing the row of family portraits on the wall behind him. Her gaze hung on the far side longer than it had the others. He turned and glanced at the painting he knew she was studying.

"That's you?"

Lucien nodded.

She furrowed her brow. "What happened to them?"

Lucien pursed his lips and scratched the underside of his chin. Now it seemed, it was his turn to face a tough question to answer. "Well, about five years ago, there was an accident and uh..." he stopped and looked down at his bowl.

"It's all right. You don't have to," she said before moving her hand closer to his own on the table.

He watched her intently. He suddenly wanted very badly to detail the story of their murder by a vicious monster that could be exist as little more than urban legend. He wanted to tell her that he could no longer live his life without knowing for certain if such were the truth, and if possible, knowing vengeance.

"Well," he said finally. "It's like you already said. It's been five years now. But I suppose I can relate to the feeling of loss. The isolation feels so warm and therapeutic at first, and after a while becomes more like a gripping habit."

When she offered a nod and a pained smile, he returned it and looked over at one of the high windows to see the auburn color of the approaching evening. Alarmed by the sight, he looked down at his watch.

"How could it—?"

"What's that?" she said.

Lucien was flabbergasted, watching as his house guest opened her mouth wide for a yawn.

How long was I practicing?

"I'm just a little thrown off today is all. Since it's getting late, I have an extra room for you to stay in until everything is figured out," Lucien said. "Seven extra rooms to be exact."

Lyra laughed in response to the playful banter. The strange woman's smile was, in itself, intoxicating. "On the way, I can give you the tour. It is incredibly easy to get lost in here, especially at night."

"You are too kind, really," she replied, quelling her laughter. She then got up and handed her empty bowl to Lucien.

"It's really no trouble at all. I promise."

He quickly took the dishes to the kitchen as a courtesy and then guided his guest down each of the main halls on the first floor. He pointed out the large kitchen, both of the libraries, the study, the door downstairs to his dungeon music room, and the sea-facing glass arboretum.

As they walked, Lucien shared old stories of his family home. How it had served as a stronghold that housed and preserved the lives of many families in wartime during and at the very end of the First Human Age. Lyra followed closely beside him, engrossed in his words.

She followed him up the front foyer staircase to what he referred to as the residential hall. The hall contained eight bedrooms. He told her how the manor itself contained many more than that. All of which were on the upper levels above the second-floor hall and thus uninhabitable. He explained that while his parents had been around, they did much to modernize and restore the old mansion but they were unable to complete the job. He advised her to avoid the upper levels while she was staying there as he had hardly any idea what sort of state they would be in. He pointed to the end of the hall and mentioned that the door that led to those halls hadn't been touched since his childhood.

They concluded their tour at a room two doors away from the one Lucien kept. He chose the proximity with specific reasoning in mind. If something was to happen and his guest cried out, he would be close enough to hear her. There was a decent chance, given how frightening the manor could be when the lights were out.

"What do you think of this room? There is a wardrobe there in the corner with garments similar to the ones I brought down earlier. Also, you are right across from the washroom, here." He gestured across the hall to a closed door that led to the main residential washroom.

"I really don't know what to say," she began. "You have done so much for me; how can I ever repay you for all of this?"

Lucien smiled graciously at her.

"There's no need for anything of the sort. I simply did what any decent person ought to. Can I get you anything else for the evening?"

She was quick to answer.

"I know where to get water but not drinking glasses."

"That's no trouble. They would be down in the kitchen. I'll go get one for you. Tomorrow, if you like, we can go to the city and get you any clothing and essential items you may need."

"That sounds perfect, thank you again."

She walked toward her bed as Lucien retreated and headed down to the kitchen.

Lucien moved quickly to fetch the drinking glass. So quickly that he only barely caught a very peculiar sight. What he saw didn't even register until he had the glass in his hand. On his way back through, he looked deliberately toward one of the windows and froze where he stood. All the windowsills in the room were lined with several large black birds motionlessly staring in at him.

The bizarre, ghoulish sight made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. After a few seconds passed, every bird, in unison, lifted its wings, opened its beak, and let out a menacingly loud scream of a caw that combined into a sonic boom. The hellish scream shattered the glass of every window. Lucien was thrown completely off of his feet. A gale swept in like a vacuum as he struggled to climb back up. Without another look, he sprinted back to the kitchen.

His hands shook as he rushed in and leaned his weight against the shut door behind him. He felt as though he could taste his heart beating. After several deep breaths, he slowly inched the door open and peeked into the room where the catastrophe had taken place. His eyes nearly popped from their sockets when he saw the windows appear normal, as if they'd never shattered at all.

"What the—" he began to say, walking the rest of the way through the door to find nothing out of place in the room. No birds perched on any of the sills; it was as if he had imagined it. It was hard to grasp the possibility of a hallucination throwing him off his feet the way it had, especially as sore as the shoulder he'd landed on felt. He decided the upstairs windows would serve better for spotting such a monstrous flock especially with the dark of night creeping over the sky like a blanket.

When Lucien arrived at Lyra's door, he beat his fist against the solid wood. She answered in a state of bewilderment. Without as much as a single word he placed his confused guest's empty glass on the end table and hurried over to her window, throwing it open as hard as he could.

"Is there something wrong?" she asked with tension in her voice.

"You didn't hear anything unusual in the past few minutes?"

"I heard nothing until you started beating upon the door as though lives were in danger."

Lucien said nothing in return. He peered out and in every direction that he was able for some sign of the flock. His eyes found nothing in the dark and his ears could only hear the wind blowing in the trees. He realized that if she had somehow failed to hear the earth-shattering screech from downstairs then he ought to not frighten her with the tale that was starting to feel more and more like it had just been a hallucination. Especially as she was about to go to sleep in a strange bed surrounded by strange walls.

"It's nothing; just some birds out there acting strange is all. Perhaps just the change of season. No need to be alarmed."

"Oh! I do love birds! Such magnificent creatures!" she exclaimed, clasping her hands together.

Lucien could only raise an eyebrow after what he had just experienced before bidding his guest good night.
6

The Return of Captain Merlot

JAMES DROVE his spoon into the bowl of potato soup.

"Thanks for coming to check on us, Francis. You know, Ayva would have been ecstatic," his father said.

James looked up from his spoon to his uncle to see him nod with pursed lips. He then maneuvered the spoon of lukewarm potato chunks to his mouth.

"She and I were very close, as you know. It's hard for all of us." James's father nodded a somber agreement. Francis Merlot continued, "If there is anything at all I can do during this time to assist you, please do not hesitate to ask."

James looked over to see his father briefly chew the side of his lip. "Actually, if it's not an overwhelming burden, there is something."

"Name it."

"Well, with my hip, I can hardly do anything anymore.

It's grown increasingly tough to make ends meet around here, especially without Ayva. I'm not asking you for a hand out. But perhaps if there were a spot on one of your crews. You know it's been James' dream since he was a boy."

Merlot eyed his nephew while running his fingers through the strands of his thick moustache. "As it happens," he began. "I received an order to ready a ship for departure the morning after tomorrow. There are a few spots on the crew that I have the liberty of picking."

James was listening now with sever intent. As was his father.

"It's not a run of the mill voyage. I can't say too much but a very important ship has come up missing and I will be handling a recon expedition."

James returned his gaze to the spoon of cold potato soup in front of him. Before his eyes, he was suddenly surrounded by a blinding light. The spoon in his hand transformed into a scrap of stale bread. His _last_ scrap of stale bread to be exact.

As if plucked from a dream, James found himself in the hapless dinghy with which he'd departed the den of the Lioness. There was nothing but water as far as his eyes could see in any direction. Nearly midday, the sun beat down on his already sunburned skin. After being forced to choose between staying covered by the blanket and using what little energy persisted from day to day to make haste with the oars, it felt like picking his own poison. The small boat didn't have much by way of supplies save for the blanket wrapped around him, an extra blanket, and, now officially, no food at all.

He had exhausted every daylight hour for the first several days rowing, intent on covering as much water as possible. As time dragged on and the sun began to cook him like he were on a spit over a fire, he spent days at a time wrapped in his blanket staring out over the maddening abyss of the sea. Without food and water, his body started to catabolize.

_You are the death of every man here, you little son of a—,_ raged the voice of Horace Burns.

The horrors from the island and the return to the ship continually played through his head, haunting him day and night. James' frail psyche was torn between thoughts of the nightmare that took place and the peculiar behavior of the murderous creature they'd found.

_There was no way the Lioness didn't see me; that_ thing _looked me right in the eye._

He was puzzled beyond belief by the way things had transpired at the island.

_All you can do is hope that you aren't spared!_ Burns' words pained him to think about, but ultimately, he had been right. _How could he have been so right?_

The image of Burns' swollen dead eyes staring up at him from the water, frozen forever in a state of abject horror, seemed to be etched on his eyelids, haunting him any time he attempted to rest. But alas, the moment he met the gaze of his captain for the final time just as his head was swept from his shoulders served as the most debilitating memory of all.

_Why did I stay in this boat? Why could I not try to save him? My captain, my only friend._ The malign thoughts were relentless. James curled up at the base of the boat with his hands pressed against the sides of his head for what felt like an eternity at a time.

Both the words of the captain and the words of Horace Burns echoed through his mind interchangeably as though battling for dominion over his sanity. The entire crew had been lost, adding to the already staggering death toll accrued by the _Orion_ and it could all be traced back to his decision.

_The vote is tied and with you the lone straggler. Which way will you vote, son?_

And, of course, he had made the wrong choice. Burns had been right, he did doom the crew. He could barely stand the dizzying thought. When it was dark, James closed his eyes. He awoke with a jolt soaked with water, the midday sun shining down on him. Also looking down at him was Captain Francis Merlot, alive and not dead. James couldn't believe his eyes. His venerable uncle stood over him, his white shirt and coat turned to a dark shade of red, and flesh hanging from a slit in his neck like the entrails of a gutted fish. The wound seemed not to bother him a bit. And why would it? This was the famous Captain Merlot after all.

The captain curled the end of his moustache in his fingers. Blood dripped from his neck onto James' forearm.

"You're alive?!" he exclaimed.

"Quite. And no thanks to you, boy. Nap time is over!" he barked. The man had James full attention. "We have water to cover, a great deal of it too. Grab the oars and start rowing."

"Aye, Captain."

James did as he was commanded. He tried but ultimately could do little to hide the grin he wore. All this time he sat in his boat feeling guilty about what happened. And for nothing! The captain was better than ever. He was going to make it, Captain Merlot would make sure of it, just as he'd promised to his father that night at dinner.

The captain stood at the front of the boat facing the horizon, one foot resting against the bow of the dinghy. He pulled the oars through the choppy current with all the vigor he possessed. He was going to make it.
7

The Rusty Hook

ARCHER SOLOMON GAZED at the sun as though it were an elixir of life. After a deep breath, he looked back down at the gravestone before him. Etched in the sun bleached limestone, "Evelina Solomon – Essence of beauty, taken too soon." Solomon stared down at it for a good while before placing a bundle of white roses in the grass at the foot of the stone. "I've almost finished it my love. Almost," he whispered, placing his hand briefly against the headstone, allowing his fingers to softly run along the edge. A few moments later, he turned to walk away.

Solomon followed the path through the meadow up to the gates of his beloved's original home town of Fairmouth. A guard greeted him at the gate, if it could even be called a greeting.

"Good day old man, are you armed?"

Solomon wrinkled his long crooked nose. "That's a little rude don't you think?"

The guard didn't answer and so Solomon proceeded to open either side of his jacket revealing his firearms, Ravager, and Griever. The act also revealed the plethora of knives he carried ranging in length from under four inches to near ten. The guards eyes shot wide and he took a step back.

"Are you—you certi..."

"Relax," Solomon told the guard who, judging by is apparent age and overall appearance was new to his garrison. "I believe this should take care of it." He retrieved a small card from one of his black coat's many pockets and handed it over. The card detailed his status as a veteran monster hunter and the certificate allowing him to openly carry the type of weaponry that he did. The young guard eyed it carefully, tuned it over, and then turned it back again before returning it to its owner.

"Very well sir. Welcome to Fairmouth."

Solomon nodded and proceeded once the gate was signaled to be opened.

Fairemouth was, like nearly all seaside towns in the country of Mediterannea, kept afloat by the enterprise of fishing. Quite small, with a population of only a few thousand, the town provided a quiet comfort when looked at compared to the bigger cities like Slattheim and Zargo. The dock house was the fanciest building in town and appeared like a governor's mansion. The rest of the village consisted of stacked shops and shanties carved out of wood and stone. Most buildings had not been able to afford glass for their windows and, instead, had metal bars in place. Even the walls surrounding the town seemed a little sad, like there wasn't much they could actually hold up against. But to Solomon's memory there had never been any issues with reachers and such.

He followed the dirt road through the depressed town, receiving varying looks of gloom-riddled scrutiny from men, women, and even the children. The town's claim to fame, a lonesome but lively tavern, stood across the road from the dock house. Solomon climbed the steps to the tavern's patio, hoping the instructions in the letter he'd penned months ago had been clear enough about meeting at this exact spot.

A giant sign featuring a large brown fish hook and the words, _The Rusty Hook_ , marked the tavern. From the outside, it seemed to have been hammered together with bits and pieces of other ruined buildings and boats from the village. No single piece of material matched another. Solomon took a deep breath, threw open the door and stepped inside.

A rush of boisterous noise met him like a gust of wind, a far cry from the overall lackadaisical solitude found throughout the rest of Fairmouth. The Rusty Hook was known by many to be the best pint served in the entire western countryside. It also happened to be a favorite haunt for local scallywags and hopeless drunkards.

"If there was ever a place made for getting into trouble," Solomon said to himself. "This would be it."

The tavern was poorly lit, poorly ventilated, and poorly maintained. A number of overhead lights, as well as several signs hanging on the walls were halfway torn down. Glass crunched under Solomon's boots as he continued a steady walk across the wood plank floor eyeing each table until he found one occupied by a woman who appeared to match the description. He passed two brawls and a deafening roar from the patrons at the bar as the owner shared one of his signature jokes. The general unkemptness of the tavern was often forgiven simply due to the patrons' love of the raucous owner, Theo Elkhorn.

"Hey! Solomon!" Theo called out from behind the bar as he made his way to the back corner table, "What can I get ya?"

"Just give me a minute, Theo," Solomon answered, giving the barkeep a friendly wave as he reached the far corner table.

Solomon waited to sit down. When the young woman looked up at him, he spoke.

"Elizabeth Catherine Bramley, I presume?"

Before he'd finished saying her full name, she already tried to wave him off. "It's just Cat. And you must be the famous Archer Solomon."

He took a seat opposite of her. "Call me Solomon."

The woman called Cat eyed him suspiciously. He returned the look.

"Sorry, you just aren't at all what I expected."

Solomon chuckled. "Well, what impression did my letter give you exactly?"

Cat downed the rest of her beverage, one that appeared to have been black whiskey. A string drink for someone her age, Solomon pondered. She set down her mug and pressed a finger to the bend of her chin. "More of a monster hunter, I suppose. You look like a monster hunter's grandfather."

What was with people and his age today? "I assure you that I am quite able."

"mm-hmm." Cat lifted her empty mug into the air without breaking eye contact with Solomon. Theo was there in a matter of seconds to collect it. "Another please."

"Right away."

"Uh, make that two, Theo."

"Very well, my good man," the barkeep said, nodding at Solomon.

Now that Solomon thought of it, the woman sitting across from him wasn't exactly what he'd expected either when he thought of a _master thief._ She was small but wore the appearance of physically strength with soft round facial features. She was also about as opposite a companion could be for him. Fortunately, based on his research, she possessed just the right set of skills. She wore a dress of bright green and yellow with eyeglasses to match, causing her to appear altogether out of place in the dank, rough atmosphere of The Rusty Hook. Her least colorful garments were the black leggings and oversized boots she wore with her dress. It was an uncommon practice and likely indicated that she was of an eclectic nature. Her jet black flowing hair probably extended down past her waistline when it wasn't tied up fancifully above her head as it was today.

She still hadn't broken her gaze when both drinks arrived. Obviously taken aback by what was happening at Solomon's table, Theo Elkhorn backed away slowly.

"Well, I suppose I'll start. You have what I asked you to retrieve?"

Cat smirked and retrieved an old green leather-bound book from a messenger bag sitting beside her on the bench.

When Solomon saw the dust riddled pages of the old book, his eyes lit up with excitement. "It was buried deep down in the archives as I suggested, right? My God, how did you manage it?!"

"With goddamn difficulty. I had to pose as a nurse for over a week in that hellhole of a hospital before I even had a chance to go down there without being watched."

"Yes, excellent," he said, only half paying attention. His mind was stuck marveling at the notebook.

Cat cleared her throat loudly, causing Solomon to lose his train of thought and look up at her.

"I'm terribly sorry," he said and retrieved his end of their bargain, an envelope from a pocket inside his coat. "It is very nice work, Cat. Have you begun reading it?"

She waited until she'd opened the envelope and counted the notes inside to answer. Eight hundred notes had been what enticed her to the task, but Solomon still felt certain her motivations were about to change.

"I read a good portion on the way here. Can already tell this William Mooncaster was a character. You know, that name feels very familiar. I'm just not sure—"

"Perhaps you're thinking of Lucien Mooncaster, the violinist. He's quite famous there in Zargo. William was his great grandfather."

"Ah," she said, nodding her head. "That makes sense."

"Did you get as far as the sixty-eight page? It's quite significant."

Cat thought for a moment. "I stopped somewhere around that many. He'd begun to describe some sort of monster but the following page was missing."

Solomon felt a childlike glee well up inside him seeing his plan play out. He tried to hide it and show no emotion, nothing preconceived as he retrieved an old page of parchment from the same pocket that had kept the envelope of money. The page contained handwriting in ink and the jagged edge of one that been forcibly removed from its home. He handed the page to Cat.

"I believe this one hear will allow you to continue where you left off."

She looked at him suspiciously and snatched the page from his outstretched hand. Solomon waited patiently as her eyes moved over the document like the carriage of a typewriter. Her froze and grew to saucers when she reached the point he was waiting for.

"The Lioness? The monster is called the Lioness?"

Solomon pursed his lips. "Is there some significance to the name, Ms. Bramley?" She narrowed her eyes. "I mean, Cat."

"It was one of the last things my brother said to me. You must've known, how?"

"It's certainly possible to have been a lucky guess."

Cat rolled her eyes. "Solomon, part of recruiting me included bailing me out of jail. I can't have been the best available thief in your search."

"Fine. Though, I will say that you proved your skills worthy with this," he said holding up the green notebook. "I didn't know explicitly, but I familiarized myself with what happened to your brother and it seemed to fit the mold. And as you may have guessed—"

"The last job you have to do is her isn't it. The job you mentioned being busy with in the letter?"

Just as Solomon began to speak, an obviously drunk individual crashed into their table with drool hanging from his lower lip as he struggled to speak. "Hey there good lookin'," he blathered. "How about you drop off your grandpa at the p—park and let me show you the belly of this beast, huh?"

Before Cat could say anything in response, Solomon stood and drew Ravager from its holster. He pulled back the hammer, and pressed the cold steel into the man's temple forcefully enough to nearly knock the man back a step.

"I've got a better idea. How about you search through the six or seven thoughts floating around that wholly insignificant brain of yours for something a little more gentlemanly to say or I'll scatter them for you."

The drunken fool stared back blankly with his hands raised midway into the air and backed away from their table slowly. Much to the perturbation of Solomon, the commotion had drawn the attention of everyone in the tavern. A glance around the room revealed patrons of varying dispositions from shock to fear to anger. With slow and careful motion, he holstered his pistol and one by one the patrons returned to their own business. Solomon turned to Cat and seated himself, picking the conversation back up where it had been so rudely interrupted.

"As I was about to say, yes, it's true," he said, leaning in and lowering his voice to just above a whisper. "I am going after the Lioness and I could use some help, to be perfectly honest."

Solomon waited as Cat stared up at him, wide eyed. He added, "of course, if you have other business to attend to, I wouldn't take it personally."

She raised both hands and shook her head from side to side. "No, no. I want in."

Solomon smiled. "I was hoping you would agree. Now, knowing what you've just learned about the monster Mr. Mooncaster wrote about, what else can be surmised from the text?"

"From what I know about sirens, it's pretty safe to assume he was dealing with two of them."

"What makes you say that?" Solomon inquired with an eyebrow lifting high toward his forehead.

"The jewel he mentioned her always wearing. It's not heavily documented, but those jewels are bound to their power and life-force. As inhuman spirits, they require them to inhabit our world. The other giveaway is the siren's supposed weakness to music. More so than the former, music, particularly the siren's individual and unique song, is both its greatest weapon and its greatest weakness. They are as attracted to music as their own victims are to them."

Solomon smiled even bigger, this was a dynamic he hadn't been expecting. "You really know your siren lore."

Cat tilted her head and blushed slightly. "I wasn't always a thief you know?"

"What were you before that?"

"I went to the University for religious and mythic studies."

Solomon nodded. He knew just how short the world was on financial opportunities in that field.

"Well anyways," Cat began again. "He didn't go into detail as to how he accomplished it or if he somehow came into possession of the siren's song, but he used music to vanquish one of the two before the other siren began to appear to him, though only fleetingly. It also seemed that he was of a sound mind before the appearance of the second. At least, the contrast between the entries indicated as much."

Solomon stroked the ends of his beard.

"Something else with the dates of the entries stuck out to me. I noticed that if you consider the time that the majority of these shipwrecks began, the death of the first siren, and the appearance of the reachers, I can't help but think they are all somehow connected."

"You mean the reachers and the sirens?"

"Precisely," Cat said.

"I have suspected as much as well. I think it's time we head back to Zargo."

"You can't be serious? That's where I just came from. Do you have any idea how long that carriage ride was?"

Solomon chuckled as he watched the annoyance on his companion's face. "Well, let's consider the points you have just offered. She has preyed on at least two victims who were originally native to Zargo, including William and myself. Also, the city is essentially the music capital of the world. If she indeed has a weakness for music, that might be the place to start, don't you think?"

"You knew all along," Cat replied with a scowl. "Why not just meet there to begin with?"

Solomon looked around and lifted his mug up to his face. "Because I never miss a chance to stop in at the Rusty Hook."
8

The House Guest

LYRA'S EYELIDS OPENED sluggishly. The light of midday penetrated the tall rectangular windows of the guest room and splashed against the rug and large four-post king-sized bed. She hadn't slept as well as last night in decades. Her normal nights consisted mostly of the bare, broken stone floor of the ruined temple on her remote island. The plush guest bed was a far cry from that.

"About goddamn time," came a voice from a part of the room not bleached by sunlight.

Lyra sighed; she'd almost forgotten the deal she had agreed to already, especially after she'd seen _him,_ and more importantly, heard him play. The man that slept two rooms away from her was Anders. She didn't know how it was possible. In fact, she knew very well just how impossible it was; but somehow, it was him.

"Do you mind?" she asked in the direction of the shadow where the voice had come from.

"Not at all actually," Tenebris hissed. He stepped forward from with his arms crossed, and a disgusting, perverse smirk across his face.

"That means turn around!" she commanded as she slid off the giant bed with a blanket wrapped around her. She knew about Tenebris' unfortunate affinity for her and the fact that she had caused it but he had, for the past several thousand years, conducted himself as a gentleman before her. This desperate and somewhat vile behavior was new. She wasn't sure whether or not to be alarmed.

"Do bear in mind; I didn't watch you last night like some sick fanatic. I'm simply keeping an eye on my interests. I need to make sure you follow through," he said as she changed into a dress behind the door of the large wardrobe. "Don't think I haven't noticed the way you've been looking at him."

Lyra said nothing. She cursed herself for being so transparent.

"Despite that potential hang-up, I have to say I'm impressed with the pace things are moving. It may not take nearly as long as I thought for his soul to trade places with mine."

Lyra slammed the wardrobe shut and emerged wearing a bandeau-style, knee-length white dress. She watched the slick demon start to sweat when he saw her. She also happened to notice the corner of his lip trying to curl upward. He was fighting it.

"You knew," she said in a hushed but harsh whisper. She threw a glance at the door to her room as though she anticipated an appearance by her host in response to the commotion.

"What are you talking about?"

"You fucking knew it, don't lie to me."

Tenebris put his hands up in front of her and took a step back. "You need to slow down, Lyra. I have no idea what you could mean."

"No idea? He's a goddamn spitting image of my Anders and you knew it from the start. This is the real reason we're here, isn't it? So you can see me suffer because I've refused to be with you? Trying to get even?"

"Oh we're quite _even_ as it is, Lyra," the demon said in a way indicating he was trying to be nonchalant but really, he was hiding something.

Lyra wondered only for a brief moment what he might mean before remembering her train of thought. She couldn't bring herself to admit in front of him that the agony she felt due to her sister's missing jewel subsided when she was near him and altogether alleviated when he played his violin. Tenebris would surely twist that to support his own argument that she thought of this boy as Anders himself.

"Take a look around at this mess you've concocted and maybe you can discover why you're existence has been spent perpetually alone. Why you will always be alone. You're a snake. You'd do well to keep your distance from me!"

"Remember what's at stake, Lyra," he said coolly though her back was already to him.

Lyra rushed out of the room and slammed the door shut behind her. She leaned against the door with her eyes closed for several seconds trying hastily to calm down, lest she have to explain to Anders— to Lucien what happened in her empty room. She wiped the tears from her eyes before they were given the chance to leave her lashes.

With great apprehension, she turned to look toward the door to Lucien's room. The door was wide open and the hall was silent.

"Please be downstairs, please be downstairs," she chanted softly as she minced toward the open door. It was empty and the bed was made. She breathed a sigh of relief and started to turn around when she nearly jumped out of her skin. The master of the house had walked up and was standing directly behind her.

"Good morning. Is everything all right?" he asked, peering over her shoulder into his room.

"Yes, everything is well. I was just—" Her voice trailed. She simply could not finish the sentence.

"It's all right," he said with a smile. The same smile Anders used to give her. "There's nothing too interesting in there, just my bed, a few books, and some clothes."

"Right, I suppose I was going to see if you were still asleep," she said.

"Oh. No, it's half past noon. I'm usually up by nine or ten. There is still some toast in the kitchen from earlier if you'd like."

"Sounds lovely," she said, offering as convincing a smile as she could conjure. She followed him as he led her down to the kitchen where as promised, a large plate of toast waited on the center island.

The two of them leaned against the same counter and nibbled at the buttered toast. The pieces of bread had grown cold but she didn't care much. Her host didn't seem to either. She could see from the look on his face that the gears in his head were turning.

"So, do you know where you'll be headed when you recover?"

A quiet alarm began to sound in the back of Lyra's mind at question. She could tell by his eyes what he really meant.

"Well, not really," she started. "I hadn't thought that far ahead. Is there business you need to attend to when that day comes? It's all right, you can tell me."

She didn't want to _make_ him say it, and yet, she did it anyway.

"Okay. I had intended to go on a journey, yesterday morning. I spent years restoring a boat for that very purpose. At dawn I was to leave maybe to return. That part didn't matter. I was headed to, uh, well that part is sort of hard to say."

Lyra reached a hand out and placed it over his hand leaning against the kitchen island. Lucien took a deep breath. There is a monster, maybe more of a legend really, that lives out at sea. There is a general consensus that this monster, the _Lioness_ killed my parents. I wanted to go out on the same route my parents took, and I don't know exactly, at least find out the truth."

With her hand over his, she felt the hatred, grief, and fear, several years' worth inside of him. She could help but bring her other hand to her mouth, symbolizing more disbelief than anything else as his story unfolded. She pulled her hand back.

"You mean to kill the monster."

Her host seemed to get particularly tangled up in his words after the remark. Lyra was well aware of the exploits of the Lioness. How could she not? A fellow terrorizer of the sea. Suddenly her thoughts were interrupted by a fit of raucous laughter. She found Lucien's face like a stone wall. The laughter was coming from elsewhere. She took a sip of water to disguise the act of scanning the room. And there it was. In the far corner, Tenebris, dressed to the nines, rolling about on the floor clutching his sides.

"Tell me he didn't just say that! This isn't happening! He howled, bursting into another fit.

Lyra's eyes found Lucien's again who'd narrowed his own. He threw a look back over his shoulder toward the corner where Tenebris was making a fool of himself.

"Everything all right? Lucien asked.

She set her half-eaten toast down and tried to think of an answer. Before she could utter a single word, the room around them went completely black.

"Son of a bitch," she heard Lucien mutter under his breath.

"What's happened?" she cried out.

"The gas lines failed. Been happening far more often than usual of late. I'll have to go reset them and relight the fixtures. For now, let's just head for a room with windows." Before she realized what was happening, she felt Lucien take her hand and pull her to walk in a line behind him.

_Quickly, Lyra! Make for the tunnel! I will not let them take you,_ echoed a gruff voice in the back of her mind.

She followed as Lucien tried to lead her through the dark to safety. Memories rushed to her like flaming arrows and she could hear their voices again.

Give her up, Anders! We will find her either way! Give her up and we won't kill you first! This way, men!

Lyra felt her foot catch on something hard, just as it had so many centuries ago. _Her fingers slipped from Anders' hand and she fell against the frozen ground._ " _Colonel, climb up. The ship is waiting for our escape. And you, Lyra. Quickly now."_

She felt Captain Tamas' hands pull her the rest of the way up the ladder and out of the bunker.

When she was standing, she didn't see the worn, battled-hardened face of Colonel Anders' right hand man, Captain Tamas Gerou. It was the soft face of Lucien. The hand not holding onto her grasped a candle. She stared into her host's eyes; the flashback had felt so real—as if she had truly been there again. Her and Anders escape from the island of Rhodes had been just days before his death.

"Are you all right? When I lost your hand, I couldn't see a thing. But I knew my furniture well enough to get to where I could find a candle. I'm sorry if it seemed as though I'd left you."

Lucien's face grew concerned as he watched her stare deep into his eyes. "Is something wrong?"

She realized herself and shook the serrated memories from her mind and then shook her head to answer. "No, no. I'm fine. I'm just a little out of sorts at the moment."

"Ah, I completely understand. Here, we'll go slower this time."

He took her hand once more and led her from the dark with the candle held out in front. She squeezed his hand back and kept the glow of the candle in front of her vision.

Finally, the pair reached the sitting room, where bright sunlight poured in through each of the tall windows.

"The valves are in the cellar. I'll need to run down there and reset them."

Lyra nodded and took a seat on the plush red sofa perpendicular to the fireplace. This was all just a little too much for her. Just before he disappeared from the room she thought of something needing confirmation that might help. "Lucien!" she called after him. He stopped and turned. "Will you play for me?"

Lucien smiled. "Of course."
9

Scarlet

LUCIEN FOUND the large iron plated box in the corner of his dungeon music room. The mechanism was overtly plain except for the large valve and protruding pipes. He placed his candle on top of the box and used both hands as well as a considerable amount of effort to rotate the valve two full cycles to the right, and then back to the left.

He sighed. _Sure hope that works._

On his way back across the room, he caught a glimpse of his violin in the dark sitting on his desk and remembered what she'd asked of him. It'd been a strange, random sort of request, especially with the way she'd asked. The look on her faced had indicated she wasn't interested for listening pleasure. He lowered his candle close enough that the dancing flame reflected off the wooden finish.

She did seem to enjoy listening yesterday.

Perhaps he was concerned for nothing. He packed the instrument and bow into the case. He then threw the case onto his shoulder and headed upstairs.

"All right. I have my violin if you—" he started to say before realizing he was talking to no one. His guest was not in the sitting room where he'd left her. He set his instrument case on the sofa and the candle on the end table as it was soon to expire.

He puzzled momentarily over where she may have gone. The manor was big but at the moment it was mostly dark, leaving few logical places to go. In need of a fresh source of light, he made his way to the foyer. There he kept a lantern meant primarily for venturing out onto the grounds if he needed Mr. Canning for something.

_Maybe this is all too much after enduring such a trauma. If she's gone to hide, she probably needs her space_ , he thought along the way. _Then again, she asked specifically for him to play for her._

His predilection proved incorrect when he found her there standing over the aged, oversized chest kept adjacent to the front doors. It had been flung open with a dense cloud of dust still lingering as Lucien approached.

My God, how many years has it been since that thing has been opened.

Over the years, the chest had seemed to blend into the walls rather than appear as a fixture with any real purpose. Lyra wheezed softly and looked up, allowing her eyes to meet Lucien's.

"I must apologize. My curiosity has gotten the better of me."

Lucien curled his lip under and shook his head to indicate there being no trouble.

"Have you ever used these?" she asked, retrieving a partially rusted hunting rifle from the chest. Lucien shook his head and peered in to see that there was another laying at the bottom of chest without any rust, along with a few pairs of large boots, some rope, and a half depleted box of lead balls.

"The better rifles are kept upstairs," he said gesturing up toward the residential hall. "The one's I had intended on taking.

"Right," Lyra said, scrunching her nose. "Do these ones even still work?"

Lucien saw that her eyes had thrown a glance toward the front doors and assumed she was suggesting a possible solution to the reacher problem.

Perhaps for a crack shot monster hunter, but for me?

"I don't believe these have been shot in about six or seven years," he said. That had been the day his mother took him onto the grounds and taught him how to aim and fire. He'd been hardly a crack shot then and now half a decade had passed since he'd touched a gun. When Lyra looked at him in response, he felt all of the sudden overwhelmed with shame. Here he was, filled with illusions of grandeur, planning to hunt maybe the most dangerous creature in the world. Lyra was trying not to tell him how remarkably stupid his plan was, he could tell.

Lucien reached out to grab the weapon from her. Remembering what his mother had taught him, he checked the powder reserve as well as the frizzen and chamber for corrosion.

"From the looks of it, there should be no issue firing."

Lyra cocked an eyebrow in response. Lucien looked out through the window and saw the creature standing still in the middle of the courtyard. The way the thing stood was peculiar and horrifying. A chill washed over him and he quickly averted his eyes. Despite the dreaded thing not having eyes of its own, it gave the distinct impression that it was watching him.

Lyra kept his eyes on the thing outside as his guest spoke. "Maybe you should step out and there and have a little practice run before you decide on your expedition?"

He felt as if he'd been dropped into a pot of boiling water. He turned back to face her. "You know it's rather silly to consider."

"What's that?"

"I grew up wanting nothing more than to be a fierce monster hunter. I obsessed over stories about Odysseus and Baldrick Armitage, memorizing their exploits. I wanted to be just like them. But here I am, made a prisoner in my own home by just such a monster."

Lucien caught his guest eying the guns.

"I know what you're going to suggest. Those monsters can attack so quickly, it's a pretty big risk to set out there. The post comes out here every other evening in a protected carriage. He will see it out there and notify the hunters. That reacher should no longer be an issue by tomorrow afternoon. As far as the expedition, I know it must seem ridiculous to you. But, I cannot go on any longer without knowing the truth. I can't just sit by with their official fates being termed inconclusive anymore. It's all I have thought of for years now; I have to see it through."

Lyra nodded and started back toward the sitting room where he'd originally left her. Lucien followed.

Lyra took a seat on one of the sofas, briefly eying the case in his hand. "What about the gift you provide people through music? Is your parent's legacy not living through that, would they not proud to see the life that you are leading? I just can't help but wonder the ultimate value of such a suicide mission."

Lucien considered what she had said. "My mother certainly would be. Nevertheless, I still need to know what happened. If I could remove the thirst for vengeance, I would still not be able to go on without knowing the truth. Every single piece of their boat was recovered, you know? But nothing of remains. I just think that's a little too strange."

When Lucien had finished speaking, Lyra had tilted her head away and placed in her hand such a way to block herself from seeing something. Lucien looked over in the direction but nothing was there.

"Are you all right?"

As if coming to her senses, Lyra shook her head slightly. "Yes, I'm terribly sorry."

"No need to be," Lucien answered finally taking a seat himself.

Lyra's eyes seemed to retrace the conversation up to that point. "I was once like you. You think you've found your salvation, but it always comes at a cost. The real journey is deciding what you can afford, or rather, what you're willing to give up. And the longer you exist, the less you have to give."

Lucien looked at her with wide eyes. He opened his mouth to speak but could think of no words to respond with.

"I'm sorry," she said. "That may not have been the answer you were after, but such is the state of my journey."

"Frankly," Lucien said, rubbing a hand along the line of his stubbly jaw, "I'd be hard pressed to find someone else your age with such a firm grasp on their own sense of purpose."

Lyra laughed and raised a hand to her face, seemingly to cover the fact that she was blushing. She cleared her throat.

"I meant to tell you, Anders was my husband, a long time ago."

Lucien nodded and raised his eyebrows in curiosity. He had assumed, after the previous evening, he would hear no more of Anders.

_But what could she mean by a long time ago? How old is this woman?_

"How old are you?" Lucien asked, almost out of turn. He had figured her to be his age if not younger.

She smirked and wagged her finger. "Is that the sort of question to ask a lady?"

"I'm sorry. I—"

"Nevertheless, I am much older than I seem," she said, accompanied by more laughter. Lucien's grew hot once more. _"_ Where we lived, Anders was in charge of the local military installation. Just a week after our wedding, our state was invaded by a host of barbaric men and—though I survived, I lost him."

"I'm so sorry to hear that."

"Like I had said, it was long ago," she said with no emotion at all.

My God, her husband and sister?

Lucien tried to remember when the most recent military campaign took place. He couldn't think of any acts of war committed in at least two hundred years. "I wanted to tell you when you asked," she continued. "There's no real reason why I couldn't. It's just hard to think about losing someone you love, regardless of how long it's been."

Lucien watched Lyra's eyes as she watched the fire before looking down at his hands.

"Were you planning to play?" she asked with a reinvigorated smile.

"Yes, I can do that now."

He watched her clasp her hands together with excitement and couldn't help but smile a little himself.

She sat waiting patiently with her hands folded in her lap. He felt good to see her so content despite what had been happening around her.

He pulled the case over toward him and began to unpack the violin and bow. He quickly tuned the instrument, applied resin to his bow strings, stood and brought the old violin to his chin. As he did, Lyra closed her eyes to listen intently to a true master of his craft.

Lucien thought to begin by playing his current work in progress that she had overheard and already so thoroughly enjoyed. He played the first few bars, the slow adagio of an introduction. Then the next few, the music slowly building as it progressed. Lucien closed his eyes and let his music consume him. He opened them to the deep midnight void where his music lived. The familiar red comets of light jetted and danced through the darkness like stars across the midnight sky. Then something strange happened; Lucien reached the endpoint of what he had written. His playing didn't stop; he continued on, improvising notes without a single forethought. In some mystical, unexplainable way, he suddenly became hyper self-aware of what he was doing but not how. It was as though he sat a ways off, watching himself play the instrument.

Somewhere among the slew of mysterious notes emitting from his fingers, Lucien could have sworn a voice joined forces with that of his violin. The voice was incredibly gorgeous, singing along softly. The blue bolt of light took on a glow brighter than he had seen as a second comet of blue light, seemingly representative of the new voice, joined the fray. It may have been imagined. It may have been from the only other person present. Lucien didn't bother with the details, now entranced wholeheartedly in the song. After several bars alongside the mysterious soprano, Lucien faded the melody down to a conclusive finish. He lowered the violin from his chin but didn't find himself back in the sitting room as would usually happen when the music ended. Dancing lights, now white in hue, sulked around the air above him. They lit the area well enough to see a person standing about fifteen feet away and facing him. Lyra stood looking back at him, but there was something off about her that he couldn't place.

The same tingling sensation from when he'd rescued her, after her eyes had dilated, encompassed every nerve in his body. He watched her clap her hands softly. He felt suddenly frozen as he listened to her speak a strange combination of words that couldn't have been English. She began to walk toward him, the accentuated motion of her hips hardly veiled by her thin dress.

"That was wonderful," she said when she was close to him. She reached a hand behind her back and after a moment, her dress fell to the floor, revealing every curve of her picturesque body. Lucien began to sweat profusely. In a flash, it became overwhelmingly obvious as to what seemed so off about her. Her eyes were a horrifying shade of red, unlike anything he had ever seen. They alone made madness seem like a fair day at the beach. When she was mere feet from him, his violin fell from his hand, striking the murky black floor with a melodious pang as though it had struck stone rather than the rug. The haunting female figure that couldn't have possibly been the same person he'd rescued placed an ice cold hand around the back of his neck and pressed her lips into his. The kiss tasted overwhelmingly of copper. Lucien stood, petrified and helpless.

"This is what you wanted, right? What you always wanted?" she hissed, devilishly.

"What?" Lucien asked, his voice cracking as he did.

"You needn't go any journey Lucien Mooncaster. You need only to stay and continue to play this instrument for your city."

Lucien's vision turned to solid white. After an indiscernible passing of time, he became conscious of the sound of someone clapping their hands. He opened his eyes to find himself back in his home with Lyra seated on the couch as she had been. She was fully clothed and her eyes weren't red at all. Instead they were their usual deep green. The troubling part was that his violin was not in his hand. He looked down at his feet and found he hadn't imagined dropping it.

"That was wonderful," she said with a smile. This time, she didn't walk toward him. She stayed seated. "Is something wrong?" she asked with distress in her voice. Lucien figured the absolute terror he felt must have been showing.

He took a deep breath and then closed his mouth. He stepped back and sat down on the couch next to where his violin case was. He reached down between his feet with trembling hands to retrieve the instrument and placed it in the case.

"No, I-I'm not sure what came over me," he said as he fumbled with the latches on the case.

Lyra looked at him with a cocked eyebrow. Lucien's mind couldn't grasp what had happened before he opened his eyes to the sitting room. He found himself barely able to look up at her. The taste of copper still lingered on his lips and seemed to turn sour. "Was that you singing?" he asked, finally looking back up at her.

Lyra frowned, curling her lip over. "What singing?"

Lucien allowed his mouth to hang open for a long moment before shaking his head from side to side as if to shake the thoughts from his mind. He decided then to sweep whatever he had seen under the rug and to not speak of it any further. How could he accuse her of something he wasn't certain she had done? He pulled his watch from his pocket to check the time. When he did, he jumped from the couch and with his index finger, pulled the collar of his shirt away from his neck. How could he have forgotten that it was a rehearsal day?

Now that he thought about it, he didn't want to miss and spoil his perfect record. On top of that, he needed a breather away from Lyra. As ridiculous as it felt to even think the thought, he had the strangest sensation that Lyra was casting some sort of spell over him. It was just too much and it felt so damned hot in that room.

This is what you wanted, right? What you always wanted?

Lucien shuddered and threw the strap of his violin case over his shoulder. Without looking up or saying a word, he made a straight line for the front double doors.

"But what about the—" he half heard her voice trail off the further he got from the sitting room. He only remembered the lurking abomination as he placed his hand against the fringe of the door.

He stopped short, cursing himself in the process. _I can't do this. I can't do this. I have to get out of here,_ he begged of himself.

The old giant chest still sitting open caught his eye. He looked over and saw the two hunting rifles. He mulled the thought around for a handful of seconds and grabbed the gun that was in the better shape of the two. He checked that it was loaded and pushed his way through the front door, feeling a tremendous burden lift from him when it shut behind him.

He expected to find the reacher exactly where it had been when he had spotted it watching him through the window. Instead, the courtyard was free of any such monsters. With careful, precise movements, Lucien descended the steps and walked in the direction of the stable. He kept his eyes all around him until he reached the swing gate. Before proceeding, he rested the rifle against his shoulder and gave the grounds a quick scan.

Nothing.

He wanted to call for Mr. Canning but what if the thing was oblivious to him only until it heard his voice?

He turned to undo the latch of the stable and that's when he heard it. The awful dragging and hissing growl he last heard just the morning before. He looked over his shoulder and saw the evil thing bounding for him, waving its claws wildly as it approached.

Lucien stumbled back, reaching for the firearm. He grasped it but tripped over his own feet in the process and landed on his back. Shaking and sweating profusely, he lifted his torso by aid of the railing, pointed the weapon, and pulled the trigger.

In place of the expected deafening gunshot, came an empty, heart sinking click. Lucien pulled the trigger again with the creature now mere meters away. The same cold and helpless click sounded again. Lucien shook the gun and slapped his hand against the ammunition compartment. Finally, a menacing pop cracked through the air and through the reacher's skull, splashing the grass between his legs with a thick purple liquid.

Lucien glared at the gun in his hand while pondering how the creature's blood could have possibly ended up where it had. The reacher collapsed onto the ground revealing behind it, the figure of Lyra standing at the top of the steps with a rifle in hand, pointed his direction.

*~*~*

"What the hell was the meaning of all of that?" cam a voice after Lyra returned inside and placed the old rifle back where it belonged. She looked up through the top of her eyes to see Tenebris standing with his weight on one foot and his back leaning against the stone wall.

"There is something about him. First of all I know damn well were the jewel is, it's embedded in the wood of his missing instrument. He bears possession."

The demon smile his disgusting smile. "Then now you know for yourself he will have to die for you to properly reclaim it."

"That's simply not the case," Lyra said firmly.

"And why the hell not?"

He wields its power as though he were born to do so. Playing that violin should have killed him. Instead he flourishes. Things are returning to balance as they are."

The sides of Tenebris' face melted downward. She could tell what he was thinking without him uttering a single word.

"Things have changed Tenebris, I don't know what you want me to tell you."

Finally he answered. "Changed, huh? We'll just see about that."
10

The Rehearsal

GREY CLOUDS LOOKED down on the city of Zargo as Lucien tied his horse behind the Berlioz Amphitheater. He walked along the stone path slower than he might normally have, reflecting on the events that had transpired since the last meeting of the orchestra.

"Hold the door please."

The voice came from behind him. A voice he used to know quite well—the voice of Helayna Margott.

"Of course," he said, placing himself against the door to hold it for her. The scent of jasmine and fresh strawberries engulfed his senses as she passed. Lucien stayed in the doorway, his feet feeling as though they'd grown roots and burrowed into the ground. The harpist, donning a knee length flared skirt, blouse, and matching jacket, took a few steps before turning around and smiling. Lucien pulled himself together and stepped out of the doorway and over toward her.

"Hello Lucien. It has been a while," she said.

This time Korra wasn't there to interfere with his ability to have a conversation with her. Lucien twisted his fingers together behind his back until they were in a knot.

"It certainly has."

On second thought, he rather wished Korra was there. What was the best thing to say? There was so much, but he didn't want to sound foolish. He knew he already must look the part. Helayna looked over her shoulder at the instrumentalists gathering on the stage and then looked back, still smiling that wonderful smile. "Look. I want to say I'm sorry for what happened five years ago—for how I treated you."

Helayna shook her head, the corners of her lips still retaining their touch of upward curl. "It's water under the bridge and long gone at this point. But, as for my part, I'm sorry I just disappeared after it happened without saying anything. That wasn't fair to you. Not with what you were going through."

Lucien nodded and smiled back at her triumphantly. It felt as though a full grown dragon had been lifted from his back.

Lucien cleared his throat. "So," he said, pausing to clear it again. "How long are you here for? Is it a permanent move?"

"I suppose that remains to be seen. I need to see how a few things pan out." She looked over her shoulder at the stage again. "Would you like to talk more afterward? It looks like they may be getting ready to begin."

"Certainly. Most certainly," he said before the two of them made their way to their own chairs on the stage without their lyrebirds seeing how it was just a rehearsal.

Lucien didn't bother to place any of his sheet music on the stand in front of him as he had the work memorized. They were to practice the ninth symphony of Schubert. It was one of Lucien's favorites. He was excited to finally get to perform it. Though he didn't want to admit it, he felt even more excited for the chance to speak with Helayna some more after the rehearsal was complete.

With the maestro's signature commencement move, an abrupt raising and lowering of his hands, the orchestra began to play. After several measures of introduction by the French horns, Lucien put his bow to the strings. As soon as he did, he could no longer hear the orchestra or himself playing. He stopped, removed his bow, and then placed it to the strings again. Enigmatically, it was to the same effect. He tried his best not to panic, as well as not to disturb the other members of the orchestra. He attempted to play softly through what he hoped was only temporary deafness. After a few bars, his thoughts were overwhelmed with a strange likeness of the woman he rescued outside of his manor. All he could see before him were the haunting red eyes from before, driving deep like the fangs of a snake into his soul. He heard her angelic voice laughing softly, beckoning him away from reality further and further. The maddening sound of a horde of bees faded in from nothing, growing louder by the second.

He felt the sudden urge to vomit. Dark, horrid things crept of their own accord into his mind. He could see a man with a grey beard dressed in dark clothing and a dark hat standing outside on the grounds of his estate. The man had a gun pointed at one of his horses. Lucien listened to himself think the words, " _Die you fucking worthless animal!"_ as the man in all black pulled the trigger, splattering dark red across the wall of the stable. The buzzing of bees grew into a deafening roar.

Oh God! Where is that sound coming from?

His own voice screamed in his mind.

When Lucien snapped free from his lurid daydream, every member orchestra had stopped playing to stare at him. Embarrassment flooded like boiling water, his cheeks must have been three shades of red.

"Is there a problem with the piece, Lucien?" Michelo asked, pointedly. "You were well off key and missed multiple cues entirely."

"No, I'm fine I just—I don't know what happened. I'm all right now," he stuttered as he vigorously rubbed the inside of his ear with his forefinger.

"All right then, from the top everyone," Michelo called out, followed by mass rustling of papers. Lucien turned around to catch an impatient glare from a flutist with wild red hair—the same woman Helayna had been speaking to the other evening. He turned back around and readied his violin under his chin.

Just as before, Michelo led the instrumentalists off starting with the French horn section, and just as before, when Lucien began playing, he lost all ability to hear. It seemed again as if his ear canals had filled with bees, only the buzzing had now become debilitating. The image of Lyra's face was plastered in his mind. Her demonic eyes stared directly into him as blood ran freely from the corners of her mouth. Black ran from all directions of her eye sockets like the legs of a spider. He tried his hardest to block the thoughts from his mind but nothing would do. It didn't matter how well he knew the piece, he was unable to play along without his ears. Without any sort of transition or voluntary enactment of thought, Lucien was strangling the life from Helayna with his bare hands. Everything was dark except for the harpist's red smeared face sobbing as she fought for her life. Lucien felt himself say aloud, "No, not this! Anything but this!" followed by complete silence.

Michelo ran his hand across the deep wrinkles of his forehead, "Anything but what, Lucien? Are you sure you're all right? This piece ought to be your bread and butter."

Lucien looked up at the conductor's podium. Only now, he realized he was standing and his violin lay at his feet as though it had been tossed there. He thought he must be experiencing some sort of delirium.

"Actually," he began. "I'm not quite well after all; you'll have to do without me."

Lucien stormed off the stage and up the aisle toward the theater lobby. He heard the calls of Michelo trying to stop him but he paid no mind.

He wandered back and forth outside, attempting to grasp what was happening to his mind as drops of rain began to fall. He had felt nothing like himself for most of the day. Even the building surrounding him felt _darker_ than usual.

He ran through the events of the past three days over and over during the ride back through the red glowing tunnel. From the shipwreck to the hallucination of the birds, to Lyra joining him in his euphonic dreamscape as he played for her, to finally whatever had just transpired on the stage.

Lyra's words pricked at the back of his minds like the thorns of a rosebush. Though in some ways euphoric, the feeling of her lips pressed against his with those awful red eyes turned his stomach, causing him to quickly pull up on the reins and lean his body over to hurl. He felt surprisingly better after that and made the rest of the trip home attempting to think as little as he could.

He entered the manor peeking around corners as he walked in hopes to see where Lyra was before she saw him. He scoured the house before finding her bedroom door shut, concluding that she must have grown tired and gone to bed early. He contemplated what sort of conversation he could have with her regarding the recent occurrences. He couldn't accuse her of doing something he was almost certain he had imagined. He thought of Helayna and what she might think of his situation. Then he remembered the last thing she'd said to him. He cursed his luck for missing his opportunity to speak more with her.

What if that had been it? What if her stay was indeed temporary and that was my last chance?

He decided that was of little importance. He would try to subtly allow Lyra to know that if she was indeed well she needed to move on and he needed to take his boat out on the water. He sat down on the couch after perusing his living room bookshelves, attempting to regain a feeling of peace. Given the manner in which he attained many of his books, in giant lots from libraries and museums, he often stumbled across works that he didn't know he had. Often books would jump out at him, begging to be read. That evening, _Myths and Monsters of Ancient Greece_ was that book. He sat on his couch and tried fruitlessly to clear his head by reading for several hours before falling asleep to the rhythmic patter of the rain.
11

Road to Zargo

ABOARD A FOUR horse carriage, Archer Solomon stared intently through a small square window, studying the landscape as it passed him by. He and Cat had been traveling the countryside at a lightning fast pace for nearly an hour. With forest covered mountains to the north and the shimmering blue sea to the south, sights and sounds were abundant. Solomon had hardly moved a muscle during the journey except to stroke the wiry hairs of his beard. He remained deep in thought, his eyes locked onto the mountains and evergreen firs that quickly passed them by.

He broke his concentration and looked over at his companion. She'd been watching him for much of the journey. He could tell something was on her mind, masked by an expression of perpetual annoyance. The two looked at each other for several seconds before Solomon looked off, prompting Cat to finally speak.

"You know, Solomon, I don't believe you ever told me where you are originally from?"

"As that information really necessary?"

Cat narrowed her eyes for a moment. "If we're going to working together it will help to build some trust."

Solomon looked back at her as a smirk formed. His hand moved from his chin to his lap. "Would you believe me if I told you I couldn't remember exactly?"

"Actually, I would," she answered.

He could tell she was closely examining the deep wrinkles that lined his face.

"If it answers your question, I've spent a considerable amount of time in Zargo during my adolescence, where we're headed. And you?"

She nodded. "I grew up in the shit hole that is Prymoth."

Solomon knew this, of course. But he didn't feel she needed to know the extent of her background that he'd dug up.

"That explains much."

"Well, what the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Cat prompted.

"Such language. I simply meant that it explains why you studied what you did."

"I would have studied what I chose to regardless of where I lived. It just so happened that I lived down the block from the best school in the field."

"You mean the _only_ school for pre-Collapse demonology and mythology. But I'm rather curious. Mustn't you be in close cohorts with your maker to carry out such a career? And is cursing not something that is frowned upon?"

"I have faith enough. And I'm not exactly a damn priestess," she said, cocking her head to one side. "Besides, we all have our vices."

"Well, how does one such as you desire something so dark then?"

"Well, the culture and beliefs of ancient civilizations have always been personal interests. That bled into my religious studies to an extent, but it's more to do with my brother, Garron."

"Ah," Solomon exclaimed, smacking his lips.

"He'd always had big dreams," she said. "He wanted to change the world, you could say. He'd finally saved up the funds with his university friends and took the first chance that came to see the outside world."

"Where exactly?" Solomon interrupted.

"The Far East, out past the Veiled Sea. He went as the most confident and charismatic person I'd ever known and came back afraid of the dark. Almost everything about him had changed."

"Changed? How so?"

"Well, he and I had been very close and after he returned, I hardly recognized him and for some reason, he kept his distance from me. The trip had been only three weeks long and he returned with darkened eyes, pale skin, and a frailty to him that broke my heart. The way he spoke and carried himself had also changed. He always had an eye over his shoulder and he never slept in the dark. He would hoard every candle in the house to his room each night and then return them the following morning. It drove our parents mad."

Solomon nodded along. He returned to twisting the end of his beard around his fingertips as he listened.

"His behavior was frightening and I couldn't bear it any longer, so I approached him. When I did, he looked at me very sternly. I saw something in his eyes—something I couldn't quite place but it was something I'll never forget. He wouldn't tell me exactly what had happened no matter how much I begged. He just kept urging me to help keep him from the dark, like keeping his candles lit and such. He had to keep the darkness from finding him. He said it was all thanks to his friend Oliver that a monster was coming for him; some creature he referred to as the _Lioness_."

Solomon nodded.

"I take it you knew of that part?" she asked.

"Not necessarily." This garnered a huff from Cat.

"Well, it is interesting," Solomon went on. "Did you look into this Oliver character?"

"That was where I started. The thing was, I couldn't find him anywhere and also, he seemed to not have any family. It was only after going through a box of Garron's things I found in the attic that I discovered what happened. His family had been in a shipwreck when he was very young. Somehow only he survived. He was passed around various boys' homes after that.

"Well, do you think there were actually people after your brother?"

"I never saw anyone suspicious around in that time after he returned. But it started to seem more and more like something _inhuman_ was after him. One night, not long after I had initially gone to him, we were running low on candles and he had been forced to retire with far fewer than usual. My parents and I were awoken that night by a fit of screams coming from his room. Only, these weren't your average cries of pain. I'm talking about sounds that would keep you up at night long afterward. We ran to him and found his room completely dark. My brother was unconscious. He'd slipped into a coma that he would never come out of. I tried to explain to my distraught parents what I thought had happened and what he had said to me before."

"How did they take that news?"

"They wondered how I could suggest something so goddamn ridiculous at such a time. They were insulted by the idea and continually beat themselves up for not getting him help from a psychologist sooner."

"But, you didn't believe he was suffering from any sort of illness, did you?"

"No, he wasn't. I believed wholeheartedly that something legitimate was after him. I also believe that whatever it was had succeeded. He lived out the rest of his days in a hospital."

Solomon felt himself wince reflexively.

"I'm his memory's only chance at retribution. I'm the only one looking for real answers as to what happened."

Solomon grimaced. "Well, you should know that I'm one of very few people in the world that can relate to your story, how's that for trust?"

Cat nodded and smiled at him before looking down at her feet. As she did, he noticed her narrow her eyes as though something peculiar had caught them. He looked down to see the shimmering white gold bracelet he hid under his sleeve had fallen to rest against the meat of his hand. He shoved it back into his sleeve to conceal it from the woman's curious gaze.

"Hmm," Cat grumbled, scrunching her nose.

"Allergies again, Elizabeth?" he asked, his voice thick with sarcasm.

She scoffed. "That bracelet's a little out of character, don't you think?"

"It's a tiger lily."

Cat scoffed, "Well I didn't necessarily take you for a tiger lily kind of person."

"And what kind of person is that?"

"Not the same kind of person that carries thirty-some-odd knives, doesn't sleep, and spends his time hunting and slaying monsters," she said with a proud sophistication.

"The bracelet is merely a memento. It actually represents the unfinished business that we're going to _finish_."

Cat looked down at the green book sitting on the seat beside her. "The siren in the journal? The Lioness?"

"She seemed to have it out for me, stripping me of everything and everyone I cared for. But it's gone deeper than that. It's something much bigger now. What happened to me and William Mooncaster aside, the sheer number of unsolved shipwrecks and missing ships over the past century, the growing numbers of reachers, it's all stacking up and frankly leading to something much darker than this world has seen."

Cat nodded.

"I believe we are on the right track to find out soon enough."

Cat nodded again before picking the journal up and flipping it open to her page marker. Solomon returned to watching the landscape and stroking the ends of his beard.

After the smooth ride of the dirt road transitioned to that of uneven cobblestones, their carriage came to a halt. Solomon heard the driver climb down and snatch the door open.

"Zargo Philharmonic practice hall as requested, sir."

"Thank you kindly; here you go," Solomon said, handing the man his payment after he and Cat had climbed out. The driver was quickly off, leaving the two travelers standing on the stone sidewalk in front of a very large building featuring no sign.

The aroma of hickory and roasted coffee beans filled Solomon's nose as he eyed the age old streets and unkempt, crooked brick buildings. He turned to face the giant practice hall as a group of instrumentalists filed out through the front door, each carrying an instrument case.

"Why did you request to come here?" Cat asked, looking up at Solomon.

"It's a centralized location, of course. City hall is not too far, good food all around, prospective living spaces, and then the potential significance of music and the orchestra here. I figured we ought to stay close by just in case. They're performing tonight, you know. A concert might be worth seeing."

Cat nodded softly as she looked all around her.

"For now, we need to get room arrangements nearby and a hot meal, if possible."

"I had meant to ask. Where is that music coming from? When I was last here and wasn't stuck trying to infiltrate the hospital, it seemed to be unending."

"You truly haven't spent much time here, have you?" he said with a hearty laugh.

Cat's face featured its usual state of annoyance and she shook her head.

"You see these brass pipes lining the buildings and how they seem to stop there at the bell on the corner?"

"Yes," she said, following the structure as far as she could see.

"It's sort of a transit system for the city orchestra's music. The pipes carry it all over town so that everyone can hear it."

Cat furrowed her brow. "But, why?"

"Come. Follow me this way," he said.

She followed as he continued. "A large portion of the population, including the queen herself, has believed for quite some time that the sound of music alone is a defense against the reachers. That it somehow makes them docile."

"Do you believe it's true?"

"Do you see me carrying two clarinets on my belt?" Solomon answered.

"Fair enough."

Solomon stopped and turned to walk down an alley between two buildings. "The movement gained a lot of traction when they put this pipe system together about four years ago. Reacher sightings did decline near the city, and sharply too."

"But it wasn't because of the music?"

"No one talks about the fact that the number of monster hunters on the city's payroll almost tripled during that time. Honestly, if it weren't for Queen Augustina peddling the superstition, the movement wouldn't be what it is."

"I've heard a lot of stories of the queen here. Doesn't she have dementia or something?"

"Quite likely," Solomon answered. "She is eighty-eight years old after all. I'm interested to see what happens with all of that when she goes. Without an heir, whoever takes over her position is not likely to agree with very many of her policies."

Cat stayed silent and stuck close behind as he found his way to the end of the alley.

"Here we are. Just a quick climb up this ladder here," he said as he patted his hand against the rusted rod iron steps.

Solomon made his way up each of the three flights and then waited beside the brass lined glass dome for Cat to arrive. When she did, he placed his hand against the sliding knob.

"Won't they escape if you open that?" she asked with alarm before peering down through the glass.

"Not at all. These lyrebirds here are flightless," he said before sliding the glass panel open. He knew exactly what to expect and still Cat's reaction brought half of a smile to his face. She stared through the opening, eyes wide and mouth hanging open like an infant who just heard their mother's voice.

A beautiful recreation of a symphonic adagio wafted up and swirled around them. Solomon even felt his own senses relax and take in the wondrous synchronized phenomenon that was the emperor lyrebird. When the piece slowed to a conclusion and the bird in command gave its wings several flaps, Solomon closed the opening.

He leaned himself against the glass dome and watched bemused as his companion processed what she had seen.

"How?" she cried, throwing her arms up.

Solomon laughed heartily. "Those are a very special breed of lyrebird, retrieved from the forests near Kalypathnia, a great ways away from here. Lyrebirds can mimic any sound they hear." He pointed his finger at the glass. "This bread is especially adept at remembering musical sounds and rehashing in synchronized fashion—so long as the lead lyrebird is present."

"The lead?"

"The one with blue feathers below its crown, you may have noticed."

"How do you know so much about them?"

Solomon turned around and peered down into the aviary. "Long before I'd retired, I was part of the operation to protect and bring them here."

"Well," Cat began to say slowly. "Thank you for showing me. I've never seen anything like it."

The pair climbed back down to ground level and started on the route in which they had come. "Can't help but wonder though," she said, stopping in the alley.

Solomon responded to the ceasing of her footsteps and turned around to listen.

"How do those birds feel about all of that? Being forced to sing day and night inside that cage?"

Solomon had to admit that he had never considered such an angle. "You make a good point. But, those birds would do what they are doing in the wild all the same. The city takes good care of them—makes sure they're comfortable enough."

"I suppose," she said, cocking her head to one side as if deep in thought. "Well since were here, what's our next move?"

Solomon felt the ends of his mouth curl into a grin. "First, we secure an apartment. Then, we capture a reacher. Alive."
12

The Daughters of Achelous

"The bloom is bountiful this season I see."

"Quite," Lyra said to her sister as she walked past her up the marble steps of the temple. It had been indeed. She'd been able to pick nearly thirty maroon roses every day for the past month. She carried her current bundle in both arms up the second set of steps and inside. Her bare feet gripped the cold floor as she watched the flames of the everlasting torches lining the walls dance in the reflection.

At the end of the long silent hall, she made a left turn into the room she'd dedicated to her flowers. A great assortment of flora hung from string across every wall. Several buds were pressed into large books on the thick wooden planks of the table pushed into the corner. More still were ground up or ready to be ground up for various purposes. Her current recipe—a simple potpourri—was nearly complete. It would be a triumph compared to the last, a concoction requested by Alethea to draw men to the island. It had drawn little more than driftwood over the course of the past two months.

Lyra pulled a wooden stool to the table and sat down to remove the fresh bundle's stems for proper drying. As she did, she sensed the presence of another and heard a break in the steady whistle of the breeze coming from the temple's entry.

"You know I don't like to be bothered while I'm in here, Alethea," she said, tapping her fingers against the surface of the wood table. There was no response. She turned to throw a quick glance over her shoulder and saw her sister standing in the doorway looking pale and with her lips curled in.

"Well?"

"You need to see this," she finally said, taking a step into the room. Lyra watched the rapid rise and fall of her sister's chest and shoulders as she breathed. She concluded she must have just run from somewhere.

Could be something serious after all.

Lyra stood from the stool and followed her sister from the temple to the edge of the forest, her anticipation rising with every step. By the time they reached the forest's edge, just in earshot of the tide, her stomach had wound its way into knots.

"Would you just tell me what is going on?" she called out ahead of her.

Alethea mumbled something that sounded like, "She would see soon enough."

With white sand and green sea in plain sight, Alethea stopped and ducked down against a fallen tree trunk. Lyra followed.

She looked at her sister who was now sporting a maniacal grin.

"Your potion worked. That is the very bay in which I used it—spread it into the sand at the crest of the tide just as you said. And it worked!"

Lyra couldn't believe what she was hearing. She stood and leaned over the trunk's rotten bark, peering at the beach. Sure enough, the bodies of four individuals could be seen lying beside the remnants of a wooden boat.

"Hardly a success," Lyra said before looking back at Alethea still crouched behind the base of the trunk. "It looks like they may well be dead, their souls already given up to the divine."

"We don't know that," she said callously. "All we need is for one to be alive. Do you know how long it has been?"

Lyra said nothing, it'd been near eighty years since she herself had last consumed a soul and the hunger was excruciating. She narrowed her eyes in the direction of the bodies, hoping desperately for the slightest movement. Unsatisfied, she walked out from the trees onto the beach. She stopped at the first body with her sister trailing behind her.

"Go on. Check the others," she said, looking over her shoulder. "Those two by the rocks, perhaps."

The first man's armor was cracked and the bones in one arm and leg appeared to be shattered. Even if that weren't the case, he was long dead. His face was pale and swollen with his eyes blackened.

The second man, whose limbs appeared to all be intact, was lying face down. Lyra looked over at her sister checking on the other two men before kneeling down. With both hands, she rolled him onto his back. Her heart leapt into her throat when she saw the man's thick chest rise and fall slightly.

Her hand instinctively rose to cover her mouth as she looked up at her sister again who appeared to have had no luck with her first and was looking at her second. Lyra looked back down at the unconscious man. He was a soldier like the others with armor indicating that he hailed from Athens. He had long locks of sandy brown hair and a sculpted chin covered by the beginnings of a beard.

"Any luck?" she heard Alethea's voice call from a short distance. She stood quickly and stepped in between her sister and the body of the soldier.

"No. They're both dead. I'm sorry Alethea. I may be able to think of a way to mix the petals better for next—"

She had no idea where the impulse to lie came from. Why shouldn't her sister know of the living man? But then again, why should she?

"Are you sure?" Alethea interrupted, cocking her head to the side and glaring at the ground behind where she stood. Lyra could hear her heart beating loudly and tried to conceal stepping into her sister's line of sight by walking toward her.

"I'm quite sure. There was no pulse to be found on _either_ one," she said, more aggressively than intended.

Alethea took a step back. "Fair enough."

Lyra followed her sister back to the temple continually looking over her shoulder at the man lying motionless. She wondered what kind of name he may possess. It'd be a strong one, no doubt, like Hector or Jason. She wondered how many deaths had been dealt by the end of his sword. She tried to concoct some way to get the man into the temple under the nose of her sister. There were plenty of hiding places there.

"Shouldn't we do something with their bodies? Bury them or bring them from the beach at least?"

Alethea looked sourly at Lyra. "No need. The tide can take care of that. Hopefully your spell continues to work and brings in some live ones next time."

"Truly." Lyra bit the side of her lip.

"You know," Alethea began, stopping and turning to face Lyra. "Maybe it's a good thing after all. They were a handsome lot. Not sure if I would've been able to trust even my own self-control. But they are what they are, those barbarians—those mortals—aren't the type we want to be intermingled with. Betrayal and deceit are like second nature for them."

Lyra swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded. They were strange words for her sister to utter. She retired to her room to work with her flowers until nightfall. Once she was sure her sister was asleep, she snuck from her room outside, retracing her steps to where she'd left the breathing soldier.

The thick and humid evening air clung to her skin. She could feel mosquitos nagging at her. She slapped one from her neck as she watched the ground in front of her bare feet.

The downed rotting log from earlier allowed her a sigh of relief from the anticipation. Her heart felt like a war drum and her stomach felt as though it was tied in a knot. Leaning against the old log, she peered through the trees as best she could, her eyes squinting to see in the dark.

She counted three bodies lying in the sand. The one she came to see—the one she'd prayed would be alive was missing. As soon as the stark realization hit the forefront of her mind, ice cold metal pressed softly into the side of her neck.

Lyra slowly turned and found the missing man standing just feet from her, glaring with eyes of grayish blue. His sweat glistened in the moonlight. His outstretched arm held the dagger against her neck. She could see a reflection of glowing red in the whites of the soldier's eyes.

"Lyra, are you all right?"

"What?" she asked in response, confused by the question.

*~*~*

"Lyra? Are you all right?" she heard Lucien ask from across the table.

She softly shook her head from side to side as if to shake the memories from her mind. "I'm sorry, I was lost in thought. What were you saying?"

"Oh. I was only saying I will be going into the city today. I can't find my violin anywhere and I fear I may have left it at the practice hall. You're welcome to join me of course."

"You lost it?!" Lyra heard herself exclaim before realizing herself. Lucien was staring at her with wide eyes. "That came out wrong," she corrected. "I mean, I'm sorry to hear that, I know how you care for your instrument."

Lucien still looked momentarily suspicious but he seemed to let it go. "As I was saying, I'm fairly certain it's just at the practice hall."

"I think I will stay in and explore your library if you wouldn't mind?" she said.

A grin snuck onto her host's face. "Not at all. Make yourself at home."

"All right, I'll do that," she said, smiling back. She watched as the smile faded from his face into a look of anxiety, as though he still had something else to say. She waited, but instead he said nothing and got up to clear the dishes. Lyra stood as well, and after thanking Lucien for breakfast, made her way toward the library.
13

Roses and Lilies

THIS IS WHAT you wanted, right? What you always wanted?

A rush of nausea found Lucien in the gas lit tunnel making his way to Zargo. He returned his attention to the tunnel in front of him and rubbed a hand vigorously against the side of his head. What had she meant by those words? The longer he thought about them the less it felt like a memory and more like the words just happened between them. They'd been understood but still unspoken. Helayna's face appeared to him again, beaten and bloodied. His hands were around her neck. He squeezed his eyes shut tight and rubbed his temples with his thumb and middle finger. Then she'd told him he needed to stay, and with every fiber of his being, he believed her.

He came to the end of the tunnel and Zargo's east gate rose with a thunderous clatter before dropping back to the ground behind him.

"Enjoy your visit Mr. Mooncaster," came the voice of the guard. Lucien was so distant in thought that he very nearly rudely ignored the greeting. With just enough time he turned and nodded, offering a wave.

He ushered the white horse Virgil on and didn't stop until he was in front of the orchestra's practice theater. There, he descended and promptly tied the horse to a post. After running a hand along his horse's mane he examined his own hands with peculiarity. He _felt_ strange. It was terrifying that he could do little more than that to describe the feeling.

He walked the twenty or so paces to learn that the door to the practice hall was locked.

Dammit, Michelo must be taking a day off.

Such a thing was an oddity for the old maestro. As Lucien stepped from the door and started to turn around, he heard his name faintly as if it travelled some distance. He stopped and circled the perimeter with his gaze. Initially, he didn't see anyone that appeared to be calling for his attention. He sighed a deep agitated breath. Could he trust any of his senses anymore?

"Hey! Lucien!"

That time he recognized the voice of his best friend, Rhys. Shortly thereafter, he caught sight of him running up the sidewalk in his direction.

"Lucien? Is everything all right? Michelo isn't in today—" His voice started to trail when he got within an arm's reach.

"I just—I just need my violin, Rhys. I needed to finish transcribing some music this morning that I heard and I realized that I left it. And then Lyra... I need it! I need it back right now!"

"Slow down, Lucien. It's all right. After you left the rehearsal, I saw that you left it behind and I grabbed it and took it to my apartment," he said. His face expressed a level of concern that confused Lucien. He waited an extra moment, analyzing it as best he could before answering.

"You're a lifesaver, Rhys. Let's go get it please."

"Hold on a minute. Who's Lyra?" Rhys stood sternly waiting a reply. How could he have left the detail go fleeting?

"It's quite a long story to be honest."

"Well did you forget? I'd been waiting for you." Rhys gestured in the direction he had come from. Lucien looked over his shoulder and saw the patio of the Hungry Boar. A restaurant the pair had been meeting at once a week or so for lunch for the past few years to talk about anything and everything under the sun. With everything that had gone on over the past few days, he had completely forgotten. In an instant, Lucien's eyes and his expression softened dramatically. It was as if his missing instrument had put him under a spell and only just now had relinquished him, seemingly without cause. He took a step back and ran a hand across his forehead. "God, I feel awful. I can't believe I forgot. If you could believe, there's been a lot happening the last few days."

"Think nothing of it. Come and sit down and tell me about this woman who has your mind in such a fit," Rhys invited warmly. Lucien followed him through the bustling crowd to his table on the patio.

He sat down and proceeded to tell Rhys of the events that had transpired since the concert. Of the mysterious and mesmerizingly beautiful woman he had rescued from the reacher, as well as her strange behavior during her stay. He spoke of the nightmares and hallucinations clinging to him like some sort of plague. He cited the aberrations as his reason for rushing out of the rehearsal the previous day.

"Well, that is highly irregular, isn't it?"

Lucien was about to respond when a waiter approached them.

"What will it be, gentlemen?"

Rhys hadn't even bothered with the menu. "I'll have my usual, Osgood."

The waiter nodded. "Very good, sir. And for you?" he asked, turning to Lucien.

"My usual as well," Lucien said flatly. Suddenly, the thought of food turned his stomach, but he mentioned nothing of it.

"Very good. Those will be right out." The waiter was correct in his prediction. Less than five minutes passed before he returned with a bowl of the house soup for Lucien and a layered sandwich for Rhys.

After several bites, Rhys broke the silence between them. "So this _remarkably beautiful_ woman, do you think you could introduce me sometime soon?" He concluded the sentence with a devious wink.

"I'm not too sure about something like that. She's been through a lot already and is not generally very keen on leaving the manor. Plus, aren't you courting Natalie, from the newspaper?"

Rhys chuckled. "No. That was more of a one-time thing. In fact, I have dated Mora and Anna since then. I thought you knew about Mora?"

There it was; the other reason Lucien didn't feel keen about introducing Lyra to Rhys. "Ah, you're right. But I take it then, that neither of them worked out?"

The smirk on Rhys' face turned his cheeks bright red. "What can I say? At any rate, you can keep this Lyra for yourself then. Can't say I blame you. You need it."

Lucien's cheeks felt as though Rhys had lit a match and set them ablaze. "No, no," he quickly said. "I'm serious about her not being in any state for that sort of thing. Plus, I still can't help but wonder about Helayna."

"I saw you finally got to share a word before the rehearsal."

Lucien looked at his best friend and felt a surge of guilt. "There is something else I didn't tell you."

Rhys cocked an eyebrow. "And what would that be?"

Lucien took a deep breath. He need to tell his friend of the years of burrowing into isolation every chance he got and the real reasons as to why he did so. He needed to tell him of the darkness he felt growing inside him, of the maddening thirst for the blood of the being that took his parents lives. Of his obsession in rebuilding the boat to the state it was in on that fateful day. He stared into his Rhys' eyes who stared right back whose expression was that of growing concern. Then, Rhys broke eye contact and cocked his head to the side to look over Lucien's shoulder.

Lucien turned around. "What is it?"

"Speaking of the devil herself, I believe I just watched _thy inamorata_ walk into the flower shop there. As big as this city is, what are the chances of that?"

Lucien craned his neck to see. "Do you mean Julia's?" he asked.

"Of course, now what are you waiting for? Go talk to her, seize the day!" he urged. "I'll take care of this."

Lucien turned back to face Rhys and slowly stood. "Thanks, but I'm not so sure. I have no idea what I would even say. I haven't had any time to prepare."

"Prepare?" Rhys said as though the idea was as foreign as conspiracy to murder. "Trust me. You'll know what to say. Just go."

Lucien left the restaurant and before he could realize himself, he was jogging up the sidewalk keeping his eyes positioned on the door to Julia's Floral and Arrangements. He had to make sure he didn't miss her if she left before he got there. He reached the glass door with the suspicion that she was inside but hesitated before entering.

Come on, Lucien. What is there to be afraid of?

He paced back and forth in front of the shop, wrestling with his thoughts.

_Just ask her to join for a cup of coffee. If she says no, my life is back just the way I like it. No harm done._ That idea didn't do much for his spirits nor the queasiness he felt.

_No, that's too much. Just start with an honest conversation,_ he assured himself.

Julia's Floral and Arrangements was far larger than the storefront indicated. It consisted of several aisles with layered rows of more types of flowers than Lucien even knew existed. He walked cautiously like a lost child over the straw-covered planks that made up the floor in search of his target.

She stood at the end of an aisle comprised of endless roses. She was his Aphrodite, the deepest longing and the deepest regret of every fiber in his being stood there, in perfect harmony with the universe—with his universe. She wore an off-white dress that draped over her shoulders and fell wonderfully, ending near her knees, eyeing a selection of full bloom wild blue roses.

Lucien wiped the sweat from his neck and immediately wished he had changed out of the previous night's clothing before venturing to the city. He let out a deep breath and walked toward her. Helayna was deeply immersed in what she was doing and either didn't hear him approach or chose not to acknowledge the scuffs against the straw. Lucien reached forward and withdrew a blossom from the selection, lifted it to his nose and inhaled. His hand had caught her attention. She looked up at him and smiled.

"Well hello, I missed you yesterday evening. Are you feeling any better?" she prompted, smiling coyly.

The rose's decadent fragrance was nothing compared to the intoxicating air of strawberries surrounding her. Lucien smiled back. He opened his mouth to answer but nothing came out. Helayna simply stood there staring back at him.

"There is a strange woman living with me right now." Lucien almost slammed the palm of his hand to his mouth as his chosen words registered. Helayna scrunched her eyebrows. "No, no," he tried to correct. "That's not what I meant to say."

"So, there isn't a strange woman?"

"No Lyra is definitely there, it just isn't like that." Helayna nodded as he continued. "Her boat crashed outside the estate. There were reachers." He felt himself beginning to ramble and looked back at the assortment of roses Helayna held in her hands. "That's funny, she has a necklace the same color blue as those. It's the same shape too."

Helayna seemed unsure exactly of how to respond. "That's certainly interesting," she said with her cheeks blushed. "I would—"

She was interrupted by the crashing of a selection of potted plants at their feet. Another customer had brutishly stumbled into the shelf one aisle over pushing all present plant life toward Lucien and Helayna.

"What the hell is the matter with you?" came a whisper from next aisle.

A small dark haired woman wearing green brimmed eye glasses and a weird sort of dress Lucien had never seen before walked around the corner. "I must apologize for my clumsy-ass colleague here," she said.

Before Lucien could acknowledge what the young woman had said the colleague she had mentioned followed her from around the corner. An old but tall and well-built man with a long gray beard dressed from head to toe in all black. It was the very same old man to have shot his horse during the hysterical vision he had at the rehearsal. It felt absolutely impossible but he couldn't deny the chilling resemblance. And it wasn't as if he'd caught a fleeting glimpse of the man walking down the street or sitting in a café. Something had brought the two of them together to stand face to face less than twenty four hours following the harrowing hallucination.

Lucien stared into the old man's cold gray eyes and he stared back. The two women present gestured to one another, presumable equally unsure of just what the hell was happening.

Lucien felt his heart beating in his throat. Finally the old man spoke. "Am I to believe a woman going by the name of Lyra washed ashore where you live that wears a blue rose shaped jewel around her neck?"

Just as he had before but when talking to Helayna and for now much graver reasons, he was speechless. The man in black place his hands on his hips flashing a view of his firearm inside his coat. The gun he used to kill Virgil in cold blood.

"What is happening right now?" Helayna asked innocently.

Lucien looked to her and in that split second concocted a plan. These two didn't care about her. The whole time they'd been standing, the old man's eyes had been on him alone. So, he made a run for it. They'd been standing in the center of the store with aisles extending in both directions. Lucien blew past them away from the direction they'd approached from and made for the front door as quickly as he could. The old man's voice called after him but he paid no mind and slammed into the door as a young couple attempted to enter. Mid-step, Lucien turned and received their glares, lifting his hands in apology.

He continued in a sprint until he reached the pole in front of the practice hall where he'd tied his horse. Relief washed over him when he saw the white horse was unharmed.

Of course, it was just a hallucination. But how could it be?

Virgil whinnied when he saw his master as though to register a complaint.

"I know, I know, Virgil. I'm sorry; it wasn't supposed to be so long. I'll make it up to you, I promise."

The horse made a sound that Lucien interpreted as a snort of disbelief as he climbed into the saddle. He looked back over his shoulder in search of the shrouded figure and young woman astounded that they hadn't followed him. He didn't discount the possibility that they still might have and made his way quickly to the tunnel gate house.
14

The Fifth Street Corner Café

"I'M AFRAID WE are fresh out of caramel at the moment, ma'am. Can I recommend a mocha flavored cappuccino instead?" the barista inquired emphatically. Under the guise of an old woman, Lyra scowled while biting at the left side of her lower lip. Her eyes squinted to stare at the menu hanging on the wall. Despite the barista's patience, she couldn't help but be annoyed with her.

After an exaggerated pause, Lyra sighed. "That will be fine, thank you."

"That'll be two notes, five."

Lyra retrieved two notes and five silver coins from her pocket, laid them on the counter, and then made her way to a table in the corner of the establishment's patio so she could hear the music being performed. While disappointed in not getting the beverage that she came for, any coffee from the corner café generally would do.

Based on the deep lines surrounding her vivid green eyes and dark red lips, Lyra intentionally gave the appearance of being in her mid-seventies. She sat, briefly with her eyes closed, enjoying the tragic love story that a local pianist was painting on the cramped outdoor stage. She was familiar with the piece, one from the first age, a nocturne by Edward Milieau, though she couldn't remember exactly which. After a few minutes of waiting, one of the baristas that had been working behind the counter brought out a steaming mug of chocolate scented coffee.

"Thank you kindly," she said.

"Very welcome," the boy, whom must have still been a teenager, replied.

She began to steal sips the same moment he stepped away. The combination of smell, taste, and sound enveloped Lyra's senses. The café's century-old tradition of roasting its coffee beans in-house each day was the only reason she needed to patronize the establishment. The unique practice that created the decadent aroma that permeated within and outside of the café was nothing compared to having a fresh cup before her.

She lifted the cup to her lips and was there again, some 3,800 years ago. Alethea sat across from her, begging her not to leave, begging her to not fall victim to the eloquent, but empty promises of some mortal man, promising her that she would come to regret it. She hadn't expected Alethea to support her decision to return with Anders to his homeland, still it had hurt. She shook the memory from her mind and returned her concentration to the pianist.

When she closed her eyes to steal the final sip from the bottom of the cup, the seat opposite her had been empty. When she opened them and set the cup back down on the table, a man had appeared in the seat. He looked directly at Lyra with his hands folded on the table. She felt her face fold into the same look of disgust she regularly gave him. He only broke his concentrated stare to flatten the wrinkles on the sides of his suit. The suit itself was solid black and appeared to be of an outrageously expensive design.

The eccentric demon reached his hand forward and when met with Lyra's, albeit hesitantly, kissed the top before offering a greeting. She hated the sight of his piercing gold colored eyes and pointed goatee. The first words he uttered revealed the forked tongue of a snake.

"That's an interesting look for you, not sure I've seen that one."

Lyra smirked. "Lucien is, at this very moment, somewhere in the city and I told him I would be spending the day in his library. This avoids a potential mess were he to wander by."

"Now that's not the whole truth, is it?"

Lyra cocked an eyebrow.

"He is inside that flower shop down the block, isn't he? You're keeping an eye on him. Wouldn't it be so much easier to just bewitch him and be done with it?"

Lyra shook her head in dismay. "I told you things have changed. I won't be doing that to him. The amulet need stay precisely where it is."

Tenebris narrowed his eyes at her for a moment before breaking into a fit of raucous laughter. Lyra sat uncomfortably watching and looking around as he repeatedly slammed his hand against the table. Finally, he got a hold of himself and wiped the tears from his eyes. Lyra stared at the demon, not amused in the least. Once completely calm, Tenebris twisted the end of his beard around his finger and leaned back in his chair turning his head back and forth.

"What is so great about places like this anyway?"

Lyra scoffed though she couldn't help but feel uneasy about the way Tenebris was acting. "You've never been one to care for their ways, not their music or any of their creativity for that matter, have you?"

"Not true," he said. "I used to enjoy a good opera every now and again."

Tenebris picked up and peered into her cup and grimaced before continuing. "You've been avoiding me. And frankly, I know that you are intentionally evading our deal."

"Our deal is bullshit and to be honest, I am tired of this conversation. You sent me to that accursed place to torture me." The demon's eyes widened at her words. "And now instead, your carefully calculated plan is back firing. Admit it."

The demon smirked. His tongue danced around the pointed end of his fang tooth.

"Sure Lyra. I'll admit to anything you like. There is just one thing that puzzles me even to this moment."

"And what is that?"

"You know damn well that I spoke the truth in regards to the jewel. Sure it _could've_ looked like I brought you here to see you writhe in misery while you watch an image of your poor lost Anders stumble through the immensely difficult life of a wealthy trust-fund musician. It _could_ look like I'm only in this to see you suffer. You have no idea the power I hold over you," he said, grabbing a small coffee cup from the tray of a completely ignorant waiter. He downed the beverage and then wrinkled his facial features.

"As I suspected, fucking disgusting."

This new Tenebris was terrifying to her, but she did everything in her power to not show her hand.

"You have no idea, and still you cross me."

"Of course it is. Everything I told you was the truth. You know the jewel is in his possession; you can smell it, can't you? I can't help who the little worm happens to resemble."

Lyra tried desperately to think of some ploy. She looked away from him and lowered her voice. "You will not find salvation in what you seek. The mortal life is one of pain."

The demon broke into another fit of hysterical laughter. He pounded his fists against the table hard enough to jostle the glasses and silverware repeatedly.

"Strange words even from your decrepit lips. Is that not the very salvation you long for?" he said with what appeared to be sincere tears in his eyes.

She decided she would call his bluff. Tenebris started to speak again before she was given the chance.

"Do you know how many years it has been since you cursed me?"

Lyra wondered why he would bring that up and looked down into the palms of her hands. She knew exactly how many thousands of years it had been.

"To wander aimlessly, yearning for only one thing. One thing that will never be granted to me."

"And this is your payback? It wasn't enough for you to kill my Anders in front of my very eyes. Now you must torture me with his image."

Tenebris leaned back in his chair. "As I said, any resemblance to the boy is mere coincidence. I cannot help how convenient he is to me or the fact that your sister's jewel is in his possession."

She could feel the humidity of the demon's breath on the tip of her nose. Now was her chance.

"You have nothing. Lucien doesn't believe that your kind even exists. Without me you are absolutely powerless."

She'd had quite enough. She stood and began to walk from the table. He would eventually get the hint and leave her alone as he always did. But it was in that moment that she only just considered the long term ramifications of what was happening around her. Her existence would become watching over Lucien, ensuring that he kept the jewel safe, until he died of old age and it became _necessary_ to reclaim it once more.

She could still hear the demon chuckle from the table she'd left. "Soon he will see just what a monster you are."

Lyra turned around and before she could even conjure a response, Tenebris was standing nose to nose with her, his glowing yellow eyes wide and staring daggers into her.

She felt herself nearly jump from her skin as a reflex. A black vapor materialized around him. Her reaction seemed to elicit the stares of the café patrons. She ran her hands down the sides of her dress to smooth out wrinkles that weren't there and began to walk along the street with the demon hovering over her ear. "Hear me!" he cried insidiously. "You will surrender his soul, under your control, tonight, or he dies."

"You can't kill him if you can't physically touch him," she whispered unsure of who it was that needed convincing.

"It won't be by my hand but mark my words; the boy will take his last breath."

Though she sincerely believed him to be harmless, the words were enough to cause a shudder. He smirked and faded into a cloud of black dust.
15

A Candlelight Dinner

LYRA WATCHED CAUTIOUSLY from behind a column in the front foyer of the Mooncaster Manor. Lucien leaned back against the heavy front doors just as soon as they were shut. He wore a myriad of emotions on his face, fear, confusion, a touch of anguish. He pounded his fist pathetically against the surface of the door as if he used the very last of his energy to do so. He must have spoken to her and the conversation not go to his liking. Then the words of vile demon struck her like a hammer on an anvil.

You will surrender his soul, under your control, tonight, or he dies.

The words felt like a hot iron pressing into the back of her neck. Briefly, she considered what she had been charged to do. Maybe Tenebris knew something she didn't and would indeed deliver on his promise. If such were the case, he'd be dead whether she bewitched him or not. She could, in the very least, perform the spell so that Tenebris got the impression she would follow through then she could stall him. But there was something about Tenebris. Lyra felt genuinely terrified in what might happen if the demon caught on to the rouse.

She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and allowed her subconscious to vocalize the spellbinding melody. She threw her voice, causing it to echo off the stone walls of the large room. She opened her eyes while still singing to look at her victim. He'd fallen forward onto his knees and was gazing up at the ceiling, tears streaming down his face.

Suddenly a voice invaded the part of her mind not engaged in casting her spell.

This isn't you, Lyra. You don't have to do this.

She could swear it was the deep, tempered voice of Anders.

You know the deceit in which the demon is capable. Tenebris is weak. You can protect the boy if you truly desire to do so.

The voice disappeared.

With the song nearly complete, she shut her lips tight and ended the melody early. It was the first time she had ever stopped the song short. She fell against her own knees and leaned back against the cold stone wall. She allowed sobs to escape freely, burying her face in the palms of her hands.

_This is too much. I can't handle this,_ she said to herself. She knew the voice had only been in her head, but still, she longed for Anders to speak to her again—to comfort her in the way he knew best.

She heard a shuffling of footsteps and knew Lucien must have found his senses again. She stood and unruffled her dress before walking around the corner to address him.

"Oh my God," he exclaimed, looking up at her. "It's so good to see you."

Lyra felt herself blush. She looked her victim dead in the eye. She felt herself suddenly drawn in to him. The feeling wasn't so strong for her to completely lose herself. She knew right away it had to be an effect of the amulet. But still, perhaps he could be Anders after all.

"Are you all right? How were things in Zargo?" she asked.

"You know, I've truly never felt better! I suppose things were well. You know, for the life of me I can't remember—"

"Your violin?" she offered quickly, eyeing each of his empty hands back and forth.

Lucien clicked his tongue. "Yes! Not sure how I forgot that. I'll just retrieve it later I suppose."

That part was less than ideal. She watched him walk over with a yearning smile on his face. She couldn't help herself and smiled back.

"Are you sure you _feel_ all right?" she asked, wrinkling her brow.

Lucien forced the corners of his mouth down and raised his arms from his sides. "I really don't know what you mean? I mean, right when I came inside, I could have sworn there had been music playing somehow. It was beautiful and I'm not sure if it's related but I felt suddenly strange for a moment. And even though I know I've just arrived, it feels like a distant memory. Maybe it just happened and maybe it was months ago. Does that make sense at all?"

Lyra nodded. She wondered with horror if the spell had fully taken despite not finishing the song and she no longer had any say in the matter. If not, it would wear off before long.

"I wish for you to have dinner with me tonight, right here at home. Will you make it so?" she asked.

Lucien looked around as though he were trying to remember any prior engagements. _What engagements could he possibly have?_

"Of course," he said.

Her expression softened and she smiled at him before raising a hand softly to his cheek. He really could be her Anders, even if only for tonight. She felt her hand wrapped around something cold and heavy. She looked down and saw her fingers around the handle of a bronze dagger, ready to drive it into Lucien's abdomen. She threw the dagger to the ground and took a step back, breathing forcefully.

She expected to hear the loud clank of metal against the tile floor and to be forced to explain what she was doing but instead, there was silence. She'd been holding nothing.

"Are you sure that _you're_ all right?" she heard a muffled voice call. "Why don't you lie down while I prepare dinner? I'll come get you when it's ready."

She stared down at her empty hand, squeezed into a fist and then opened it back. Lucien was staring at her with wide eyes, full of concern. Of course he had made the suggestion to lie down. She ran her thumb and forefinger across her brow.

"I think I will, thank you."

She walked to the sitting room and over to the large red couch nearest the fireplace. She allowed herself to fall onto the plush cushion in a heap as her grief let loose a flood of uncontrollable tears. She cried for several minutes until a voice from a shadowed corner disturbed her.

"You held back."

Without lifting her face from the refuge of her palms, her tears shifted to rage. She felt her blood boil and vision begin to blur. "Can't you see I'm doing what you said? Leave me be!"

"You forgot how well I know you, Lyra. You held back! He may well snap out of it before the evening ends. You know I need him fully enchanted!" the voice cried from the shadows.

"This isn't as easy for me as you think it should be!"

"Trust me. There's no misconception there. Do you need him to trip with a knife in his hand as he prepares your dinner? Is that what this must come to?" the voice hissed.

"No! Please leave him be! Just give me time to do it again!"

"You have the remainder of the evening."

No further speech emerged from the shadow. Lyra let herself carelessly fall back against the cushioned couch, where she fell fast asleep.

She awoke from the dreamless nap to a saccharine aroma that filled the room like a thick fog. She had no idea how long she had been unconscious, a look toward the fireplace revealed a blazing golden fire. The logs seemed to have been laid and lit only minutes before. She stood and followed the scent from the sitting room, and into the dining hall where Lucien had set one end of the wood slab table with a decadent assortment of dishes. As she stood there admiring the work he had done, the man himself emerged from the kitchen clutching a large glass container that appeared to be filled with tea.

"Great, you're up. I was just about to come and get you," he said cheerfully. "Please have a seat." Lucien gestured to a place that had been set with an ornate glass plate, a wine glass, and a vast assortment of silverware opposite of where it seemed he would be sitting.

"This all looks so wonderful," Lyra said nervously. "I'm blessed that you would do all of this just for me. But don't you have a staff normally?"

"They still think I went on my—," he paused before adding, "Excursion. I haven't really seen any purpose in alerting them yet, so I'm allowing them the vacation. Plus cooking is a secret passion of mine and after all, I do get to eat it with you."

He grinned shyly at her. Lyra returned the look and joined him at the end of the long dinner table.

He'd prepared a feast fit for a king. The main course was a thin slab of steak with a peppercorn sauce drizzled over it. There were garlic mashed potatoes, cobs of corn, fresh bread, and a kale and spinach leaf salad.

"Would you like red wine or tea?"

"A glass of wine does sound nice," she answered, lifting her glass to the bottle Lucien held in his hand. He then set the bottle down and poured tea into his own.

"None for you?"

"I try not to drink much. My father set a marvelous example of the effects it can have on a person," he said, looking scornfully up at the portrait at the end of the wall. "Plus, what could I possibly have to drown away?"

"Fair enough," Lyra said. She did not share in the pretense and allowed a swig from her glass to wash her senses.

She looked over at Lucien who now appeared to be awaiting her reaction to the food and carefully cut a small bite of steak from the succulent slab. She dipped it in the puddle of pepper sauce near the edge of her plate. His culinary ability was somewhat of a surprise to her. The dish tasted as though it could be on the menu of an upscale restaurant.

"Oh my goodness, it's incredible!" she exclaimed as she finished chewing the bite. Lucien smiled and dug into his own plate. But he stopped after his first bite and seemed to contemplate something while watching her.

"There was an old man today in town. He had a young woman with him. The strangest pair I've seen. They seemed very interested in my description of you. Perhaps you were on your way to see them?"

"You're description," she answered feeling unintentionally taken aback.

Lucien's cheeks turned red. "Oh my goodness, perhaps it was out of turn. You see, I was merely talking of goings on with some friends of mine in the orchestra," he pleaded.

"It's all right, really. I didn't mean it like that. An old man and a young woman, you say? Doesn't ring a bell unfortunately," she said dismissively. She knew well enough about Archer Solomon and Elizabeth Bramley.

Halfway through the meal, Lyra began to think of her sister, of whom she had been missing more than usual lately. Alethea had been passionate about food. She and Lyra had shared many meals not unlike the one she was now enjoying. But since her departure from the world, she had experienced nothing of the sort. She broke from her thought and looked up to see Lucien had noticed her bleak expression. He softly set his fork down and took a break from eating his own food.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked.

She attempted half of a smile. He had grown lovelier in her eyes with each passing day of their acquaintance. She couldn't lie to him—to her _Anders_.

"Loss," she answered somberly.

Lucien's face softened. He reached forward and took her hand in his. "I'm so sorry about what happened to you. As cliché as it sounds, I know what it is like to lose those closest to you, though my wounds aren't nearly so fresh. If you want to talk about it, you should know I'm someone you can come to—anytime."

You will surrender his soul, under your control, tonight, or he dies.

She felt like he'd wrapped her in a warm blanket with his words. Her hand felt so warm—so comfortable in the grasp of his. She could tell him anything.

"It's just that I don't know how to handle these feelings I know I'm harboring. I know they're there but I don't want to address them. I don't want to think about it, but at the same time I don't want to think of anything else."

Lucien nodded along with her. "I can tell you that I'm finding out lately that I, myself, had addressed them totally the wrong way. Once it hit me that my parents were gone forever and that I would never even be able to say goodbye, I isolated myself. There were staff members here. Many of which I had grown up around and was very fond of. But I didn't want to be around any people at all. I let them all go except for the Cannings, the only two that seemed to appreciate isolation as I did. I stayed in this house and didn't leave for a long time. It was like I had put myself on an island away from everything in the middle of the ocean. That's how I wanted it to feel and it felt like the right thing at the time. Not seeing people allowed me to successfully learn to hide the pain."

Lyra felt droplets of sorrow forming in the edges of her eyes. Her chin wanted to tremble as she remembered the years she'd spent isolated on her island, literally in the middle of the ocean, away from everything. Lucien squeezed her hand. "I'm seeing lately that the sort of isolation that I condemned myself to wasn't the right move and likely wasn't very healthy. So if I were to advise you, it would be to not repeat my mistakes."

Lyra turned her face down as though the words had pained her. Tears now streamed freely down the sides of her face. Lucien wiped them away with his thumbs as she leaned her head against his shoulder.

"This is too solemn a topic. I have an idea that could raise your spirits. It always seems to help me anyways."

"What is it?"

"Well, actually, I've been meaning to say this to you, but it's strange," he started to say before pausing.

She stared at him, trying to harbor her anxiety.

"I would love to really listen to your singing voice, as an appreciator of music. Music has always been a sort of escape for me; maybe it could be for you. Maybe it could change how you feel," he said with an air of supreme confidence.

Lyra hesitated, staring deeply into Lucien's eyes before nodding somberly and returning her gaze to her lap. A knot formed in her stomach. When she looked back up to speak, she noticed a familiar figure standing in the shadows. The demon nodded his head vigorously as if to indicate that this was the moment he'd told her to wait for. Lyra looked his way for a second too long before looking down again.

"What is it?" Lucien asked.

He turned to look over his shoulder in hopes of seeing what had distracted her. He saw nothing, Tenebris was quite invisible to him.

"Mm, it's nothing," she said, trying to look the opposite of the way she now felt. "But you know, I think I misspoke earlier. If anything, singing isn't much more than a discreet hobby of mine, certainly nothing to behold."

"There's nothing to be bashful about. I have to be honest; there have been times since you've been here and I could swear that I hear singing, liker earlier today but other times as well. It's such a beautiful singing voice but I always lose the nerve to ask you about it. Maybe it's just my inclination to music, and maybe it's all in my head. I don't know how much sense I'm making, but I just feel this terribly intense yearning to hear that voice and if it _is_ yours..." he trailed off.

"Yes! Yes! What are you waiting for!" screamed Tenebris' voice from the shadows. Lucien continued to stare deeply into her eyes, unblinking, despite the pleas.

"I, um—I-I'm not sure. My throat is feeling sore right now so I'm not sure how much it'd be worth. I'm truly sorry," Lyra said dejectedly, clutching at her neck.

Lucien then sprang up from his seat.

"I have the perfect remedy for that! There is honey in the kitchen, if the tea is still hot enough, it will go great on your throat. I'll be right back."

She watched him shuffle briskly to the kitchen before returning her gaze to the shadow. Tenebris glared at her from where he stood with sharpened eyes before retreating from view. Feeling suddenly uneasy about Lucien being away from her side, she got up and followed her host's footsteps into the kitchen.

There, Lucien was leaned over the center island with a jar of honey and a large glass of wine in front of him. In the time it took her to get to the kitchen, his disposition had made a complete turnaround. He looked over at her before gulping down the glass. He then filled the glass back to the brim with wine from the large old bottle. As she watched, he downed the glass in a single motion and poured yet another. She knew immediately that the bewitchment had worn off.

No wonder he keeps himself away from it. His father lives on deep within him.

"You think you know someone. Think you can read their motives," he said, stopping only to clear the third glass. "Was it wrong to treat her how I did? Of course, but couldn't she consider how I was feeling? My parents had just been killed! I mean, she knew them but they were my parents. Mine!"

Lyra nodded as Lucien poured the remainder of the bottle into his glass. The last bit overflowed, spilling onto the table.

"God, if there was ever something I wish I could take back, it would be that day," he said, beginning to slur his words together. Lyra looked down at the jewel hanging from her necklace.

Lucien struggled up onto a nearby barstool and signaled for her to sit in the one beside him. She obliged. "You don't need me going on and on about this," he said after she did. Though he was looking at her, he seemed unable to look her directly in the eye. She tried to use a soft back and forth shaking of her head to indicate that the talk didn't bother her. Though for a moment, she wasn't quite sure who needed more convincing. He leaned in until his face was mere inches from hers. "I'm truly sorry for what happened to your sister—and husband especially."

She shook her head softly again. She could feel her heart begin to race. "Don't be."

She looked down at his parted lips and wished awfully that he would kiss her, despite his drunken stupor. His mouth moved fractionally toward hers, pumping a jolt to her heart as though some great powerful creature had reached a hand inside her ribcage and given it a squeeze. He moved closer still but not in the direction of her yearning lips. His head found its place against her shoulder, passed out and snoring.

*~*~*

Lyra shut the door to her room behind her, having carried her incapacitated host and tucked him into bed to rest. She took a deep breath and looked around before realizing a great need for a glass of water. Quietly, she tiptoed down the remainder of the bedroom hall, turned and walked down the front stairs and eventually into the giant kitchen. There she retrieved a glass from the cupboard, filled it nearly to the brim with water from the faucet, and proceeded to gulp it down. After she did the same again, she heard a strange tapping sound accompanied by a distant echo. She set her glass down onto the counter. It was obvious that the sound had come from the dining hall, one room over.

She walked through the portal connecting the rooms, her eyes set on the extra-long dining table where she and her _Anders_ had eaten. She found the loathsome demon sitting across from where she had been during the meal. Tenebris lounged back with his polished shoes resting on the table, tapping them rhythmically against the large glass container of tea.

She was hardly surprised by the look of disdain he wore. She saw him react to what had happened after dinner and she knew he wasn't going to be pleased but she did not fear him.

_He's powerless without me_ , she thought haughtily, walking over to sit in the chair opposite of him.

"You want to explain that little charade that went on earlier? Why, when he was right in your grasp, you chose to damn him instead, hmm? Do you remember our little talk earlier?"

"By your word, he's damned either way. And every word was true; my voice did not feel up to performing the curse," she said, watching Tenebris become visibly enthralled with anger.

"Don't bullshit me, Lyra!"

"Or what, huh? You'll find someone else? A purer soul for you to possess? Or better yet, another siren to seduce him for you? Well, good luck!"

Tenebris took his feet down from the table and glared across at her. He seemed to be studying her. Each side of his thinly cut mouth slowly curled upward.

He placed his elbows on the table and spoke. "Can you believe it? He has the most beautiful creature the world has ever known under his roof—completely at his own mercy, for divine's sake! And he couldn't give a shit less about you. He's too preoccupied with a much _lesser_ being. How does that make you feel?"

Lyra said nothing; she only continued to glare at him. "You are a pathetic fool, you know that?" he said, looking down at her. "Tell me how the hell he would ever love you without your _influence_? Especially after he discovered what you really are?"

Finally she couldn't hold back. "It isn't about that! Feelings or not, it's about the amulet and the effect it is having!" A stifling heat rose up under the skin of her cheeks and neck. Tenebris' words were getting to her, she hated herself for it.

"Well, you see, I'm not buying that. Have the nightmares and hallucinations set in yet? You realize that dreams of terror follow you like a shadow, right?"

"Of course I realize that!"

"Does he?"

"It wasn't always that way, you know, not before the light of my life was stolen away. And I have you to thank for that one."

Tenebris laughed.

Lyra's blood was surely nearing its boiling point. "Why were you there that day? What business was my wedding of yours?"

"I'm not sure that's where you want to go digging, Lyra," the demon said, still chuckling softly.

"No! None of this would have happened if you hadn't been outside his door. Tell me the truth or the deal is off!"

Through a devilish smirk, Tenebris answered. "Your sister sent me. She sent me to— _convince—_ you to forget Anders and return to the island. So I waited outside of his door for my time to strike."

"You meant to possess him and send me away with words from his own lips."

Tenebris nodded. "No bloodshed. But as I'm sure you well recognize, you were present with him. Of all the places, you were in his room, on the eve of your wedding. You sang to him, why? Why on this earth would you need to sing to him if you were engaged to wed? If he already loved you, tell me why!"

Lyra felt tears well in her eyes as images of that day returned. "I figured my sister would try to meddle. It was only meant to last until after the ceremony," she said.

"Then you understand why I couldn't bear the sight of you with someone else after the song fell on more than his two ears. You should understand why I had to do what I did," he hissed, the remark sounding more like a demand than a question.

Lyra felt the accumulated tears run down the sides of her face. "I understand that instead of solving the problem you simply made sure I was in as much agony as you."

"You know, we were all happy once upon a time, weren't we? But here we are." Tenebris' voice became more and more of a sharpened icicle as he continued to berate her. "But of course you had to sing to him, how could Anders have _really_ loved you otherwise? How could anyone? How could Lucien, once he learns of the true role you play in his life?"

That was certainly enough. She took to her feet in a forceful motion catching Tenebris somewhat by surprise. "You can't touch him! And you won't touch him if want a way into this world!" she condemned sharply, deciding to call his bluff once and for all. "I think it's time you took your leave of this place."

The demon cried out in a fit of laughter, pounded his fists against the table, sneering through the tops of his eye. He continued like a crazed maniac, just as he had in the café.

Lyra took a step back but was mostly at a loss for how she should react. Within the confines of a second, the laughter ceased and the demon dove over the table, lunging for her. In a split second, Tenebris' skin had turned to an unsettling pale grey, his nails became sharp and yellow, and his teeth had become a row of fangs. Both of his hands wrapped tightly around her neck, she felt her back slam into the tile floor behind the table. A loud clattering of shattered glass followed.

She grasped both of the demon's forearms in a feeble attempt to pry them from her neck as she kicked her legs about, struggling to escape. She turned her swelling eyes toward the door hoping desperately that the housemaster would appear, having heard the commotion being made downstairs.

Tenebris seemed to read her mind. "Oh no, he will not be saving you this time." His distorted face bore a grin of pure evil as he squeezed tighter and tighter on Lyra's thin neck. As air and consciousness began to fade, she felt her eyes water but with a substance thicker than tears accompanied by the smell of metal. Tenebris laughed over his victim before vaporizing himself into a black smoky substance as he'd done outside of the cafe. The last thing she saw was the cloud of black vapor engulfing her, blotting out her sight.
16

The Violin Case

HELAYNA DREW the beige curtains and peered down on the bustling street below.

Already, and at only eight o'clock in the morning?

Zargo was going to take some getting used to. Several crackling pops and the intensifying aroma of hog bacon drew her toward the kitchen.

"It's just about ready," Korra said from the stove.

Helayna strode in and grabbed a plate from the cabinet. Her stomach growled viciously as she eyed the spread her roommate had conjured up.

"I feel like I could never thank you enough for allowing me to stay here, Korra," she said as she piled her plate with fried eggs, toasted bread, and several pieces of bacon. Her roommate was one hell of a cook.

"There's no need. Your company's been great."

Korra shortly joined Helayna at the dining table with a similarly stacked plate. Helayna ate her entire breakfast in silence and only looked up to offer her appreciation after she'd finished. Korra had barely touched her own food and seemed instead to be studying Helayna's face.

"You haven't been quite yourself since yesterday," she said with a piece of toasted bread in her hand. "Is there something on your mind?"

_How perceptive,_ she thought.

She sighed and looked down into her lap. "I suppose there has been. I ran into Lucien at Julia's yesterday."

Korra smirked and nodded softly. Helayna pretended she didn't see it.

"The way he was acting, I was sure he was about to ask me to dinner until this strange man and woman interrupted him and chased him from shop."

Korra's eyes stretched open. "Chased him from the shop, you said? Did you see what happened?"

"I followed them out once I could but at the street level, none of the three were anywhere in sight."

"That is interesting," Korra said, almost sounding bemused. "Do you suppose he's all right? You were friends in your youth, weren't you? Did he typically have run ins with those sort of people?"

Helayna scratched her chin after finishing a bite. "Better than friends, I would have thought and no, to answer your question. Never."

"Then what the hell is the issue with having dinner?" Helayna set down her fork before Korra added, "I mean, if he's still alive."

"Don't joke about that, Korra."

Her friend rolled her eyes. "You know what I mean by it. If you're that concerned, perhaps you should look in on him and see for yourself."

The idea struck Helayna as a good one. The thought alone of returning to the Mooncaster estate ignited a sense of nostalgic excitement. _What had it been? Five years?_

Helayna smiled at Korra. "I think I will."

"I'm glad. You might check with Rhys. He goes out there fairly often and the carriage companies no longer offer armored transport services."

"They don't? Is that a new policy?"

"They stopped about two years ago once the locomotive rails were completed. Now that every city is connected, they don't see much point given the risk. Of course most of the wealthy outlying estates have connecting tunnels. It's not unlikely that his does as well. Rhys would know for sure."

Helayna waited as she scribbled something on a small scrap of paper. "Here's his address. It's just about two blocks down the street from here."

Helayna silently wondered what business of Korra's his address was before she took the scrap and departed from the flat.

*~*~*

Helayna walked along the street curb with the address held out in front of her.

"104 Villa Street," she mumbled, eyeing the address posts as she passed. First 108, then 106, before finally the door to 104 stood before her.

She looked upon the worn crimson door and the white stone brick surroundings. She felt her stomach jitter with each step she took. As she reached for the brass handle, it skirted away from her along with the rest of the door. Before she put her hand down, she looked up to see the dark eyes of Rhys accompanied by a look of alarm.

"Well, what a pleasant surprise," he said.

"Yes," she said, gripping the inside of her elbow nervously. "This may sound odd, but I need to go visit Lucien. It was recommended I come see you on the way."

Rhys chuckled. "You know, I expected to hear from him following lunch yesterday. It was strange when I didn't but I didn't think too much of it. Did anything—come about?"

Helayna felt herself start to blush. She stared down at her feet briefly until it subsided.

"I'm sorry," he said, clearly aware of how uncomfortable he'd made her. "I meant nothing by it. I just knew he'd gone to speak with you."

Helayna quickly looked up and shook her head. "No, no. It's all right. Something did happen and just hope to check in and see that everything is normal."

Rhys narrowed his eyes, clearly suspicious. "I was meaning to go out there at some point myself. I've got his violin from the other night. Now, do you expect everything to be all right with him?"

"Everything should be in order, just wanted to check in," Helayna lied. She never did much care for Lucien's best friend. "But, you have his instrument?"

"Yes ma'am. He typically can't survive long without it. Pity I've got to run to the practice hall and go over some notes with Michelo."

Helayna stepped to the side to lean against the railing leading up to the door. "I could take easily just take it along with me."

"Oh, that'd be great," he responded with a grin. "I can walk you down to the correct gate house. I'm sure you're aware of how things are now."

"Korra explained. I suppose it is a little odd."

Rhys nodded. "Indeed. Give me just a second and I'll grab the case."

Rhys disappeared back behind the red door and emerged after not much longer than the time he'd quoted.

"Shall we?" he offered, before trotting down the steps and beginning a solid pace along the cobblestone walk. Caught off guard by how fast Rhys was moving, Helayna half-jogged to keep up. Finally, at a carriage crossing, she was given a chance to double over and catch her breath.

"Terribly sorry," he said looking back. "It was a rough morning and I can't be late for this meeting."

Helayna stood fully erect. "Well maybe if you just pointed me in the right direction."

Rhys stared down at her. "Well if you're sure, continue down this way," he said point a finger in front of them. "Turn right at Seventh Street and you'll see the East Gate."

Helayna nodded, offered her appreciation, and the two parted ways. She followed the instructions until coming by a large gate that aptly read 'East' above it. Two guards were posted.

"Must be it," she whispered to herself.

"Taking the tunnel by foot, Madame?" the one nearest her asked.

"Yes," she replied."

"Very well. Raise the gate," the man with patchy gray stubble yelled over his shoulder.

She placed her arms through the shoulder straps of the violin case and began a brisk pace into the tunnel with the gate closing behind her.

The tunnel was dark and cold and smelled of old dirt. She tried to focus solely on walking as close to the glow of each mounted lantern and nothing else until the tunnel ended.

Sunlight felt like a dire relief as she pushed her way through the unlatched wooden gate and onto the courtyard of the manor. The state of the garden brought immediate tears to her eyes. What was once so beautiful and magical in her youth had been rendered to little more than a labyrinth of weeds and dead vines. She wondered how much time and diligence it would take for the garden to bloom again. The garden was not unlike Lucien, the more she thought of it. She wondered if either was really savable after all.

She made her way up the steps to the front door clutching the handle of the violin case tightly and lifted her hand toward the rope doorbell. With a forceful motion, she tugged the coarse rope down as far as it would reach and let it pull back up to its resting position. A stiff breeze blew by as she silently waited. Though she'd been at peace for the whole of the journey up to that point, she suddenly found her stomach tying itself in a knot and the ends of her fingers to be tingling softly.

Finally, the door swung open, but it was not Lucien who answered. Instead it was a woman Helayna did not recognize. She had thick wavy locks of jet black hair and captivating green eyes. Her facial features seemed to be just perfectly aligned and her olive skin had not one blemish to be seen. She wore an elegant lace-lined white dress. Helayna felt a burning sensation rise from just under her skin at the mere sight of her.

She tried to speak but found her voice momentarily absent. She cleared her throat and forced out the words, "Is Lucien here?"

"I'm afraid he is quite unavailable," the woman said with a sultry voice, laced with condescension.

"But he _is_ here?"

"Yes—" the woman said slowly.

She was the type that Helayna would have generally disliked and worked to avoid when she was in school.

"Well, I suppose that's everything I need to know. Here's this; I'm sure he's been looking for it," Helayna tried not to act flustered and held the violin case up. The strange woman's eyes became like tea cup saucers in an instant when she saw it. She jerked the case from Helayna's hand. Helayna felt her face react unconsciously to the rudely bizarre move, but before she could say something, the woman spoke.

"You were a fool to come here, Helayna Margott," she said with a sinister edge to her voice. Helayna felt a chill run down her spine and a simultaneous sinking feeling in her chest.

"How did you—" Helayna started to mouth, completely confounded that this woman she'd never seen before would know her.

The bizarre woman cut her off before she could finish the question with an eerie chuckle. "Mind the gate, won't you?" she said before pointing a finger in the direction of the front gate, adjacent to the one by which Helayna had arrived.

Helayna turned just in time to see a black scaly reacher lumber through the open iron gates dragging its hideous clawed arms behind.

_Oh my God,_ she thought helplessly.

She whirled around in a flash, assuming the woman, regardless of the nature of her business with Lucien, would allow her in for safety. Instead, the large wooden door had been shut and the woman was gone.
17

The Reacher

"WELL, THAT WENT well," Cat said as she stepped down from the florist portico onto the busy cobblestone sidewalk. Her companion looked more like a lost old man than the great navigator he claimed to be.

"It's really her. I know it."

Cat looked in the direction his boney finger pointed, toward the man they'd addressed inside, the one now making a hurried getaway. When he looked back at them over his shoulder, she turned back to face Solomon.

"I'm fairly certain that he was the one you mentioned the other day. Lucien Mooncaster, the violinist"

Solomon continued to watch the fleeing musician until he'd completely disappeared into the crowd. His gaze then fell toward his feet. "That poor son of a bitch," she heard him whisper before looking back up. "Let's get back. We must prepare for the hunt tomorrow."

Cat scrunched her nose at him. "If he really did describe her, why wouldn't we follow him and try to get her now? Wouldn't that save a tremendous amount of time and effort?"

"Because even so, she could be anyone on the street walking near or far to him and if we just show up at his home she isn't too likely to show herself," he said, lowering his voice back to a whisper. "She could be listening to our very conversation right now. If we followed him, she would spot us without a doubt and we haven't even a strategy for how stop her. We must make her come to us when we are absolutely ready."

Cat stared up at him being sure to show her lack of enthusiasm in the plan and said nothing.

"Don't worry it does help us to know that it's him and where we can find him."

"How so?" Cat asked.

"If she is there, reachers will be naturally drawn to the spot, making it easier to bag one of the bastards."

*~*~*

Swirling visions of waning candlelight and savage claws ripping and tearing plagued Cat's sleep. The monster that chased her called her by name and just like that, she was awake. She looked around the haze of her room to see who'd called her name when a fierce knock against her door made an obvious answer.

"The sun is rising, Cat, let's go," Solomon said from the other side.

"Goddammit Solomon," she mumbled.

She eased herself from bed and groggily slid into her clothes she had laid out for the day, a flared skirt falling just past her knees for mobility and a fancy padded upper garment with plating in area appropriate enough to protect vital organs. She wondered if after all of this, were they to succeed, the nightmares might cease as well.

"What the hell took so long?"

Cat glared up at him after she'd closed her door. "What time is it?"

"It's closer to morning than you think. Hours are precious right now.  
If you are ready," he said making his way for the door.

Cat sighed and followed.

*~*~*

"Hold right there," yelled the salty voice of a city guardsman from above the gate.

"Yeah, yeah," Solomon whispered sourly under his breath as he brought the carriage to a halt. Zargo's gatehouse guards were typically the least experienced of any militia and liked to act as though the opposite were true.

"Good morning, brother," he said to the guard that had stepped up to his side of the carriage.

"What business do you have on the other side of the gate?"

Solomon didn't like the man's tone nor did he care for the way he carried himself. He was one of the especially smug ones. Before he could answer, another had approached. "Doing a little hunting, boys, if you don't mind?"

"You have documentation for that, old man?"

Solomon saw Cat try to stifle a burst of laughter from the corner of his vision. He withdrew a card from the inside lining of his hat. "Will this do it for you?"

"A monster hunter—I had no idea sir. Are the two of you armed? Sightings have been on the rise you know."

Solomon chuckled to himself and with one hand, lifted Griever to rest against his shoulder. With the other he lifted the side of his coat revealing a market's selection of blades. "To the teeth," Solomon said snidely.

"Lift the gate!" the guard firmly called out. The order was repeated by a few other guards before the rod iron stakes unhooked from the ground and lifted into the air enough for the carriage to pass underneath. After they had done so, the gatehouse wasted little time in shutting it back.

"Trade places with me, if you will," Solomon said to Cat. With the carriage still in motion, he stood and scooted past, allowing Cat to move herself down to where he had been sitting and take the reins.

"What are you doing?" Cat asked of Solomon as she guided the horse pulling their carriage into a mass of trees with trunks wider than the reach of a full grown man and taller than the walls of the city. Solomon waited to answer until he had finished removing and replacing the bullets in each of his handguns.

"Don't want to kill this one. These rounds, if placed correctly, will stun the beast and allow us to capture it alive."

"Placed correctly?"

"Yes, it must be shot in the back of its head, above where the spikes begin, the core of its nervous system. When I was alone before, I couldn't get an angle on it. Now that you are with me, you will draw its attention to you while I place the shot."

Cat gulped nervously.

"That reminds me, you need this." He hesitated for a short moment before placing Griever, his favorite of the two firearms, in her lap. "You know how to shoot?"

"As simple as squeezing the trigger, right?"

Solomon cocked his head to the side. "Not exactly."

"I'm just fucking with you, Solomon," she snickered. "My brother taught me how to shoot a while back. I'm really not that bad."

He placed a hand on her shoulder and gripped tightly as they shared a mutual chuckle. He was really starting to enjoy her company.

"All right, pull off through that clearing there," he said, pointing to an opening in the woods to the right of the road.

Solomon holstered his remaining pistol, as Cat followed his instructions and guided the carriage through the clearing that led down to the beach.

"Good, we need not be too conspicuous while we are out here. We're not far from the Mooncaster estate now."

Cat climbed down from the carriage and looked down the line of the beach until her eyes found a large ivy-overgrown tower reaching just barely above the trees.

"My God, he really lives out here?"

Solomon ran his fingers through his beard as he gazed up at the monstrosity. "The whole family has for several generations. I should have guessed we'd have ended up out here."

"Why is that?"

"The boy lived with his family there until they were lost in an unresolved incident at sea. It has her name written all over it if you ask me."

"The Lioness?" Cat asked. "Could that have something to do with why she is there now?"

Solomon looked over at her as he considered the observation. "I sure don't like the look of it, I'll say that much. And it's important to not get _too_ close if we can help it. Keep your eyes open and keep that pistol close."

He knelt down as if he spotted something and began to examine the dirt at the tree line. After following it for several yards, he stopped and muttered several curses under his breath. He waited for Cat to walk over to where he stood before elaborating on his find.

"Those goddamn tracks just stop right here," he said, pointing to the ground. "They seemed to veer a little toward the beach but it's hard to tell for sure. Come here for a minute."

"Okay..." Cat said, sounding uneasy. She followed him into a kneeling position.

"See how the grass is sort of torn from the ground here, and then you can tell that some dirt was drug forward for several feet following over here?"

Cat nodded.

"That is the footstep of a reacher. They drag their feet and hands a controlled distance apart in order to feel where they are walking instead of seeing. See if you can follow the line they had started to make and if they pick back up in that direction. I'll stay on the tree line here."

Cat nodded anxiously and started in the direction that he had pointed. Solomon continued down the line he chose, focusing entirely on every aspect of the ground below him. He looked up at the manor uneasily. They were starting to get closer than he would like to be.

How could they just stop like that, unless...

He turned his gaze up into the high branches of the trees but before he could see anything, a frigid scream pierced the air. Without a conscious thought, he turned, drew, and pointed his pistol in the direction the sound had come from. He shuddered wholeheartedly when he found his gun pointed at the thing that had plagued his nightmares for now countless years. The abhorrent monster—the unearthly beautiful woman—the siren. She stood calf-deep in the water holding Cat up by her neck. Solomon watched Cat squirm violently, finding herself powerless in the black grip of the fiend. The fear on her face crushed his heart. Through a burden of guilt mounting by the second, he pulled back the hammer of his firearm.

"Let her go, you goddamn abomination!"

"Sure thing, _Solomon!"_ she called back in a different voice than he remembered. Her voice was deeper and almost demonic in nature. "First, you return what you took from me!"

His hand instinctively felt for the lower left-hand pocket of his jacket.

"That's right. Hand over the little souvenir you stole and we can each go on our merry way!" Solomon didn't budge, he could see Cat's face turning blue and in dire need of oxygen. "How many times would you like to watch her die, huh? I don't think it was nearly enough last—"

Before she could finish, Solomon fired a round into her shoulder. He cursed under his breath when he remembered his gun was loaded only with stun rounds intended for the reacher. Lyra took a step back as it struck her skin above the cuff of her white dress. Blood began to run from the bullet hole but Solomon knew full well how little damage it had done.

"Wrong choice!" the siren screamed before shoving her helpless victim face first into the foamy water.

Solomon immediately charged toward them but didn't make three steps before he saw her grasp the blue jewel hanging from her neck, let go of it, and throw the same hand up to press her palm toward him. The action froze him like a block of ice. Black wisps began to swirl around her as her eyes faded to a fiery crimson.

"This is all too familiar, eh, Solomon?" She cackled as Cat struggled in her grasp.

Solomon clenched every muscle in his body in an attempt to break free from the conjured prison. His blood felt hot in his veins, bubbling over a fire ignited by his hatred for her.

Of all the things, of all the people, she's innocent...completely innocent...

As Cat's violent spasms began to slow, Lyra's monstrous gaze darted up toward the building. Through his peripheral vision, Solomon saw fleeting movements in the direction her eyes pointed.

"It's your lucky day, old man. There's someone at the door."

In an instant, the siren grasped the sapphire jewel and disappeared into thin air, dropping her victim in place as well as releasing Solomon from his own imprisonment. He fell hard against the sand before hastily climbing back to his feet and running to where his colleague lay motionless in the water.

"Cat!" he screamed to no response.

The siren was no longer visible anywhere as the old man swept his young companion up in his arms and ran back up to the beach. He laid her flat on the ground and began to press both hands against her chest over her heart before putting his ear just against the opening of her nose to check her breathing.

"Come on Cat, dammit!" he cried out before trying again to resuscitate her.

After three attempts, he heard her emit shallow breathes. He sighed a relief, but he knew she needed a little more help. From the small glass vial he wore around his neck; he let a single drop of elixir fall against her cracked lips. He returned the ointment to where he got it and sat back against his heels. The look of blue paleness in her face created a great sinking feeling in his chest. As he gazed at his half-dead ally, a familiar hissing growl stole his attention.

What perfect timing.

The dreaded sound seemed to come from the manor grounds, where the siren's attention had darted before fleeing. The siren's words repeated in his head.

It's your lucky day, old man. There's someone at the door.

He cursed himself for not piecing it together sooner and charged up the hill toward the estate. He let himself through the already open rusted-iron gate onto the grounds and found a woman with near silver hair engaged in a standoff with his coveted reacher.

"Oh my God," he murmured. He immediately began jumping up and down while flailing his arms wildly. "Hey! Leave her alone! Come after me you faceless bastard!"

The woman looked frightened. Solomon marveled at her presence of mind to continue to wait for the reacher to advance toward him before she tried to make her escape. He could see her eyeing a small building with a ramp leading down under the ground. Come to think of it, he hadn't seen a carriage waiting anywhere for her.

_It must be a tunnel that leads to the city,_ he thought as he tried to maneuver the reacher away from her path to the building.

_But of course, that must be how Mr. Mooncaster gets safely back and forth. Quite ingenious,_ he concluded.

The woman disappearing safely into the tunnel eased his anxiety to a feeling much closer to home field advantage. He turned to face the monster. He was disappointed to miss out once again on capturing it alive but this was about living to fight another day.

The reacher continued its brisk trudge toward him. Instinctively, Solomon pulled Ravager from its holster and brought it to his eye line. In the few seconds it had taken, the reacher had lunged and swung its long clawed arm. The pistol fell to the ground and a searing pain told Solomon he had a gash just below his knuckles. His hand went for his second gun but found only an empty holster. His heart skipped a beat. In an instant, every joint in his body seemed to lock up and he felt as though he could be on the verge of a full-blown heart attack. He looked down, hoping the empty grasp had deceived him—it hadn't. Both holsters were painfully empty.

With little time to regret not retrieving Griever from the beach, he pulled a knife from his jacket and quickly ducked out of the way of a second swipe from the creature's black, scaly arm. His evasion was short lived. With lightning quick movements, the monster whipped around and snatched Solomon by the neck. The old man played his only card and drove his knife into the meat of the reacher's arm. The move did little to hamper the vice grip on his throat, squeezing tighter and tighter with each passing second.

_This is it. I've failed_.

Solomon closed his eyes to wait for the end, but the end didn't come. The first thing that came in its place was a menacing pop. The second, an immediate release of the webbed claws from around his neck. The old man fell to his knees and grasped the skin around his throat with both hands. The reacher lay lifelessly before him while in the distance; he could see Cat standing just inside the gates with his trusted pistol pointed to where the reacher had been standing. She lowered the weapon and walked over to him.

"So who has the advantage now?" she asked offering Solomon her hand.

He took it and pushed himself up. Leaning against her shoulder, he chuckled softly before the pair broke into a roar of laughter.
18

Rescued?

THE ONLY SURVIVOR of the Reconnaissance was beginning to give up hope. He had been sailing aimlessly for weeks and had been without food for at least twelve sunsets. He used the oars to cover as much water as he could for as many hours as his body had physically allowed him. Before long, he had given up completely on rowing and navigation, opting to simply drift haphazardly across the ocean. He was exhausted, desolate, and ready for the end.

Only when his last drop of hope evaporated did his luck finally change. He'd given up on everything and wanted nothing more than to lie in his boat and close his eyes forever. Like a thief in the night, his salvation was delivered to him.

As he lay against the floor of the dingy, barely hanging on to consciousness, he felt a cool mist against his skin. After several seconds of soft sprinkling, the refreshing drops rejuvenated him to full awareness. A strange sound that James hadn't heard in many days found him—a sound like jets of water coupled with shouts of men and the ringing of bells. He pushed himself up to see something that nearly brought tears to his eyes. A ship had somehow found him.

He tried his best to lift his drained body to a more upright position so that the men on the ship may see him. The simple task proved formidable. He was completely sapped of energy and could hardly move in any direction. The best he could muster was to raise one skeletal arm into the air and pray to the divine that they saw him as his field of vision slowly faded to black.

He was in and out of consciousness for the next several days, with foggy visions of men standing over and examining him. He was awoken from time to time to be force-fed strange liquids. He wondered where he was and if that location was the same ship that had found him. He had little energy to ask questions of the surrounding men; his consciousness always faded back out once the liquefied meal had been poured down his throat.

He returned to full self-awareness an indeterminable amount of time later in a very bland, white colored room. He looked down to see himself wearing a loose white shirt, white trousers, and no shoes. The bed he was lying on consisted of an old dusty mattress covered in a dingy white sheet. The bedding itself was covered in numerous odd shaped tears and was in dire need of a wash. He tried to move his arms and immediately found himself chained to the bed.

I'm a prisoner.

The realization filled him with despair.

Fear regarding his present condition and location snuck up and gripped him tightly. He tried to determine the last thing he could remember. Everything was hazy except for select vivid, piercing memories of lying in the bottom of the lifeboat, slowly withering away. The memory of being pulled aboard a large ship by several men just before it all went black felt like the most recent.

Was it an enemy ship that picked me up?

He nervously pondered the thought before realizing that he could think of no active enemies of Mediterranea. The notion would be bizarre, to say the least. Other than various scattered bands of pirates, there weren't many factions that would reasonably try such a thing and the room that James was trapped in hardly seemed like it belonged in the headquarters of pirates. He wished desperately that he had a window to look through; such a luxury would make things considerably easier. All that surrounded him were four solid concrete walls, no fixtures, no clocks. His room appeared to be lit by some sort of skylight that of course, wasn't over his bed. He knew at least that it was during daylight hours.

He continued to ponder the prospect of who might have wanted to imprison him. Strangely, if they were truly an enemy, they had done a considerable job reviving him from the corpse he felt like in the lifeboat. He could tell he had already gained a considerable portion of the weight he had lost—though the transitionary period was somehow missing from his memory.

He continually tried to think back in hopes to ascertain the origin of his predicament. His mind answered with memories of the wretched island. He had been part of a crew aboard a ship—the _Reconnaissance_. He had made a decision that led to the death of every man aboard except for himself. Why did he get to survive? James was sure it had made eye contact with him as he floated past, and it simply let him go? The menacing image of the Lioness with its blood-soaked claws protruding from Captain Merlot's chest passed through his mind, forcing a physical shudder and a deep aching in his heart. His shattered soul cried out for his fellow crew and especially his captain who he felt he had forsaken the most.

Tears ran down his cheeks and neck and began to soak into his stiff mattress. He sobbed for minutes or maybe hours before he heard the latch to his door unlock and the door creak open. A tall man and three women entered. They each wore all white garments including masks and caps. James believed they looked like doctors.

_Great_ , __ he thought, feeling somewhat relieved. Still, he noted that there was a disturbing lack of medical equipment in his room if he truly did currently reside in a hospital. "Who are you and where am I?" he inquired, blinking the moisture from his red swollen eyes.

Neither the man nor the women staring down at him answered. After an almost unbearable silence, the man with military-short white hair, deep facial lines, and thick half-moon glasses mentioned something to one of his apparent nurses that James was unable to perceive. She began scribbling furiously against her clipboard.

"Are you deaf?" James cried. He could feel himself spewing agitation. "Who are you and where am I?"

The man continued to stare at his patient, seeming to study everything about him. After what felt to James like an eternity, the doctor removed his glasses and placed them in the pocket of his white coat.

"You truly have no memory of me, James? Or your present whereabouts?"

James contorted his face as he stared up at him. "Of course not! How could I know who you are if we've never met?"

The doctor sighed, "James, you are a patient at the Zargo Psychiatric Asylum. I am your attending physician, Dr. Mildren. You were admitted here directly from the medical hospital just over three weeks ago. You are battling with severe grief and mania from the loss of your fellow crew and the ensuing weeks spent wandering the ocean alone. We are trying to discover what happened to you out there. The ship that picked you up had very little information to give. All they could offer was that based on your emaciated appearance, you must have been drifting for weeks. So, shall we try again today?" he said with an eerie coldness.

Three weeks? If that were true, why do I have no memories of it?

James stared at him blankly and then down at the cuffs around his wrists.

_"_ Why am I restrained?"

The doctor cleared his throat. "Over the past few weeks, you have demonstrated violent behavior to yourself and others during a series of psychotic fits. Each of those fits coming after marked progress is achieved and followed by a total reset of your amnesia. You had just such an episode two days ago. So unfortunately, you must remain like this until we know that this part of your recovery is behind you. This is something that you can help us with. If you want out of the shackles, simply tell us what happened to you out there? We need to know the truth."

James stared up at Dr. Mildren. Maybe it was right for him to be locked up, he felt like demonstrating violent behavior that very moment. "You want to know everything?"

The doctor nodded. James stared down at his feet lying limp at the end of the bed and began to rehash the abhorrent voyage in his mind.

"I joined the crew of the _Reconnaissance_ as a contractor __ out of the port here in Zargo. We were dispatched when another from the same shipping company didn't return from their voyage. __ We found that very ship, the _Orion,_ pretty near where we expected it to be. It was sitting still in the middle of the ocean and was completely empty. No men, no blood, no anything." He stopped as more and more images of the journey flooded his mind.

"Go on," the man said.

"Will you give me a second?" James cried, trying to collect himself. The man took a step back and folded his hands.

"We were near an island many of the men referred to as the _Lioness' Den_. So many of the crew feared the worst—that a fate far worse than death had found them. They were right."

"Slow down James; tell me some more about this _Lioness' Den_."

James watched the man mouth the words, "More mentioning of the Lioness' Den," to the nurse. He pretended to ignore it.

"It was a small remote island where the witch seemed—the Lioness seemed to live. We saw the men..." He began to sob as he recalled the particularly grotesque part of the story. "They were hanging from the trees and they had been cut open."

"The witch again today, I see."

"Again?" James shouted. Rage coursed through him as if the doctor had injected it straight into his bloodstream. He wondered if this were all a game to the doctor, all the innocent bloodshed resting on his shoulders.

"The problem with your account, James, is that we have been unable to corroborate the existence of any island called the Lioness' Den. This story about a demonic witch living on a remote island in the middle of the ocean mass murdering people just isn't plausible. There isn't any such thing that we can see. The reports that came back after you came to us were that both ships, the _Orion_ and the _Reconnaissance_ were found adrift without an island of any size within two hundred miles. The only plausible explanation is that your ship came into contact with a high-level storm leaving you the only survivor. We are here to help you get well, but you have to want it too. We want to hear what really happened out there, but from you. As your mind returns to health, the truth shall emerge."

James was speechless as he attempted to process what the man had just told him. He watched as the doctor turned and spoke to the nurse again, muttering things like 'delusions' and 'grief-stricken,' and telling her to write them down. Suddenly James experienced an irrefutable urge to scream at the man.

"There were no goddamn storms! There were no storms the entire time I was on the ocean! Not a single drop of rain! I watched that evil creature drag good men down in the woods and—and that thing's disgusting ritual! There were hundreds of skeletons! I remember the smell like I was there now! I watched as it murdered Captain Merlot! My uncle... the only person who was a friend to me at sea! I watched and I did nothing!" James felt the sobs as if the doctor was extracting them from his chest. Each image pierced his mind like a dagger. "Nothing you say can change what I saw with my own two eyes! What I will never be able to forget!"

Dr. Mildren sat down on the bed. "You have survivor's guilt, James. It is all right to be upset; we are going to help you through this." He then stood and made his way back toward the door. Before he and the nurses departed, he turned and said one final thing. "It's not your fault that you survived, son." James stared at the door, sure that he'd just heard Captain Merlot's voice and not the rotten doctor.

The silence in the room was maddening. The dim and relentless flickering bulb finally shut off some time after the doctor and nurses had left. As bothersome as the overbearing light had been, he immediately wished for it to come back on. Strange and disturbing sounds crept around him. He could hear the crackling of the skeleton bonfire and the sickening moans of dying men begging for mercy.

After several hours of restless paranoia, James slipped into a dreamless slumber. He may have slept for days or only just minutes before he was awakened by a soft tapping sound. Still feeling the burden of exhaustion, James looked around. The room was lit again, save for a dark corner that the light from two large candles was unable to reach. He could see nothing that might be making the persistent noise. Even after rubbing his eyes and allowing himself to fully awaken, he saw nothing. His eyes continued to look all around the room until coming to rest on the solitary corner the color of pitch black. He was certain the tapping came from there. A shapeless mass moved within the shadow, but it stayed within the confines of the dark, refusing to reveal itself to him.

Indiscriminate whispers found their way into James' ears. He could not make out what was being said but the voice was in itself horrifying enough. Despite James' efforts to resist it, the sounds summoned great images of grotesque cruelty. He could see himself walking toward Captain Merlot. They were on the island again, amidst the evil clearing. Charred remains surrounded them. James looked up at Merlot. The captain hung from a cross, completely naked. Blood dripped from each of his extremities. James watched helplessly, as with his own hands, he forced a flaming spear into the abdomen of the helpless captain. Merlot screamed in agony as his body became engulfed by flames. James threw down the weapon and began to scream and convulse. His eyes lowered to look at his own arms. They had been replaced with slender ash black appendages with long razors for fingers.

James continued to scream and shake until he was no longer on the island. He was back in the hospital room with three nurses attempting to rebind his hands. It was one of the female nurses that had been in his room with the doctor previously and two large males that he didn't recognize. He clamped his eyes shut and pleaded with the nurses for help. He told them, with a face of stone, of the monstrous thing lurking in the shadow of his room.

"You're perfectly safe, James. I can assure you there is no one here," spoke the voice of Dr. Mildren. The utterance forced James to open his eyes again. He continued to beg for their sympathy, insisting that there was something in the shadow, pointing in the direction of the shape he had seen. Everyone stopped to look at where he pointed. Nothing in the shadow appeared to be moving and the hellish whisper had also ceased. The two orderlies returned to tightening the bindings around his hands as the doctor, dressed all in white, stood over him, shaking his head.

"You let that monster in here when you put me in the dark, you son of a bitch! When it comes back to finish the job, it will be on your hands!" James screamed at the emotionless Dr. Mildren.

"Who was the monster this time James? Hmm? Was it Horace Burns? Or was it you again?"

"Me again?!"

The doctor sat against the end of the bed and began to speak but James didn't listen.

_Horace Burns,_ he thought recalling the vile sailor's words. _Surviving the Lioness is simply a delay to a fate already marked and measured. You'd be nothing but a raving lunatic to those academics back in Zargo. When you tell a land dweller the things you see out here, they'll lock you right the fuck up..._

James suddenly interrupted whatever the doctor had been saying. "It-it was raining that night," he stammered.

"Pardon? When was it raining, James?"

James pretended to sigh. "The night our ship was overpowered. We had veered off course while searching for the _Orion._ We never found it." He paused, his mind racing to find things to populate his lie. "We veered off course and into a storm we hadn't foreseen. The storm was violent. I barely managed to get to a lifeboat while our ship took on water. I could have saved others ... but I failed to..."

"This is incredible progress James!" the doctor eagerly exclaimed. James was disgusted by how easily the doctor believed the false but convenient version of the story. Though the lie turned his stomach, he knew it was likely his only way out of the hellish hospital. As the doctor left the room, James turned his head away from the door, closed his eyes, and drifted into a restless, dreamless slumber.
19

The Faceless Boy

THE SWEET SOLITARY silence of Saturday morning at the Mooncaster manor was broken by a gust of wind whistling through the fragmented glass of a broken window. Lucien opened his eyes to a room that had a recent familiarity but it wasn't the bedroom he had gone to sleep in. A look around the room revealed a thick layer of dust covering the few present pieces of furniture and cobwebs galore. The bed was an old smelly mattress covered in slash marks. A boy sat on the edge near the foot looking out through one of the broken windows.

"Who are you?" Lucien asked, drawing his knees up to his chest. The boy didn't react; he simply continued to sit still looking out of the window.

"Hello! You there!" he called out louder, this time getting the boy's attention—it seemed. As the boy turned to face him, Lucien's stomach turned and he was forced to avert his eyes. Where the boy's face should have been, there was nothing. Only smooth skin, as though his forehead extended from his hairline to his chin.

Lucien uncovered his eyes when he started to hear heavy dragging footsteps approaching. They seemed to come from afar and stop just outside the closed door to the room he and the faceless child occupied. The child turned his head back toward the window as the door burst open. A figure Lucien recognized at once as his father stumbled in carrying a large, half-full glass bottle. With the entrance of the abhorrent man, the room took on a wispy, dreamlike quality. Lucien began to wonder if he was, in fact, dreaming. He looked down and pinched his own arm to a painless response.

Thomas Mooncaster stumbled back and forth before placing his free hand on one of the bedposts to center him. He wore work garments from his job at the docks and splotches of dirt and grime could be seen across the fabric as though he had just come from there. He appeared to have not shaved in weeks. The man had the same eyes, chin and hair color as Lucien. At one point in his life, he had borne a resemblance to the adult version of his son, but addiction had distorted his features almost beyond recognition.

"Why aren't you practicing, boy?" he demanded with a sinister, booming voice that caused the small child to flinch.

"My-my mom said I could take a break and go down to the beach with her," the small boy whimpered in a familiar voice.

Lucien knew in that moment he was witnessing an interaction from Thomas and himself as a child. With the recognition, the boy's face was no longer featureless. It was undoubtedly him as a child. He sat on the bed watching, completely frozen to the events happening before him.

His father shook his head in disgusted disbelief. "Your mother did, huh? Well, I've got news for you, son. Your precious mommy isn't in charge. I am. And you're not going anywhere until I hear all your scales without mistakes!"

The boy looked up at his father defiantly. "I don't want to, Father." Without warning, the overbearing drunken man backhanded the boy to the floor. When the child began to cry, Lucien decided he could bear witness no longer.

"You son of a bitch!" Lucien cried out as he lunged at the belligerent man. But instead of tackling his hideous father, Lucien collided with the cold, dust-covered floor. The man stood over the crying boy, unmoved whatsoever by the attempted attack. Lucien had merely passed through the man as though he were some sort of apparition. Lucien suddenly felt small and powerless, confined to sit and watch as his father continued the onslaught of abuse. The man yelled obscenities into the defenseless boy's ear. Lucien's hearing gradually muffled until he could no longer hear what the voice of his father was saying at all. His head flooded with memories of the same oppression. He rolled over against the floor clutching the sides of his face and ears tightly. He begged his mind to allow him to wake, repeatedly pinching the inner skin of his arm to no avail.

He lay against the floor physically feeling every ounce of torment being administered to the young boy until the room lit up as though a light had been switched on. The door swung open, his mother barging in, like an angel glowing in light as both manifestations of her son looked up at her. The woman's presence was the absolute antithesis of the disgusting man's.

"Get the hell away from my son!" she cried, grabbing at the wretched man's arm and pulling. The young boy's cries gained in intensity as he watched the struggle between his parents unfold. Lucien watched in horror as his father's presence morphed before his eyes into a large dark figure with menacing horns, the snout of an animal, and black and red slime dripping from the layer of scales that replaced his skin. Concurrent to the metamorphosis, a vicious storm began to rage outside the broken window.

"Get off me, you bitch!" Thomas roared with the voice of a demon. Each further utterance from the mouth of the monster became less and less discernible. Without looking back, the monster swung the arm that had been grasping the glass bottle wildly in the direction of Lucien's mother, smashing the jug against her face. The boy begged and pleaded for it to stop. There was an ominously loud crunch as both the bottle itself, and the bones in the woman's face, shattered upon impact. Lucien felt a cry unconsciously wrench from his chest. He pushed himself up from the floor and ran from the room, slamming the door shut with a thunderous thud behind him.

After a moment to catch his breath, he found himself standing within the old abandoned hall of the upper levels. Strange particles floated in the air around him while the environment still bore the same dreamlike wispiness as before.

Lucien continued to pinch his skin harder each time, desperate to escape the dream. He focused everything he had on the thought of waking, squeezing his eyes shut, and opening them back only to find himself standing in the same place with his surroundings unchanged. A nauseating fear infected every fiber of his being. He pondered with horror the possibility of some unknown evil thing keeping him trapped within the dream. Was he stuck here forever?

Without many choices available as to what he could do, he picked a direction and walked the length of the stone hall trying doors as he went. After trying what seemed like fifty doors, all locked and unwilling to budge, he happened across one door sitting slightly ajar. It housed a staircase, one that he figured, based on his childhood memories of the upper levels, led to the tower attic. He looked over his shoulder at the zig-zagging line of footprints that led to where he stood.

Suddenly, the murky silence surrounding him was broken by a soft voice calling to him. It didn't speak any words he could comprehend, and yet, he understood it perfectly well. The voice beckoned alluringly for him to come up the stairs. Without any thought, he obliged it.

He hadn't been in the attic in a great many years, and had always been accompanied by one of his parents. It was larger than he remembered and like the third level below, there was a disgusting amount of dust and cobwebs covering the floor, walls, and large wardrobes that existed in excess up there. He recognized the same voice that had called to him now singing an enchanting melody. He looked all around but couldn't see anyone, as if the voice emitted straight from the wooden walls themselves. He counted seven dust-covered wardrobes lining the perimeter of the attic, one of which stood with a pile of old looking violin cases at the foot. With the beautiful but glaringly loud voice ringing in his ears, he walked over and crouched down to examine the cases.

Lucien sorted through a few of them. The first was light enough to infer its emptiness, while the second two were heavy—much heavier than they ought to be if they were housing violins and nothing more. He opened the first case, which proved, as he had expected, to be completely empty. Lucien closed it and pulled one of the heavier cases to rest in front of him. He was almost afraid to open it, but his curiosity was getting the better of him. He rubbed his fingers across the rusted metal latches. They felt icy, while the body of the case was warm to the touch. As he moved his fingers to unlatch them, a shelf mysteriously fell into a grouping of dress mannequins causing a booming crash.

An alarmed yelp was stolen from him. As the cry left his lips, he quickly turned to the direction that the fixtures had fallen and found he was facing something overtly peculiar. It was as strange as anything he'd ever seen. Behind where all the fixtures had stood was a railing. Perched upon the railing was a large, menacing black bird. It wasn't a simple black bird that one might see while birdwatching in the woods. This bird must have been three times the normal size, with its greasy, unkempt feathers fanned out in all directions. The most disturbing part of the hideous creature was its eyes. They were of a deep fiery shade of red and staring directly at him. The feeling of being caught in the thing's hellish gaze was utterly unnerving, but even more unsettling was his powerlessness to fight it. He told his legs to run back to the ladder but it was as if his feet were glued to the wooden planks below them. All he could do was watch as the grotesque bird eased its beak open.

In a bizarre, otherworldly manner, the bird's beak continued to slowly open while it flapped its wings at normal speed. Wider and wider its beak opened until it was stretched open past the point of what should be physically possible. The further he watched the hideous creature, the further he felt his sanity being stretched apart. He longed to look away, to claw his eyes out if he must, anything for relief from the sight of the hellish fowl, but his frozen joints would allow no such relief.

Once the physical nature of the demonic bird's beak had been completely distorted, it let loose a mind-bending screech that must have emitted directly from the stygian depths of the void. Lucien felt a warm liquid drip from his ears and form a dark red pool on the floor below him. With his final shred of sanity, he questioned how such a lurid horror could exist, even in a dream. The thought acted as his savior and the dream itself finally began to crumble around him.

Clutching the sides of his head and suddenly free from his paralyzed state, he began to step backward from the black feathered monster until one of his feet stepped down and didn't find a wooden plank. His heart leapt into his throat. He found himself falling endlessly down. Darkness surrounded him as he fell but he never crashed into the stone floor below as he expected. His head hit his pillow and he felt his legs bounce reflexively against his bed, jolting him awake.
20

Behind the Door

LUCIEN SCOOTED HIMSELF into a seated position and looked around his room. Images from the worst nightmare he could remember sifted through his mind. It had felt so real. He was relieved to know the comfort of his own room around him again. He tried to remember the last thing that happened before he went to sleep but his memory felt hazy and he couldn't visualize much after arriving home from Zargo. One thing he could remember is that he had seen Ms. Margott.

The thought forced him up from his bed with a rush of nausea. He began to pace the floor while rubbing a hand across his sweat-drenched forehead. A dull ache pulsed across the back of his head.

My God, did I drink last night?

The sticky dry feeling in his mouth and horrid taste lingering on his tongue answered the question for him. Timidly, memories came forth from hiding. Memories of the dinner he cooked and ate with Lyra as well as the entire bottle of wine he consumed.

He stepped over to the window and gazed out at the tranquil morning sky before realizing the angle of the view was unfamiliar. He took a step back and took a closer look at the room surrounding him and realized that it wasn't actually his. He stood in, and conceivably, had slept in, the room that he'd given his guest during her stay. A sickening horror came over him. He looked down at the bed. It appeared as though both sides had been slept in.

Lucien's heart thundered like the hooves of wild horses as he stood petrified by the possible ramifications of what he'd just discovered.

_Maybe it's not as it seems,_ he pondered anxiously. _Maybe we had a normal dinner and everything went well and I fell ill after the wine. Lyra couldn't get me to my room and settled for her own which was closer to the stairs anyway. Perhaps she simply tended to me and nothing more._

It would be easy enough to resolve. He just needed to find her and have her recant every detail of the previous evening that she could. With the lurid details of the nightmare still pestering, he left the room and puzzled over where she might be. His first thought was to look in the sitting room. She seemed to spend most of her time there. He took a few steps down the hall before quickly stopping when he noticed _it_. The door at the end of the hall that led to the upper-levels, the area he'd wandered throughout the dream, was wide open. He never kept the door open. In fact, it had generally remained locked ever since his childhood, thanks to his father's neglect of that part of the manor. Lucien supposed it had been long enough for him to start taking some of the blame. But, nevertheless, there wasn't a good reason for it to be open.

He approached the crypt-like gateway and assumed that Lyra must have grown curious and decided to see the rest of the house's rooms herself. Since he felt reasonably likely to find his guest there, he casually walked through the doorway and up the circular flight of steps to the unfinished upper-level.

The third floor appeared exactly the way his dreams had depicted it. The hall was riddled with dust and spider webs. He decided that he would start spending time cleaning up there in the near future. The same thought made him wonder how Lyra came up here without disturbing any dust on the floor as every step Lucien took left a footprint as though the floor was layered with winter snow rather than dust. It felt about as cold as winter anyway.

Each of the rooms he checked turned out to be empty. Additionally, each one only served to quantify the level of anxiety that he felt. Finally, the last door, the one he distinctly remembered would take him to the tower attic, was the only remaining place to look. With a heightened sense of caution, Lucien swung the door open and ascended to the tower attic.

At the top of the ladder, Lucien eased the trap door open and poked his head up above the surface of the attic floor. Unable to see much, he pulled himself into the attic and let the trap door fall back against the floor. He looked around, noting how similar it looked to the attic he visited during the nightmare. Lyra was not present, causing him to seriously question why the first door had been open at all. Furthermore, as he gained his footing, he found himself surrounded by large black feathers. He looked all around at the grotesque state of his attic and felt his blood run cold. In that moment, fear tried to take him—to beat him down. It succeeded in collapsing him to his knees. He crawled with trembling breath across the wooden floor to one of the feathers.

They weren't the feathers of any average crow. Lucien picked one up to examine it and saw that it was significantly larger than that of a normal bird. What stood out the most was the unkempt, almost greasy nature of the thing. Every feather appeared that way. Lucien tossed it away from him, feeling an urgent need to get out of the attic. He turned around but stopped when a familiar pile of violin cases caught his eye. Strangely, three were laid out with the first open and empty, just as he had done in his dream. He knelt down and placed his hand against one of the cases to keep him from shaking. The case was heavy and warm.

Lucien carefully undid the two latches on the side and lifted the top half of the case. Dark red blood burst and poured from the case as though every cubic inch of space had been filled tight. He was caught completely off-guard as the contents splattered his hands and trousers. He reflexively jumped to his feet and nearly vomited as a rancid rotting smell filled the air. When he looked back down at the soaked case that was now surrounded by a widening puddle of blood, he saw other things—horrifying things—lying within. A pair of eyes and several other organs including what appeared to be a human heart. His hand rushed to cover his mouth as he backed away from the bloody container, unable to cope with what he was seeing.

He turned around and bolted down the staircase, and through the halls of the third floor. It became imperative that he find Lyra right away.

He frantically threw doors open, trying to find his way back to the stairwell to the restored area of the manor. By chance, he ran past a large window that looked over a balcony and the ocean below and spotted the outline of a figure. Unsure if it was Lyra, he proceeded out onto the balcony for a better look.

The fresh air that hit him in the face gave a clear indication to the quality of the putrid, stagnant atmosphere permeating within the manor's upper levels. A deep rehabilitating breath felt wondrous. After a few more, he stepped to the railing to get a better look at the figure. For the second time that morning, Lucien stumbled upon something that he did not expect.

The figure was, in fact, the figure of Lyra bathing in the sea. The rays of the sun glistening over the curves of her body combined reflecting the surface of the sea. Lucien couldn't help but perceive a scene of euphoria.

He averted his eyes and felt an overwhelming sense of shame to be watching her in such a way. He didn't think that she had seen him, but still his skin burned with embarrassment. He tried to cover up the feeling by conjuring up a new plan. All he needed to do was go back downstairs and wait for her to come in and he could ask her about the door then and show her the blood and feathers. No need to even mention that he had seen her out in the water at all.

He took one step back toward the door and was overtaken by an urgent need to look in her direction again. Resistance to the urge felt like powerful withdrawals from some sort of drug. He needed to look upon her even more than he needed his books—even more than he needed air.

With extreme caution, he returned to the railing to find Lyra staring directly up at him. The same moment that his eyes locked onto hers, he was instantly frozen in a paralytic trance. He watched helplessly as the creature he'd rescued days ago slowly glided out from the foamy tide and up toward the manor without breaking her gaze from her apparent prey. His mind floundered in a full blown panic.

Is she really doing this? How?

He couldn't know for sure, but it seemed so. With every joint, ligament, and fiber of his body frozen, Lucien was a prisoner in time and fully at the mercy of whatever she may do to him.

Gradually, a flock of large black birds landed one by one on the balcony, surrounding him. He remembered the flock from the night he rescued Lyra. One by one, the birds emitted screaming caws at him. Each shrill squawk was more guttural and disturbing than the last. The door behind Lucien began to rattle fiercely as though some being was trying to tear the door down. Still frozen, he felt himself being rotated around by some horrifying mysticism to face the door. His fear morphed into hysteria and he felt as though the end was upon him. Surely, his death awaited on the other side of the door.

As the thought passed through his helpless mind, the door burst open and the flock dispersed. A glistening Lyra stood in the doorway surrounded by a glowing, golden aura. Lucien found his limbs suddenly capable of movement, yet as a whole, he was still immobile. The skin of Lyra's arm was ash-black down to the clawed hand holding his neck in a vice grip as his feet dangled below him. Her infernal eyes burned like two blazing torches before him.

"Your destiny is before you, Lucien," she said in a voice that was not her own. "But rejoice for your sacrifice will be the catalyst in the construction of the new world."

Lucien grasped at her wrist with both hands. It felt as firm and cold as stone.

"What could killing me do to the world?"

Lyra turned her chin up as laughter poured from her mouth. "Oh no, little mouse, I won't be killing you, not directly anyway. I am going to seize control of your will with the power of, most ironically, a song. Once the spell is cast, you will read a passage and thus surrender your soul to your new lord, Tenebris. You will find yourself utterly powerless against it. All shall kneel and all shall have you to thank for allowing your lord's safe passage into the world. You will survive the three required days locked in your manor allowing his power to travel from the nethereal plane into ours. After that, you will die a quick and painless death. A modest reward for your sacrifice."

By the end, her voice had returned to her normal timbre, though Lucien could hear a second voice emit from her vocal chords speaking certain words in chorus. Fear clung to Lucien's features as the grim news of what was about to unfold registered in his mind.

As promised, Lyra began to sing. With her eyes close, she vocalized a hauntingly beautiful melody that quickly alleviated every anxiety from Lucien's being. He allowed his own eyes to close as the tones of her song washed over him. The song was familiar to him, like he'd specifically heard her sing it to him before. It was familiar, but different. He felt as though he had definitely heard the song before but every few bars, a note was different than the version committed to his memory.

Lucien opened his eyes as the enchanting melody came to a close. Lyra's physical appearance was unchanged, and yet, she looked like a monster—like a savage, hungry beast. Her breath was heavy and labored, her eyebrows arched, her eyes and mouth ready to feast upon her prey. She lowered him to the ground but kept her hand against his neck. She retrieved an old leather bound book from a fold in her dress and seemed to open it to the page she required without even looking.

"Read," she demanded with the full-blown voice of a demon.

Thoughts began to race through Lucien's mind. Though she had said she would take control of his will, he didn't feel any internal or external push to do as she commanded. He wondered if she was reading his thoughts or what she had even meant by the words, _I am going to seize control of your will_.

He stared at her. He surely was not going to read a passage that supposedly would lead to his own demise and enable a fiend from another dimension to come into his. He watched her eyes widen with rage. Fire danced in her irises as black lines ran on the surface of her skin from her eyes in the shape of lightning or tree roots. He watched as she turned her face away from him and seemed to mumble something incoherent. He flinched but remained in her grip as the back of her fist crashed against his face, extinguishing his thoughts.

*~*~*

Why the hell did that not work? You purposefully sung the song incorrectly, didn't you?

The despicable voice of Tenebris seemed to hiss the words from just behind Lyra's ear.

She looked down at the body of Lucien, sprawled against the floor of the balcony, and turned to look out at the ocean. She knew during fleeting moments of clarity that the voice came from within. Regular and abhorrent self-aware thoughts that she could not escape were occurring, the demon was somehow manifested within her flesh. She couldn't remember exactly when the voice started but she hadn't seen Tenebris leering after her for some time now. She felt him even in her blood. He could control her motor functions at any time of his choosing, often leaving her to watch within the prison of her own eyes. Other times, she found herself _waking up_ in the middle of a room while not knowing how she got to where she was standing, as if the demon had blacked her out from seeing what he made her do.

"I won't let you do this to him," she finally answered.

Let me assure you Lyra that interference will not bode well for you or the boy.

_"_ As I said, you will need to find another way—without the help of my abilities."

Very well. I will torture it out of you. It'll be more fun that way.

"What can you possibly do to me from within my thoughts?"

_Still, you question me?_ The demon laughed insidiously. _You will see._
21

The Thing in the Bathtub

ENTRY: DECEMBER 2, 3259

My time is drawing near. She has spoken in her sleep again. She and another, a sister it seems, mean to tear my sanity apart. Ever since the dark hour that I became addicted to her beauty, things have become clear—frighteningly clear. While this clarity is only available when she isn't controlling me, it disturbs me to my core. Before meeting the devil, I was of clean conscience. Of course, I was not a perfect person; it would be outrageous to suggest such a thing. The dark thing that has become most clear is that before, I never wished ill will or harm against any living thing. Just the other day, in the presence of a beggar on the street, I found myself screaming at the man to get a job if he wished to be sustained. It went far beyond that. In my mind, I saw myself strangling the useless man. I found myself relishing in the prospect of saving my city with my own two hands. Only now, in my true state of mind, do I see the damage that has been done to me to provoke such ludicrous thoughts. Only after last night do I know the source of the corruption. She spoke to me amid her slumber as though she were speaking to a beloved sister, mistaking me for someone named Lyra and sharing details of how to corrupt the purest of individuals, so their blood may be sweeter for consumption. I know what I must do. She has spoken often in her sleep of the great power the jewel around her neck possesses, granting her control of time itself as I understand it. If I can convince her to relinquish it to me I can use it to go back before I cursed myself with her company and maybe even go back and save my dearest Caroline. She seems weakened in the presence of my violin music, so such shall be my strategy. I shall allow this journal to be my final testament should I not prevail.

*~*~*

Cat put the worn green journal down against the arm of the couch. Between obnoxious grumblings from the bathroom, she thought she could hear the front door being jiggled open. A few seconds later, Solomon burst through the door. She had never seen him appear in a state that so closely resembled excitement. She immediately resented him for it. He'd opted against inviting her to join him for tasks for more than a week now; citing that with a vast increase in reacher sightings, the world outside was getting too dangerous. She knew it was because she had been nearly drowned by the creature they pursued, but still it didn't seem fair.

"I've finally found them," he said while wearing a grin spanning from ear to ear.

Cat picked the book back up from the cushion after nodding halfheartedly. She had heard the same words each day that week.

The old man sighed. "Look, I know you aren't happy about how things have been, but after what happened at the beach. I can't continue to put you in harm's way like that. Especially with—"

She didn't allow him to finish. "To go and get some goddamn bullets, Solomon? I am not a child!"

Solomon nodded. "You're right. I haven't been very fair, have I? I know you aren't a child. But, you should know, these types of monolithic casts had to be specially crafted."

She tried to push the quarrel aside in her mind and watched as he retrieved a small cardboard box from his coat. As he held it out, she heard the metal rounds clinking together inside. When she wasn't angry at him, Cat viewed her colleague's coat as an article of pure mysticism. She dared not even ask how he was capable of carrying so much without the slightest hindrance. She knew the answer, like everything else about him, would be vague and full of avoidance.

"Based on your observations and incredible findings in the journal, I truly believe we are getting close," he said, still grinning.

Cat nodded. "Well it took you long enough to actually consider my suggestions."

The smile began to disappear from the old man's face. "It was never about that you know? We have to bide our time. Having these handy will allow us a huge step forward."

"Is this how you went about killing every reacher you came across? You know, when you were paid to do it?"

"Killing every reacher?" he said, walking toward the bathroom prison chamber. "No. No, we burned and buried them. That's not what these are for. I'm sorry I suppose I wasn't clear about the plan."

A thunderous crash rang out from behind the door.

Cat had slowly grown accustomed to the awful thing's presence after spending the better part of two weeks listening to the thrashings while Solomon conducted his experiments, sometimes requiring her assistance and sometimes not. She had been sure all the while to keep him aware of her annoyance with his way of doing business.

"So fill me in."

He retrieved the sapphire rose petal from another pocket on his coat. "When the reacher sees this, it will call to its master. Maybe you remember from the beach how badly she wanted it back. She will appear. Then," he said tapping the box of bronze shells. "We finish it."

Cat considered what he'd said. From the explanation it didn't seem like he had much use for her. Solomon stroked the end of his beard, twisted it between his fingers. It seemed as though he'd read her mind.

"I will be the one holding the petal. She will make her move quickly and directly, most likely. You will hide somewhere and then when it is time—." He moved his coat to reveal his right pistol. "You will pull the trigger. Sounds like the thing is hungry," the old man said. "We ought to alleviate him." Cat sighed and followed him into the makeshift prison that was nestled between their bedrooms.

As soon as the pair entered the bathroom, the reacher shifted from a crouch to standing fully erect. The monster measured close to seven feet tall with dark colored scales covering its entire body. Its long webbed arms hung down to its sides, cuffed and chained to the walls so it couldn't grab at them with its claws. Its faceless head, featuring a red colored scar running the length of the left side, followed Cat everywhere she stepped despite not having a pair of eyes to see her. Solomon had explained that it perceived every action in its surroundings from sound waves alone. Still, it made her skin crawl. She tried not to look too hard at the beast as Solomon approached it and withdrew one of his handguns. He laid the box of bronze bullets in the wash bowl and popped the cylinder of the weapon out, allowing the current contents to fall into the wash bowl with a rattling clank.

The monster lunged hard at the old man, pulling its chains taut against the wall. It lowered its head, showing the horns that protruded out and up. The act seemed like a threat from where Cat stood.

Solomon clicked his tongue several times condescendingly. He stood with his face just inches from the reacher. "You poor bastard, this will all be over soon enough."

He took a step back and retrieved the mystic object from his pocket. He squeezed it tight in his palm and extended his other hand, grasping the pistol, to Cat. She stared at it for a moment. Something felt off about the whole thing. All sound melted away, so much so that she could hear her own heartbeat. She could barely make out Solomon's muffled voice.

"Come on. Every piece is in place. Your brother and my Evelina are soon to be avenged." She stared up into his cold grey eyes. Her wasn't right, there was something missing. She racked her brain through all the siren lore she could think of. A weapon forged in bronze was right. But the writing about stopping the heard of a siren had something else. She looked herself in the mirror behind where Solomon stood. A drop of blood hung from the tip of her nose. That was it.

Blood!

"Stop! Stop! Stop!" she cried.

The ambience of the room came back to her.

"What? Why?"

"You can't summon her yet. It isn't just a weapon on bronze that is required to stop her. It must be bound by the blood of her victim too."

Solomon mumbled what he'd said back to himself. He repeated it a few more times with his eyes closed. She watched him return the jewel to his pocket and didn't breathe until he'd done so.

"Son of a bitch," he murmured.

"What are the chances she's cast her spell on that violinist already?" Cat wondered aloud while the reacher continued to lunge at the both of them.

"Pretty damn good, I'd say."

"Then it'll be his blood that we need."
22

The Family Portrait

LUCIEN AWOKE fully clothed, his body strewn across the steps leading to the upper levels as though he were a ragdoll. He stared at the stone ceiling for a few minutes without moving. He felt noticeably odd. As he looked at the unevenly placed bricks above him, memories flashed like a stream of photographs in his mind, each more disturbing than the last. From the birds screeching, to Lyra singing and making the strange promise of death, altogether weird feelings consumed him. They all had one thing in common: the dilation of her eyes. He turned over and vomited onto the steps beside him. He had to get out. He had to get away from her.

He struggled to his feet and snuck a glance toward her room. The door was closed and candlelight could be seen seeping out through the crack under the door. He wasted no more time and bounded down the foyer stairs two at a time before breaking into an all-out sprint for the front door. He could have cried with joy having made it so easily. He stopped at the door with a celebratory grin on his face and quickly wiped the sweat from his brow. A pull against the door handle offered a swift blow to his ego and brought him tumbling back to reality.

The door didn't budge.

He pulled the handle as hard as he could and still it somehow seemed to be locked but not with the large latch above the handle. His eyes frantically searched the wood surface of the door for anything that could be causing the hiccup in his escape. He slumped almost to the floor when his eyes found the stakes at the top of the door frame driven deep through the door into the surrounding stone, trapping the door in place.

"How the hell—" he began to wonder aloud, completely flabbergasted. He looked back over his shoulder but didn't see Lyra anywhere. Wasting no more time, he sprinted to check each of the other ground level doors. All he could hope for was a door having been forgotten or otherwise left unbolted since every window in the house had been replaced with thick shatterproof glass back when reachers first became a problem.

Each door he came to offered the same debilitating disappointment. He reached the last door, in the glass arboretum, without a sign of Lyra and found it, as he had the others, nailed shut with large iron stakes. As he stood marveling at the state of the door, he couldn't grasp how someone like Lyra could have possibly accomplished the feat. She would have needed a ladder, a large hammer or mallet, and excessive physical strength. He kept none of those things around the manor.

_She means to make good on her promise to kill me. That's the only outcome for all of this,_ he thought despondently.

He heard a scuff on the floor and an indiscernible snake-like whisper in his ear. He turned to the direction of the voice and saw no one. Chills ran down his spine and goosebumps manifested on his arms. He could swear he had felt a rush of cold air as the whisper drifted by him. He tried to return to the task of escape but with mounting frantic exasperation.

No doors ... no windows ... the windows! The upstairs windows weren't made to be shatterproof!

The registration of the thought filled him with excitement.

At once, he ran back to the foyer stairs and then to the stairwell leading to the upper levels. He remembered some of the vacant room windows should already be busted out. They would be his only hope.

The stone stairs where he had awoken dragged on for far longer than he thought they should. He took the steps quickly until the muscles of his legs were overcome with searing pain. He felt he must have covered enough steps to make five whole staircases. He sat down against the dusty stairs to catch his breath and leaned back to look up the extent of the stairwell. The end wasn't far. He looked back down and saw he'd only climbed half way up one flight of steps. It didn't make sense. He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths before crawling up the rest of the way. The climb seemed to drag on for hours. He reached down to his pocket where he kept his watch and found nothing. No way to tell how long it had really been.

The natural lighting penetrating the windows of the third floor was much darker than when he'd been at the ground level. At the first window he came to, he found a moonless evening sky peering from behind dark, oppressive clouds.

He stumbled down the hall in a zigzag pattern throwing each door open in hopes of seeing a broken window sizable enough to climb through. He had forgotten that many of the upper-level windows were equipped with iron bars. With every step he took, his hope diminished and his spirit further broke.

Lucien found himself checking so many rooms that he lost track of which ones he'd visited and which he hadn't. He stopped and stepped to the middle of the hall and looked all around him. He felt utterly lost in his own home, like he was on a stage before thousands but no violin in his hand. He closed his eyes and attempted to calm his breath. He focused every bit of his energy on the task at hand until seemingly from nowhere, a loud ominous thumping echoed throughout the stone chambers. It grew louder and deeper by the second until Lucien thought maybe an earthquake was shaking the entire house. He managed his way to a window facing the beach and looked on in horror as hundreds of hideous reachers crawled, slogged, or otherwise bellowed forth from the sea.

The wretched things were unnerving to look at, appearing through the rain little more than blackened walking skeletons dragging long boney appendages behind them. The legions of monsters made their way onto the grounds and up to the front door of the manor. It was clear that the booming sound had been the march of the hideous horde. Lucien fell to his knees against the cold stone. Unchecked fear tore hysterical sobs from his chest and throat as the beasts beat mercilessly against his door below.

_At least I'm locked inside,_ he thought, wondering if this was what hysteria felt like.

Amidst the torrential chaos, Lucien's attention was pulled from the siege by a hellish voice calling to him from behind. He turned to face it.

There was nothing. The voice felt remarkably like the one he had heard downstairs. As he stared into the black between him and the only open door on the floor, a figure darted from a bedroom and made its way to that very exit. Lucien couldn't believe his eyes as a woman wearing a red dress with platinum flowing hair quickly escaped his vision.

It can't be... Helayna?

He cried out to her but found no response. He started after her, calling her name several more times before finally receiving a distant, ghostly reply.

"Come to me Lucien, come quick," echoed Helayna's voice. She sounded as if she were in trouble.

He couldn't imagine how she could possibly be in the house and he not have known, but there was no mistaking what his eyes has just seen and what his ears had just heard. He continued after her as fast as his depleted muscles would allow. He followed her voice as well as he could though he never seemed to get any closer to it. The same words echoed back toward him like a phantom.

"Come to me Lucien, come quick."

The stairwell didn't seem near as long as it had earlier as he chased the voice like a lost toddler searching frantically for his missing mother. He chased it into the sitting room where a mysterious fire roared with great intensity. Just outside the doorway to the dining hall, he found her standing with her nose to the door.

"Helayna! What is going on? How did you get here?"

The figure of a woman he'd followed turned and effectively morphed before his eyes from the likeness of Helayna to the face of a bloodied skull draped by platinum blonde locks. All skin and tissue had been torn away. Blood ran from the eyes, nose, and mouth down the creature's body, indicating along with the dress' white fringe, that it may not have originally been red.

Lucien shuddered and nearly fell back against the floor when he saw the face of the abhorrent thing. It turned away from him and pushed the double doors open, continuing into the dining hall.

"Come to me Lucien, come quick!" Helayna's voice echoed from within the next room, her tone growing more severe with each utterance.

"What in all of Hell—" Lucien began to mutter. "This cannot be happening."

Almost against his will, his legs moved him toward the voice as it beckoned. He crawled on his hands and knees until, at the double doors; he pulled himself up onto his feet and pushed through the entryway. The enormous dining hall was wrought with strange commotions. He thought immediately of turning back but he knew in his heart it was too late to escape. All power over his physical extremities had been relinquished. He looked all around, hardly able to believe his eyes. A violent horror that nearly choked the life from his battered heart clattered before him.

He faced the very middle of the long dinner table. The row of family portraits hung on the wall behind, but something was wrong with them. He stared in disbelief as he recognized each painted ancestor was missing something. Every portrait, except for the one of him, depicted its respected member of the Mooncaster family with their head removed from their shoulders and blood gushing from the wounds. About the time he made that realization, the screams around him began to register.

Lucien took a half-hearted step toward the table and his gaze dropped from the paintings to the dishes being served. Sitting on sterling silver platters appeared to be the severed heads missing from the paintings themselves. Pools of dark blood puddled rand down the length of the wooden slab and dripped onto the floor. Each head screamed for mercy as though they had been reanimated by some unholy malevolence.

Just before the final shred of his sanity abandoned him, Lucien's gaze found the man seated at the end of the table. A man with golden eyes dressed in a pinstripe business suit and tie sat with his legs propped upon the table. Strangely, he wore a necklace not unlike the one Lyra always wore. A bronze chain with a brilliant sapphire rose gem glistening in the candlelight. In fact, at a second glance, the gemstone appeared to be fully glowing.

The man sipped from a wine glass containing a thick dark red substance Lucien knew to be blood. He raised the glass as if to make a toast once Lucien made eye contact.

"Who the hell are you? What are you doing here?" Lucien cried.

"Call me Tenebris, your inevitable lord and master," the man said with a deeply unsettling voice. "Welcome to Hell, I've been expecting you."
23

The Man across the Hall

JAMES SAT STARING into the shadow draped over the corner of his room. He was not going to let the monster from the island sneak up on him anymore. For the past two weeks, it had appeared again and again, any time he let down his guard and allowed his mind to drift. If he fell asleep even for a second, especially in the dark, it would appear and tap its terrible claws against the cement wall, taunting him with a grin of unspeakable evil. It had been days since he had last seen the creature. It had also been that long since he'd gotten any sleep. He spent every minute of every hour staring deeply into the hollow black corner of the room. As a result, he had been undisturbed by the monster's presence but it grew more difficult with each passing hour to keep his eyes propped open.

James refused to allow a break in his concentration, even by the sound of his door slowly creaking open. He didn't look away from the shadow to see who had entered. He couldn't trust anything. He couldn't know if the door had even actually opened. It could merely be his subconscious trying to make him lose focus and finally rest.

Only after he heard the soft voice of a nurse did his gaze finally leave the dark corner. James looked up and warmly greeted each of the nurses that had entered. He had decided to bet everything on the words of Horace Burns and hope that acting as sane as possible would be his ticket out of the wretched hospital.

"How are you feeling today, James?" the first nurse asked.

"Well enough, I suppose," he answered.

The second nurse that James hadn't seen before grabbed his chin with a gloved hand and turned his face to the left and then to the right. "Have you been sleeping?"

"I've been sleeping just fine." He knew very well that the appearance of his features told a different story.

"We're going to have you walk down the hall and back, all right? It's time to start rehabilitating your legs and we need your full cooperation for this. Can you do that?"

James was entranced by the soft nature of the nurse's voice. She'd been to his room once before performing a check-up and he thought her to be beautiful beyond compare. He looked at the second nurse and then at the first. Maybe his plan was working. This was the first time he had been offered to leave his bed. He nodded somberly.

The two nurses, each grabbing the underside of a shoulder, helped the emaciated sailor off his bed and onto his feet. They held him tightly and made baby steps toward the door. Each step felt to James as if the leg responsible was being lit on fire but he replaced the pain in his mind with thoughts of freedom.

He saw other patients walking in the filthy, poorly lit hallway as well as several nurses rushing back and forth. He saw a man with a white beard that extended to the floor stumble down the hall and a woman wearing a gown filthier than his own sitting on the floor tapping the tiles childishly with her hands. It took several minutes but the two nurses led James, practically dragging him to the end of the hall before turning around. As he turned, he saw into a room with several doctors and nurses crowding a bed where a man not much older than James violently struggled against them. He wondered if that individual was being falsely held as well. He wondered how many people were.

He tried to hold his breath on the way back for as long as he could to keep from gagging over the nauseating stench of ammonia. They passed one last room before they reached James' door. Inside, a man struggled against the chains that kept him locked to his bed while a doctor stood near him speaking indistinctly. The man chained to the bed had a tattoo that caught James' attention: a galley with a sword for a mast, the symbol for the Mediterranean navy. The patient began to shout.

"You'd better not touch my goddamn lights. She'll come for me! She comes in the dark! Always in the dark! She's going to take me and my blood will be on your hands! Do you hear me goddammit?"

When James and the two nurses reached his room again, the burlier nurse closed the door, lifted James into the bed, and locked the cuffs around his hands.

"Can I not do without these yet?" he pleaded as he pulled them to demonstrate the frightful range of motion they bound him to.

"I'm sorry James," she said. "Dr. Mildren must give that order when he believes you are no longer a danger to yourself."

He sighed and looked down at the floor. The other nurse, the one whose name James wish he knew, retrieved a clipboard from her pocket and started to annotate various things. He could still hear the commotion from the room alongside his, but not as clearly as before. He heard the man that had been screaming now begging the doctor to leave his lights on for the night.

"All right, James. We're going to increase your calories to try and attack the atrophy a little more aggressively and we're going to start doing these walks twice a day."

James nodded without looking at the nurse. He was blown away by what he heard through the wall. Could the man next door be haunted by the same demon? Could he be someone who could relate to him? Someone he could talk to? Someone who could understand the truth he had endured all alone—the truth he continued to live all alone. As the two nurses left his room, he continued to ponder what he had overheard. Before long, he slipped into a deep, exhausted sleep, no longer caring about the shadow or anything else in his room.

The following day, the pretty nurse, whose name he now knew was Sam, took him in a wheelchair to a common area in the hospital. It was a large room with tables and chairs and bookshelves lining all the wall space not occupied by windows. James looked around at the twenty or so other patients in the room. Some played checkers while others stared out through the row of windows. One woman, whose body was frail and her hair thinning, stared at a blank wall and mumbled to no one. James' eyes found a door with a glass window through which he saw an exit sign hanging at the end of a long hall. An orderly stepped into his path of vision and waved a finger as though he could tell what he was thinking.

He turned his attention and his wheelchair back toward the large room. His sight-line drifted toward the window and then he saw him. The man whose room was next to his was there, the one who had screamed about a monster from the dark coming to steal him away. A mysterious anxiety flooded James but he didn't wait to wheel himself over to where the man sat. As he approached him, he got a much better look than the fleeting glimpse he had gotten through the partially open door the day before. The man had long hair and the scraggly beginnings of a beard. His overall unkempt appearance seemed more to do with simple neglect than any conscious choice. He stared thoughtfully at a flock of black birds that had landed on the branches of a tree about twenty yards from the glass. He barely looked away when James approached him.

Once in the presence of his neighbor, James felt a siege of anxiety overwhelm him. He did his best to fight through it, though he couldn't get much of a read on the individual. He seemed like the menacing and intimidating type, the Horace Burns type. He tried his best to look past his fear and focus on what the two of them potentially had in common.

"Um...I heard you in your room yesterday. You're right next door to me. You said that some evil thing was coming for you from the dark. I just want to say that I have had similar experiences lately. That's why I came over to speak to you—if you'd even care to talk. Can you tell me anything at all about what sort of thing might be in the dark that you're so afraid of? I feel that there is a possibility that you and I share in the torment of this entity."

The long-haired man didn't respond at first except by the curling of his lip. Once the birds departed from the tree, he turned to face the young sailor. James gulped hard as the man began to speak.

"I'm not scared of a goddamn thing, Tolston. You haven't a clue what you're talking about," he said grimly.

James was taken aback by the man's strange response. "How do you know my name?"

"Please, you were in every newspaper when you first came here, the miraculous lone survivor of the M.S. Reconnaissance. Tell me, how is it that a child like you can survive when no other could?"

"Sir, I assure you, if I could answer that, I—"

"No, of course you can't. Perhaps, at least, you can tell me why my brother didn't survive."

"Your brother?" James asked, having wheeled his chair slightly back from the man.

"Yes, maybe you remember him. He was Horace Burns."
24

Through the Eyes of the Devil

LOOK AT THAT little fucking worm, whispered Tenebris from just behind Lyra's ear, his voice like thorns into the back of her neck. How could you even care for that little prick?

Lyra felt like she could cry, even if not outwardly.

She stood over the man that Tenebris had nearly driven to a mental breakdown, lying sprawled out on the tile floor of the dining hall.

All right, we've played long enough. Surrender his soul to me now. Sing your song and uphold your end of the bargain.

Lyra ignored the voice and did nothing.

No? Well, you had the chance to do this the easy way. Since you continue to refuse your cooperation, go ahead and finish him off.

She watched herself kneel against Lucien's chest and wrap her hands around his neck. She screamed inside her head. "No! No, you son of a bitch! I won't do it! I won't fucking do it!" Her victim stirred as her hands tightened.

"Oh my God no! Please no! Please don't make me do this! Tenebris, I'm begging you!" she screamed as moisture collected in the corners of her eyes.

Sure, Lyra. You know what you must do to receive my mercy.

Lucien began to turn purple as he clamored helplessly against her locked grip on his neck. She watched his terror-stricken eyes as he neared the end, when the loud tolling of a bell interrupted the violence.

Lyra felt the demon loosen her grip and allow her to sit up, seemingly alarmed by the sound as well. Lucien remained sprawled against the floor, grasping at his neck and coughing blood onto the tile. He began to kick and plead for his life as her icy hands returned.

We weren't fucking finished yet, were we?!

The demon's vile voice barged in, chipping further at her own sanity with every uttered word.

She pulled at her hands with everything within her but it did little good. She could only look down helplessly as Tenebris worked her like a marionette. Her only solace was that he lacked the ability to force her to use her musical spell. If he compelled her to speak it wouldn't be with her true voice.

Before her hands could completely cut off his airway, the same bell toll interrupted them again.

Dammit, who the hell is that?

Lyra stood and moved toward the manor's foyer. She looked back for the split second that she was able and saw that Lucien was breathing and moving about. She breathed a sigh of relief but tried not to think much more of it, lest the demon could sense it. She found her way quickly to the tall window that stood beside the great front doors and peeked through.

She caught a glimpse of the pair as they turned to walk back down the front steps, a tall man with a bronze complexion and her.

That fucking whore, she thought, without the aid of the demon. She followed them room to room as they circled around the manor and glared at them through each window with a look of furious abhorrence. She followed them back to where she knew they were headed, the arboretum door. She stood against it and listened to them beat their fists against the wood. She had half a mind to remove the stakes and slaughter the woman on the other side.

_Yes! What a delectable idea!_ Tenebris chimed.

Lyra thought of Lucien's face on the last afternoon that he'd come home from the city. She thought of the obvious bliss that came over him anytime he'd spoken of this Helayna. It was so much like her feelings and thoughts toward Anders. She thought of how it felt when she had lost him so many centuries ago.

_No... how can I do that to him and administer my very curse upon his innocence_ , she thought.

You can! Just do it! We can do it together!

"Get the hell out of my head!" she screamed as loudly as she could before tossing herself to the ground. She stayed in that position and wept until there were no tears left to spare.

She opened her eyes to find herself standing in the dining hall. They stood in the same place where they had left Lucien, only he was missing. She hated the blackout periods and immediately tried her hardest to recollect if Tenebris had made her do anything.

"What did you do before you brought me here?" she demanded.

Nothing! Okay? Just look what you've done! He's gone! If he's escaped, I swear to God I will kill him in the slowest and most painful way I can imagine! Or even better, in the most painful way you can imagine.

Lyra tried her best to ignore the intrusive thoughts. They searched every room of the first floor, the residential hall, and even in the dungeon with no sign of the violinist. They searched the upper level and stepped onto the balcony to look out over the garden. He was nowhere to be seen.

He is here somewhere and we will find him. Be sure of that.

Lyra took a backseat as the consciousness of Tenebris steered her deliberately back to the first floor. They stormed back down the stairs, and into the fiction library. The room that Lyra knew housed Lucien's favorite things in the world.

"What the hell are we doing in here?"

_Going to find that little son of a bitch,_ the demon hissed.

Lyra watched helplessly as her arms grabbed armfuls of books from the shelves and piled them in the middle of the floor. Little by little, his plan became clear to her.

"No! You can't be serious! You can't—"

Yes, I can be. Your little Anders incarnate won't need these books when he's dead so don't fret. You won't remember any of this anyway so do me a favor and shut up.

Tenebris began to grab books more furiously. Lyra pulled on her muscles with everything in her but the effort was continually futile. When the pile stood waist high and consisted of almost every book in the room, the demon stopped to admire his work. He then forced Lyra to run to the kitchen to retrieve one of the kerosene lanterns that Lucien kept there.

When she returned, she ignited the lantern and held it out over the pile of books.

Now smoke that little bastard out of hiding!

She slammed the lantern into the top of the pile, shattering it, and engulfing the books in an orange and yellow blaze.

"Oh my, God ... what did you make me do?" Lyra mumbled as she slowly backed away from the massacre she had just inflicted. She covered her mouth with a hand as tears welled in her eyes. Smoke started to rise and billow from the room near the ceiling.

_There he is! Now, laugh! Laugh, clown! Laugh at your broken heart_! Tenebris cried before letting out a sinister cackle. He forced her to into the flames and laugh hysterically at Lucien who'd fallen to his knees.

"You monster! Why are you doing this?" Lucien screamed, clutching the sides of his head. He hadn't been looking up at her when he said this. When he did, somehow his demeanor changed. His grew wide enough, so much so that they were bugging out of his head. He covered his mouth with both hands as he took steps back away from her.

"Oh my God, it's you. It's really you."

Do you hear those words? You are a fucking monster, Lyra. Make no mistake.

Lyra barely registered what Tenebris had said. She was confounded by what Lucien had said, book burning aside. Tenebris, clearly listening in on her thoughts, offered her to have a look.

Lucien got up from his knees and ran from the room while she strode purposefully to a mirror hanging on the wall near the first the shelf in the room. She looked and didn't see herself. Instead, she saw a black amorphous figure with two red eyes and long ash black arms with long razors in place of fingers as the only discernible features.

She stood staring into the things eyes, unable to make a sound.

Behold, your true self, Lyra the Lioness.

"No. No. No! This isn't real!"

I'm really quite surprised you hadn't figured it out before now. I guess you aren't as sharp as I pegged you for. You see I've long considered us even. You cursed me and I cursed you. Eye for an eye.

"You did this to me?

Tenebris was speaking some hideous whisper into her ear but she couldn't hear it. She found herself falling backward. Her eyes were like two windows that she drifted further away from with each passing moment. She fell back into the abyss of her own mind for what felt like an eternity then awoke, fully conscious standing in the putrid-smelling third floor of the manor. The demon made her follow the footsteps left in the layer of dust covering the floor. She followed them all the way to the balcony where she found him searching for a way to climb down.

Enough games.

She charged through the balcony doorway as fast as a bolt of lightning. Before Lucien could have time to turn and see her, she slammed into him with a furious growl. He flew head over feet off the balcony ledge and tumbled against the roofs many spires before hitting the ground with a bone-crunching thud.

Released from the demon's control, Lyra cried out in agony and lurched forward, trying to grab him before he could fall but was far too late. She leaned over the railing helplessly staring down at the tangled mess that was Lucien's body. She stared down at him, her pulse blaring in her ears. She climbed down the spires the way she knew he had intended to and rushed over to his twisted body.

She looked down at him feeling like an icicle had been run through her heart before burying her face in his ragged shirt, sobbing uncontrollably. His back was twisted around and he was not breathing. His pocket watch lay beside him in the grass, the face cracked. It read as just after six in the evening.

_I am a man of my word...remember that;_ spoke the voice of Tenebris in her head, though sounding distant.

Lyra ignored the voice and pulled Lucien's body into her as she cried with forceful convulsions. The great agony that characterized the loss of her sister's amulet returned to her like a thousand needles being pressed into her skin at once. She grabbed the sapphire jewel from her necklace and squeezed it in the palm of her hand. In her other hand, she clutched Lucien's lifeless body tightly, once again allowing blood to gush onto her skin and dress and then let him go.

Her surroundings slowly faded to a cloud of silver fog and then to the architecture of the dining hall in Lucien's home. When all the wisps of silver disappeared, she opened her eyes to see Lucien lying below her. His watch was still beside him, though the face was no longer cracked. The hands had turned back to now read as four in the afternoon. She had succeeded but the act had weakened her. If the demon was aware of what just happened, and he most likely was, she would have little strength to stop him again.

Soft breaths emanated from Lucien's chest and his back no longer appeared broken. His skin was cold but he was alive. Lyra felt a rush of warmth as she looked down at his pale face.

She could have watched him lying there for hours if not interrupted by the doorbell. She looked up and in the direction of the sound's origin. After a brief silence, the bell tolled again.

Well now, this is interesting. The boy was lying in the grass outside and most surely dead but now he isn't. How exactly did you do that?

She knew Tenebris had very little, if any, knowledge of her ability to warp time. She intended to keep it as such and ignored his voice.

I cannot help but wonder. You could alter time to save the puny violinist but what about Anders, or your sister? Did you try to do the same for them or did you simply choose to live with the pain for all this time?

Lyra tried her damnedest but couldn't keep the images conjured by the question from appearing in her mind. The mental images themselves answered his question without her speaking a single word.

I see now. While you may be able to have your way with time, you haven't the power to alter something as permanent as death. Tell me, how many times did you try to save them? How many times did you watch Anders die? How many times did you hold your sister's hand for her last breath?

"Enough times," she whispered, fighting back tears.

It ought to be clearer now to you than ever before. You cannot save him from me. It is now his destiny to die. You can, however, give me what I want and allow this suffering to end right now.

She said nothing and took Lucien's unconscious body in both of her arms. She smirked at the thought of Lucien seeing her carrying him after feeding him the perception that she herself was frail and delicate. She carried him with tremendous care, limping as she walked through the manor in the direction of the foyer stairs.

But really, you have always been weak, Lyra. And you've always let your weaknesses control you. It's just who you are.

"My weaknesses control me..." she mumbled, pondering the words as she trudged her way to Lucien's room. For reasons she neither understood nor questioned, Tenebris didn't interfere for the remainder of the evening.

She placed Lucien on his bed and adjusted his head onto the pillow. She brushed the hair from his forehead with her fingers that were still stained with the blood from wounds that no longer existed and laid down beside him. She pulled her knees up to her chest and watched the slow rise and fall of his labored breath. Soft tears ran down the bridge of her nose and soaked into the pillow below her face. She didn't know how long the wretched demon would leave her alone, but she enjoyed the moment of peace before she drifted off to a much needed, restful sleep.
25

The Thing in the Doorway

LUCIEN SAT at the end of his bed, bathed in the sunlight pouring in through his high windows. He felt as though he had been asleep for days.

Had it been a dream, the reachers marching on his house from the sea? The paintings? The faceless apparition of Helayna?

Lucien eased himself out of bed and looked out of his window. He didn't have the best angle to see into the courtyard, but he couldn't see any of the deformed monstrosities anywhere. He took a step back from the windows and then was frozen as an image ran through his mind. The mountain of burning books and the Lioness standing atop of them. There was no mistaking the monster, he'd eavesdropped on enough sailor stories. There it was of course, the easiest way to tell if it had all been a dream.

He turned to face the door that led from his room. It was shut and locked as he preferred to keep it. Lucien considered visiting a professional about his nightmares; they only seemed to be getting worse. He put on clean clothes and unlocked his door to depart. He marched from his room ready to investigate the library when he was stopped just outside the door to Lyra's room.

An indistinct but malevolent whisper echoed from behind the door. The frantic, evil resonance of the lurid murmur chilled Lucien to the bone. Slowly, accompanied by a hair-raising creak, the door opened. Darkness poured out from within. While Lucien had been sure it was near midday when he awoke, Lyra's room gave an indication that it was closer to midnight. Lucien stood frozen before the doorway as a gust of frigid air rushed past him. His heart beat frantically in his chest when he saw the horrible things in the dark, first the eyes, like two distant, dying stars, then the arms, black, inhumanly long appendages with five razor-sharp points at each end. They reached for him, first pulling a scream from his lungs, before attempting to grab for his neck. Lucien ducked out of the way and ran for his life.

Oh dear God, it wasn't a dream at all!

Without looking back, he ran down the stairs as fast as he could for the front door. Inches from his escape, he pulled the handle with all of his might but the door wouldn't budge. He was afraid to look up, but he had to. To his horror, the iron stakes hadn't been a dream either. They were there, driven in through the door frame above. The realization of the horror permeating his reality buried him under an avalanche of fear. Lucien continued to tug on the door handle with every ounce of strength out of sheer disbelief in what his eyes were showing him. He turned around to see if she had followed him and found her nose to nose with him and a knife stuck to his neck.

"Now, why would you want to do something like leave, hmm?" Lyra asked with a timbre of cool rage. Lucien gulped; he found himself having tremendous difficulty breathing. He cautiously attempted to wiggle his neck away from the knife while he watched her eyes change from burning embers to emeralds.

"You've got everything here," she said while pressing the knife into Lucien's neck only hard enough to break a few layers of skin. Droplets of blood trickled onto the blade. Lucien watched in horror as Lyra removed the blade from his neck and ran the flat side of it over her tongue, cleaning the steel of each red drop. Lucien began to question everything. She must have crashed onto his beach on purpose, ready to finish the job she'd started with his parents. Worst of all, the realization sunk in that he'd failed them.

He watched as something about her face changed. Maybe it was her eyes, or perhaps just the way she held her expression.

"You cannot leave! I will kill you if you do! Don't make me kill you, Lucien. Don't make me do it."

Lucien continued to stare at her, breathing heavily. He was too afraid to open his mouth. Before, her words had borne an air of pure evil, now they sounded as though she were pleading with him. In that moment, she seemed strangely powerless. If he knew anything at all, if she wasn't going to kill him, he was going to kill her. Somehow. He just hoped she didn't know about the third rifle he kept under the floor in his room.

"Here's what's going to happen," she said, placing the knife back against his throat but not with enough force to cut him. "You're going to go down into your dungeon and play your instrument under my supervision. Then you will go to bed. You will not try to escape. When you wake up tomorrow, you're going to do the very same thing. And so on and so forth until such a day come that I say you may cease. Do we understand each other?"

Lucien felt a cold pain in his chest. He decided quickly that he needed to play along with whatever act was going on with Lyra. She took the knife from his neck and led him immediately down to the dungeon where they spent the rest of the day. Lucien played many of his own pieces before retrieving large works from his shelf to play. He did his best to keep an eye on his captor the entire time. Her behavior as she stood over him was thoroughly disturbing. She continually clenched and unclenched her fists. Her expression indicated that she was struggling to hold something back. As he played the melody from his recent composition, strangely, the jewel around her neck began to glow. She caught him staring at it and quickly concealed the jewel in her fist.

Hours into the session, Lucien began to feel lightheaded. Pain radiated from his abdomen as he tried to remember the last time he had eaten. He could feel his ability to play diminishing; surely it would be obvious to her as well. After a few disastrous bars, he laid his instrument in his lap.

"I can do no more," he said, knowing and accepting that there may well be consequences for such a statement.

Lyra nodded and stood to accompany him upstairs. He did his best to conceal his anticipation to carry out his plan. That night when Lyra went to sleep, he would sneak into her room and shoot her before climbing down from the balcony. He had noticed the door wasn't bolted to the wall like the other doors. Assuming Lyra must have forgotten it, he made a silent plan to exploit that mistake. They reached his room and she followed him inside. He had hoped she would leave him be at this point, but part of him knew it wasn't going to be that easy. He eyed the tile where he kept the spare firearm but didn't allow her to catch him.

"I know what you're thinking, and I'm not going to let you escape so easily." Lucien's eyes widened as he watched her retrieve two bundles of rope from under his bed.

"How did that—"

Lyra chuckled and commanded him to lie down.

Lucien did as he was told and watched helplessly as she tied each hand tightly to one of the bedposts against the wall. This was going to make things difficult. To make matters worse, while prior to that moment he hadn't felt unusually tired, he now felt as though he hadn't slept in weeks. There was no way he could trust her enough to close his eyes, but he just had to. He was afraid to fall asleep—afraid of what she was preparing for him. The last thing he saw before helplessly drifting off was his door closing and the sound of it clicking as though she had locked it from the other side.

Some hours later, a clanking of metal and a loud melodious pang of what sounded like his violin striking the floor snapped him awake. A snake-like whisper of his name crept into his ear. He lifted his head up to seek out the source of the voice but nothing could be seen. His room was dark, leading him to believe he couldn't have been asleep for more than a few hours. He instinctively tugged at his arms but they wouldn't budge in the complex knots Lyra had used to bind him. He scanned the room again, squinting his eyes in an attempt to spot what had made the sound. He still didn't see anything.

After waiting a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the dark, he scanned the room a third time. Eventually, his eyes found the doorway. His blood nearly froze solid in his veins while every hair on his body stood on end. He was horrified to find that his door was ajar. Just outside the door loomed a creature darker than death itself. The shadow creature from the library peered into Lucien's soul with eyes of hellish red. The Lioness had come. Lucien vigorously tugged at his hands now assuming that he was struggling for his life. He frantically shut his eyes as tight as he could for a few seconds hoping the thing would change back into Lyra but the wispy black figure remained. The creature's mere presence filled him with dread, draining him of all confidence he held in his plan for vengeance. Absolutely terrified, he couldn't take his eyes off the figure; he watched as it reached out its monstrous hand and grasped the side of the door.

Concealed mostly by the dark of the room, the grotesque black mass lacked a distinct silhouette. It moved eerily slow as it urged the door further open. Lucien saw a grin appear across what had to be the dark being's face. It laughed at him, mocking his fear. He had no choice but to summon every ounce of courage from within him and take some sort of action.

With a sudden forceful motion, he pulled each of his arms into him. The sweat that accumulated on his wrists assisted but not by much. Several layers of skin were torn off as he pulled his hands through the loops of coarse rope. With no time to wallow, he pushed the searing pain aside and leapt from his bed, hurling his body against the door, slamming it shut. The monster, whose claw had been caught in the threshold, let loose a guttural scream that sounded more like it had been bellowed from the depths of Hell itself. It pulled back its inhuman extremity enough for Lucien to latch the handle but it didn't give up the fight. It furiously wiggled the handle and pressed against the door as Lucien sat helplessly, shoving back against the monster. He knew it was only a matter of time before he succumbed to the being's superior strength.

Strangely the sound of a woman singing replaced the growling on the other side of the door. The voice made him feel strange. It had to be some sort of magic the creature possessed, magic that she'd most likely been using against him the entire time she'd been there.

_Fight it,_ Lucien pleaded with himself. _Fight it!_

As he adjusted himself to get a better push against the door, the heel of his foot brushed against cold metal. He remembered the clanking sound that had awoken him and knew it had to be the key. Trying to give up as little force against the door as was possible, he extended his leg, brushing it back and forth in the area that he had felt it. When he found it again, he carefully slid his foot back toward him until he could reach it with his hand. He took the key straight to the door handle, locked it, and threw himself to the ground where the loose tile was. The creature continued to beat against the door while singing. Lucien felt his limbs grow heavy. He grabbed the gun with the last of his strength, pulled the hammer, and fired a shot into the center of the door.

When the smoke cleared and the ringing in his ears subsided, the commotion on the other side of the door had ceased. The singing had stopped, and with it the heaviness of his limbs and the tingling sensation in his nerves.

Lucien looked back over his shoulder. Sunlight crept in through the window. Lucien climbed to his feet and examined the space around him. He glanced at the bloodied ropes still tied to the bed, and then down at his hands where chunks of skin were missing. Surprisingly, there wasn't a lot of pain. He turned his attention to the door. It was still locked and smoke still rose from the bullet hole. He found the key at the foot of the door and used it.

Lucien had expected to see Lyra lying on the other side of the door but she wasn't there. There was, however, a large pool of dark colored blood and a black sort of mist hovering around the area a few inches above the ground. The mist dissipated as Lucien watched it. Of course, if she wasn't human, how could he expect to find human remains? He took a deep breath.

It's finally over.

*~*~*

He had no intention of staying in his home any longer. The moment he escaped, he would make his way to Rhys' apartment to recuperate and figure out what to do. Could he even report—whatever Lyra was to the authorities? If anything, his best friend would be able to think a little more level headed than he could. He made his way to the end of the hall to find the door to the upper levels shut tight. He pulled the handle but the door didn't move.

"Dammit!" he exclaimed, afraid almost that the nightmare was still alive and he was completely locked in. HE examined the door and noticed no nails driven through the door frame. He took a deep breath and remembered the spare key to the upper levels was in a drawer in the kitchen.

Feeling a tinge of uncertainty about the finality of his bullet into the monster's chest, he cautiously checked the dining hall, the sitting room, and each of the libraries. Neither Lyra nor the Lioness were anywhere to be found. The last place he had to look, other than the upper levels themselves, was the dungeon—which was also vacant.

Along the way, a curious sight stopped him in his tracks. In the foyer, next to the front door, a group of long iron stakes sat in a pile. Lucien approached them with caution in every step. He looked up and found them to be the very stakes used to bolt the door shut. He couldn't believe his eyes. Using all the strength he had, he heaved the door open and stepped out onto the terrace, letting the sunlight and a rush of warmth greet him like an old friend. Free at last.

As he stood there soaking in the warmth of nature, his stomach started to rumble. He needed to eat but it would have to wait until he'd reached the home of his best friend. He looked in the direction of Zargo, saw the usual billows of smoke rising from chimneys all across the city, and closed the door to the manor behind him.

The thought of going back inside the manor even for a minute sickened him. Even if it were a trap, he figured on having an easier time getting away while outside rather than in. On his way through the courtyard, the thought crossed his mind that he could get there sooner on horseback. He scanned the stable and found the door was left wide open and the stalls where he kept Virgil and Marley were barren.

_Why would she have left them loose?_ he puzzled.

Lucien found the apartment alongside the stable where Mr. and Mrs. Canning resided. He pounded on the door several times but to each, no answer. He quickened his pace in response to the eruption of anxiety within him and made his way down into the tunnel.
26

Birdwatching

WHEN THE NURSES came to collect the dishes from dinner and extinguish the lights for the night, James heard the man he now knew as the brother of the infamous Horace Burns screaming and pleading again for his to be left alone. His door had been left ajar, allowing James to hear the man much clearer than he'd been able to the previous few nights.

"Don't you fucking dare touch my lights! Are you deaf or just stupid? You goddamn Neanderthal. Darken my room and I won't be here in the morning! She will come for me!" There was a pause. "You know what? Turn the fucking light off. I decided not to give a fuck! In fact, I'll be praying that she comes and takes me! Then you'll understand the word regret, won't you! I get the feeling you don't! You have no idea what I live with every day and you shit-for-brains orderlies can't even give me this one simple goddamn request!"

James noticed a glow remained in the man's doorway after the large burly woman, who had often been the one to restrain him, left along with Dr. Mildren. He heard the man shout a sarcastic call of gratitude before he fell silent. James decided to try an attempt sleep but he was plagued by re-emerging guilt from the island and didn't catch a wink.

*~*~*

After three whole days passed, Sam finally returned to wheel him to the common area. He was slowly getting better at walking, but still required the wheelchair to comfortably get around. He had been waiting for this chance. Immediately following the first exchange, James had decided to give up on his neighbor. It was simply too painful. With time, he thought that if the man would just hear him out, perhaps the burden could be lifted from his shoulders. As soon as Sam left him within the entrance to the commons, he scoped the room and thankfully found the sour, long-haired man in the same spot he had found him the last time.

"I thought I had been specific enough when I asked you to leave me be," he said calmly when approached. Before responding, James took a deep breath.

"You did. Before I leave you alone, I would like to share with you the whole story of what happened. You can do with it what you will; I just ask that you hear it until the end."

The man said nothing which felt to James like an acknowledgment of the request. He proceeded to tell him of his journey beginning with the day the _Reconnaissance_ left the port of Zargo, ending with the grisly fate that found each ship's crew. The long-haired man listened patiently as James regaled the part of the journey spent drifting endlessly across the sea. James spoke difficultly of the guilt of the decision tearing his mind into pieces, leaving him longing for death in the bottom of his lifeboat. The man listened quietly. He spoke of how surviving still felt more like a knife being pressed into his heart and twisted around.

The man turned to look back through the window while he pondered the story. James had expected to be ushered away again, but after a long moment of anticipation, the man spoke.

"I'm sorry for what I said to you the other day; I certainly cannot conclude that what happened was your fault. You made an honorable decision that I, myself, may not have been man enough to make."

James' eyes widened before his gaze fell down toward his feet.

"It seems you may be the only one here that understands the pain that I myself feel," he continued. "In fact, it may shock you to learn just how similar our stories are."

James smiled at him, feeling an immense amount of relief.

"I'm Geoffrey," he said. "Geoffrey Burns. It was my second expedition that I happened upon the one called the _Lioness,_ though she wasn't as you described her. The razors for fingers, arms as black as coal, and fire for eyes are all accurate descriptions. But other than those things, she appeared as a beautiful woman. Even her hands and eyes appeared normal when we first saw her. Only later did they become the appendages of a monster. It's funny, we all thought she had stowed away aboard the ship, but she hadn't made herself known until after a storm veered us off-course to the point of being completely lost. Somehow, no one thought anything of it."

Geoffrey stopped and grimaced as though the images and memories were as painful as James' own. James felt himself begin to sweat as his neighbor spoke again.

"This woman was outrageously beautiful and not just because we'd been at sea for so long. When the sun set that night, a handful of the men had gathered and decided they would take the woman below deck to a bunk and have their way. _Why else would she have stowed away if not for a good time_ , one of them had said. They acted on their plan and she accompanied them downstairs. I stayed on duty above deck so all I heard were the screams.

"Once she had those men cornered and defenseless, she became the monster that you, yourself, are familiar with; eyes, claws, and all. She returned to the deck, her features having morphed, drenched in blood. I stood paralyzed by fear while she slaughtered everyone around me, slicing through them like ingredients for a stew.

"She looked me in the eye but didn't say a word and even though it had only been for a moment, she communicated a great tragedy to me with horrifying images. She showed me that I was marked. I would be allowed to survive, but that would only mean that she would be back to finish the job once my soul had been turned as black as obsidian."

James sat with his hand over his mouth, in awe of the testimony. He couldn't imagine the prospect of having been aboard the _Reconnaissance_ when the carnage took place. "So you think she will make good on that promise?" he asked.

Geoffrey chuckled cynically. "I'm quite sure. She is always watching, always waiting. I know you can hear her too. Perhaps even see her, leering from just within the shadows."

"If this has happened so many times, why are people so adamant to disbelieve? Surely, the signs are stacked before them?"

"That's a very good question. How can she watch you sleep from the shadows of your own room right under the nose of these so-called doctors? Because she's a great enchantress and she's got the entire world under her spell."

James stood from his wheelchair in a show of defiance, his knees trembling softly below him. "I just don't buy that the only option is to sit and rot here, waiting for her to return to finish what she started."

"That's your youth talking. You know, I overheard you telling that bastard Mildren what he wanted to hear. You may just have a chance, Tolston. You can get out of here and enjoy your freedom before she returns."

James pursed his lips and pretended to examine his cuticles.

"It's too late for me. So many years of hatred, my soul is bound to be as black as she likes it by now. But you, you can get out of here, change your name, change your appearance, find somewhere to hide."

James' eyebrows arched into his forehead. "Could that even have any effect on an entity as powerful as she is?"

"Hard to say, in fact, I wouldn't bet on it. But I know you'll think of something," he said before looking up at an area above James' head.

James turned to see Sam had approached and grasped the handles of the wheelchair. He looked back at his new friend. Geoffrey had already returned to watching a group of birds through the window.

"Come on James," she said. It's time to return to your room now."
27

The Sound of Silence

VERY NEAR TO DUSK, Archer Solomon and Cat stood at the barren corner of Main Street facing Zargo's main gate. Nearly three times as many guards were posted forming a line with their weapons drawn. A dense crowd of reachers could be seen through the gate trying unsuccessfully to force their way in.

Solomon kept made sure at least one of his hands stayed close to the loaded weapons residing on his belt. He didn't like the look of things. A man ran up to the line of guards before two of them broke off to apprehend the crazed individual.

"We're all dead!" he cried. "Do you hear me? Nothing you do matters!" He threw crude gestures at the guards and then in all directions as he was escorted away. A few other stragglers rand the length of the street with their hands over their ears, wincing. He looked down at Cat who seemed to be in awe of what was happening around them. He marveled at the idea that the Zargo she was bearing witness to was more normal for her. Music had stopped emanating from each street corner well over a week ago. As a result many people simply refused to leave their homes.

"I've seen enough. Let's get a drink."

"Wonderful," Cat answered.

Solomon led the way for a little more than a block down Main Street. They found the Moonlight Tavern barren save for three customers, two large scraggly men huddled at each end of the bar, and the third, a fairly disheveled woman who looked up at the pair for little more than a moment before returning her attention to her drink in front of her.

Cat found a table and he took a seat opposite her and signaled the barkeep to bring two black whiskeys. Cat scrunched her nose, seeming to study her companion before she decided to speak.

"So what do we do? We still need Lucien Mooncaster's blood, how do we get to him?" She lowered her voice to a whisper as she mentioned the violinist's name.

"That's a good question. Things have gotten a little complicated now. You know the reason I am able to use that petal to any effect at all, don't you?"

Cat looked off and then looked back. "I assumed there was some sort of connection between them."

"Even more, she controls them. It seems pretty obvious now that there is a correlation to the music being broadcasted and the behavior of the reachers but it was never like that before the pipe system was set up." Solomon pointed his finger toward the door. "Something is happening with her and I need to understand it before calling upon her."

"Do we really have time for that?"

"No, honestly."

Cat downed her drink in nearly a single gulp and hit her fist against the table. "Then let's fucking do something."

Solomon remembered he carried a couple of bronze forged daggers. With those they could get some of Lucien's blood in passing if a fist fight with the siren broke out. Theoretically, the direct route was plausible.

"All right. Let's go. We can take the Mooncaster tunnel to his estate. I mean, it's not likely that she lost control of the reachers because she's become stronger."

"That's more like it," she said with a grin.

Solomon finished his drink and left a few notes on the table with which to pay.

*~*~*

Solomon stepped out onto the cobblestone. "We'll want the west gate," he said and started a brisk march in that direction. He'd grown so accustomed to the patter of her accompanying footsteps, that he knew immediately that Cat had decided to follow him. He turned and looked to see her frozen over a public waste bin.

"Did you hear me," he called back. She didn't even look up. Instead, she was studying whatever it was she'd found in the bin just outside the tavern. Solomon puzzled over what it could be as he walked back to her position.

"You're not going to believe this," she said, finally looking up at him. Solomon's curiosity was running wild at this point. "Go ahead and see for yourself." She gestured to the bin.

Solomon leaned over it and looked down to the see the front page of a copy of The Times folded over and lying face up. The title of the main article read: Zargo's lead violinist hospitalized.
27

Reflected in the Glass

LUCIEN WANDERED the streets of Zargo for what felt like hours. Every step was an intensive exertion. The sun sat half-hidden behind the horizon and the streets were unusually sparse for the time of evening.

As he trudged down the cobblestone walkway, every person he came across seemed to be doing their best to avoid him as though he were some kind of diseased animal. He tried repeatedly to receive directions to the street where Rhys lived, for the life of him, he couldn't remember where it was. Each time he opened his mouth, his words fought him from escaping.

He wandered through a perpetual haze that either blanketed the entire city or maybe just his own mind and vision until he came to a park bench on the side of one particularly desolate street corner. In dire need of a rest, he took a seat and tried to catch his breath. He wiped the sweat that had accumulated over his brow with one hand and tilted his head back to gaze up at an indigo and gold streaked sky.

How did it come to this? I had it all. My books ... my music ... my solitude...

When he looked back down, his eyes fell upon the front of a familiar flower shop; the last place he saw Helayna and also the last place he'd visited before things had started to spiral downward. It felt like ages had passed since that day.

After another minute or so of rest, Lucien pulled himself up off the bench and walked across the street to the building with the sign that read: "Julia's Flowers and Arrangements". He stopped just short of the door, overtaken by a spell of dizziness. He wished he understood why his body felt so broken. His next step caught an uneven stone in the walkway and he fell forward into the arms of Helayna Margott, who had stepped out of the store at just the right moment.

"Oh my God! Lucien! What's happened to you?"

Lucien was initially alarmed by her concern. He looked over at his reflection in the glass window, darkened by the sunset. His pale skin seemed to drape loosely from his bones, with eyes sunken deeply into their sockets and swollen purple bags underneath. Horrifyingly, his body closely resembled that of a skeleton.

The sight of his reflection compounded the paranoia already coursing through him. He threw a glance over each shoulder to make sure the Lioness wasn't there. "I—I killed her," he stuttered. "But now I'm not so sure. She's after me still..."

"Lucien, slow down," she interrupted, looking more distressed by the second. "Who is after you? For God's sake, you look like a corpse!"

"Lyra," he said faintly. As he muttered the name, the image of her flashed in his mind. He felt a sudden need to warn her because the more he thought of her the more he thought she couldn't be dead. It didn't feel right. "White dress... d-dark hair... red eyes..."

Lucien looked down at the ground; he could hear Helayna speaking but he could hardly comprehend what she was saying. He looked down at his hands. They were pasty white and like the skin had been wrapped loosely around the bone, much like a corpse, as Helayna had described.

Helayna's face blurred before him. He felt a sudden dizzy spell as his vision went completely black. 
29

Phantasm Unmasked

A DULL, HAZY LIGHT shone before Lucien's eyes as he opened them to the sound of muffled voices. Slowly, the haze began to lift. He turned his head from side to side as the room came into focus. Gradually, his muffled hearing became clear, and with it came elation in the voices he was hearing. He recognized the voice of Rhys immediately, the others he was unsure of.

He blinked hard and fully opened his eyes to find the face of his best friend right in front of him. Rhys was grinning wildly.

"Welcome back," he said.

"It's good to see you, Rhys," Lucien responded before looking down at his arms. They were attached to little plastic tubes running up into a bottle of liquid hanging above him. He then noticed he was wearing a white gown and lying against a bed with rails—and not a particularly comfortable one either. The walls lining the room were of white cement and uniform save for the large window cut out of the wall to his left. There was another bed that seemed the same as his but was vacant with the sheets cleanly folded. There were two small tables and two chairs in the room, one of which was now occupied by Rhys.

"Am I in the hospital?" Lucien asked, suddenly alarmed by how little he could remember in terms of arriving to his current state.

Rhys nodded.

The more Lucien thought, the more he wished his memories had just stayed forgotten. He remembered his escape and how much like a prison his home had been before. He remembered very vaguely falling at the feet of Helayna Margott. Then, most dreadfully, memories returned of the woman he'd rescued on the beach and the monster she turned out to be. The eyes—how he wished he could forget those hellish red eyes. He remembered gathering every strength he had to pull the trigger, as well as how the monster disappeared.

"Lucien, you came here in pretty bad shape," he heard Rhys say. Lucien looked up to see the worry on his face. "You were practically dead. You looked like you had gone weeks without eating or sleeping. You've been in a coma since shortly after you arrived here."

"And how long has that been?"

Lucien watched Rhys count with the tips of his fingers. "Nearly a month," he said.

"A month?" Lucien cried incredulously. He started thinking furiously to himself. Surely by now, if Lyra hadn't made herself known, and if he was still alive it would mean he succeeded.

Rhys took a step toward the bed and raised both hands halfway into the air. "Lucien, calm down."

Lucien took a moment to collect himself. "I did it, Rhys. I finally did it. I killed her. I killed the monster."

"What monster, Lucien?"

Lucien didn't like the way his best friend was looking at him. "You remember the woman I told you about? She'd crashed her boat just about right outside my door. I brought her in."

Rhys nodded.

"She was no ordinary woman. She was the Lioness! I shot her when she was moments from killing me. I did it. My parents may rest now."

Rhys pensively squeezed the sides of his bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger. "I need to tell you something Lucien. We were all very worried about you, okay? I went to your estate after you were brought in here. There were absolutely no signs of anyone else in the house except for you. In fact, it looked like you had been sealed in your room for weeks."

"That's exactly what happened!" Lucien cried out impatiently. "She locked me in!"

Rhys just stared at him. He racked his brain for something that should have given it away.   
"Wait! Her room," he said feeling a flash of brilliance. "It was uh—uh two doors from mine."

"I certainly looked in that room. All the beds, including that one, had been untouched for some time. Featuring even, a layer of dust on them. I truly mean it. Your home hardly even looked lived in. All your food had gone rotten. It was astounding!" He took still another step toward Lucien's bed and sat down near the foot. "What happened, brother? What really happened?"

Lucien could hardly believe what he was hearing. "I've told you what happened to me," he said coldly, before looking all around him, trying to think of a better way to explain himself. As he did, something strange caught his eye.

"What are those?"

Rhys looked over at the stack of books sitting on the end table. There were three of them. A copy of the _Iliad_ by Homer, _The Time Machine_ by H.G. Wells, and the last, an older book with most of the letters rubbed off the spine, though ' _Lo_ ' and ' _yron_ ' could be seen—presumably, a collection of poems by Lord Byron. He knew they weren't from his library.

"Helayna brought those from her apartment for you to have something to do when you woke. I brought you some clothes for when you are released and your violin."

Lucien felt his mouth unconsciously drop open as a very specific memory rushed into his mind. Helayna had once asked him, undoubtedly laced with sarcasm at the time, if there were any books he didn't have, since all he did was read. The three titles he told her, not picking up the sarcasm until later reflection, were _The Iliad_ , _The Time Machine_ , and _The Poetical Works of Lord Byron_.

"I appreciate the both of you," Lucien said.

"She stayed up here nearly the whole time, you know." Lucien looked up at Rhys as he continued. "She found you in the street, in the state I described, and brought you in. She's hardly left your side since."

Lucien was immediately confused. "Where is she now?"

"She left very quickly when you started to stir. She and Korra did. Said it was just too much to face you right now. You know, she told me often that she felt responsible for you being here but she wouldn't explain much more than that. Come to think of it, she'd been acting really strange since she took your violin to you. You know, she actually said she saw someone at the manor but when I accompanied her out, nobody, not even you answered the door."

The last bit Rhys said stuck in Lucien's ear like a sharp quill. "Wait a second. She never brought my violin—" As Lucien spoke, the memory of leaving it on stage when he fell ill during the rehearsal popped up.

How did I get it back?

He knew only that there was a period in which he didn't have it. Then, almost inexplicably, when Lyra had demanded he play for her, he had it again.

"And still you doubt what I'm saying to you?" Lucien grumbled.

"What do you mean?"

"If Helayna brought my violin and saw someone, then it was Lyra. She could back me up on her being there. Did she not describe the person she saw to you? "

Rhys gave Lucien a look of concern and shook his head from side to side.

There was a long period of silence.

"Well, what all have I missed?" Lucien asked, deciding on a new subject.

"Quite a lot, in fact. Perseus has refused to sing in your absence, causing a stir among a lot of folks. It's not pretty out there. Silent streets. Most people just barring themselves inside their homes likes it's the end of the world. They are working on a new lead lyrebird but it takes time."

Lucien felt a ping of guilt as he thought about his bird. He knew that lyrebirds were prone to bouts of depression but he'd never heard of one refusing to sing.

"Also," Rhys continued. "Reachers have gotten bad again. We even had one get inside the gates a few weeks back. No one was killed but still it prompted a doubling of the posted guard and the implementation of a curfew."

Rhys scowled as he uttered the last bit. Lucien looked down at his hands before muttering a curse.

"They've had me fill in for your role at symphony hall. I have to say, it's given me a new respect for what you do," he said with a laugh.

Lucien joined him before their attention was drawn to the door swinging open. A small woman with long dark hair pinned up behind her nurse's cap and green colored eyeglasses pushed a wheeled cart into the room.

"Just going to take some blood, sir, don't worry about a thing," she said without looking up.

"How did you know he was awake?" Rhys asked the nurse. "I hadn't even gone to tell his doctor yet."

The woman looked up from her cart, her eyes passed between Rhys and Lucien and back again. Lucien found the alarm on her face only slightly disconcerting.

"I—uh, you know I heard the two of you talking in here and thought I would just come have a look-see."

Lucien looked over at Rhys, then back at the nurse. "Fair enough."

She finishing wheeling the cart to the right side of Lucien's bed and with dizzying speed, stuck his arm, cranked out one glass tube of blood, and applied a bandage. Her eyes darted between Rhys and Lucien again and she laughed nervously.

"All right, a perfect patient," she said, placing the glass tube in her pocket rather than on the cart with her other tools. "I will just take this down to get tested then."

"Instead, let's just cut short the formalities," came a voice from outside the room. The voice had a vague familiarity.

The man from the flower shop, dressed in black from head to toe with a long gray beard, entered the room and shut the door behind him.
30

Empathy

"WHO THE HELL are you?" Rhys said, staring at the old man that had just entered.

Lucien sat in awe of the situation and waiting for an answer, though he knew the old man and if he looked hard enough, he recognized the woman dressed as a nurse as well.

The old man stepped forward and placed a hand on the nurse's shoulder. "I am Archer Solomon. This is my associate, Cat. We hunt the one that hunts you Mr. Mooncaster."

Lucien looked over at Rhys, whose mouth was hanging open. He must feel silly now. Lucien decided not to rub it in his face and spoke. If you mean Lyra, I've killed her."

Archer Solomon arched an eyebrow high into his forehead and marched over to the side of the bed, practically forcing Rhys out of the way.

"Say that again, boy," he said. The old man's words did not sound mean. It seemed more like he was pleading.

"Before I was brought to this hospital, I had an encounter with this thing in my home, this—monster. It seemed like it was her from time to time, but other times I didn't know what I thought. And anyways, I shot the beast through the chest and she disappeared."

Archer Solomon ran a hand over his beard. "And these bullets, they were made of pure bronze? With your blood on them?" He gestured to Cat standing near the end of the bed.

Lucien felt confused by the request. "Well no, they were silver. What do you mean my blood?"

Archer Solomon and Cat exchanged a glance before bursting into a riot of laughter. Still confused, Lucien looked over at Rhys to see him chuckling along awkwardly.

The old man wiped a tear from his eye. "Silver you say? Read very many horror stories there, Mr. Mooncaster?"

Lucien felt his cheeks flush. It was apparently obvious to the man and his companion. They stifled their laughter. The old man seemed to take something small and shiny from his pocket and examine it. The woman dressed as a nurse spoke up. "The creature you refer to as _Lyra_ is a siren. There is plenty enough reason to believe that the woman and the monster you encountered are in fact one in the same, sirens are shape shifters and can appear as anything or anyone. According to lore, the only way to kill one is a weapon forged from bronze laced with the blood of an infected." She held up the very vial she'd taken from him before Archer Solomon had entered the room.

Lucien couldn't hold back. "Well then what happened to her?"

Archer Solomon turned back around. "There is no telling. It is likely that you injured her but not much more. Now you know why my colleague here needed to get that vial she now holds."

"Well what happens next? What will you do with that?"

"Relax, Mr. Mooncaster."

"It's Lucien."

Archer Solomon nodded. "Relax Lucien," he said pulling a gun from his waist. "This will be loaded with a set of bronze bullets and your blood. I will use my little secret ingredient to summon her and finish the job that you started."

"Summon her?" Rhys asked, standing and folding his arms together.

"There is a reacher chained in our bathroom!" Cat blurted out in response as if it had been yearning to escape. Solomon pursed his lips.

"Details, Cat," he said before turning back to face Lucien. "But it is true and you needn't worry, we have this under control."

Lucien was dumbfounded. He had no idea what to say. Frankly, he didn't need to as they were interrupted by a knock at the door.

"Come in," Lucien said, raising his voice.

The door opened with a long, slow creak. Moments later, Helayna Margott cautiously entered. She was the last person Lucien had expected to receive a visit from. She smiled nervously and then looked around at the numerous guests occupying the room. The room filled with a terrible awkwardness. Archer Solomon looked at Helayna and then back at Lucien.

"Well, I think we can be going now," the old man said. Cat nodded along.

Suddenly Lucien was filled with questions he needed answers to that his brain had decided to withhold. Why him? How were these two the only other people in the world that seemed to know of this siren? What if their plan didn't work?

"I should like to speak to you again," Lucien said.

"We can return tomorrow. Hopefully to congratulate you on your new found freedom."

"Hopefully," Lucien said in return before gesturing that Rhys ought to leave as well.

His best friend obliged with no complaints. Within a moment, he and Helayna Margott were alone.

Helayna walked over to a chair across from his bed. "How are you feeling?" she said.

Lucien curled his bottom lip over before answering. "Well enough, I suppose. Getting better every day."

"That's wonderful!"

There was a stiff silence between them. Without warning, Helayna moved from the chair to the end of the bed. Lucien felt the pace of his heart jump to double time.

"My God, Lucien, I'm so sorry," she said. Lucien could tell by her voice she was fighting back tears. "I feel like I am to blame for much of this."

"There's no need for that."

"Just stop," she said abruptly. "Yes there is. I saw her. At the time, I just thought she was a woman you were seeing. Now I realize I should have said something."

Lucien felt a nauseating rush of terror. He wouldn't wish the curse Lyra seemed to have brought with her on his worst enemy, much less someone he was in love with.

"It didn't end there," she continued, her voice embodying a sense of dread. "This hideous black bird has been following me. Korra thinks I'm crazy but I know it's there. God, I can't even begin to describe the way its eyes make me feel."

The first night Lyra stayed in his home flashed in his mind. Then the image of the blackbird in his attic struck him like the bite of a king cobra. He winced at her words.

"I see it everywhere," she said, physically shuddering.

"The bird?"

"No. It's the eyes I see. Sometimes on the bird, yes, but more often it's just the eyes watching me from some shadow nearby. Sometimes when I look out of my window at the empty apartment building across the street, they're there staring back at me. During rehearsal, I see this horrible grotesque thing watching me with those eyes from one of the seats. No one else seems to see it"

Lucien looked toward his window with cold horror washing over him.

"Lyra was shipwrecked outside of my home," he said. "I rescued her from a reacher and allowed her inside to stay and recover. I've just learned that she is a siren and a shapeshifter that sometimes takes the form of a horrible monster. She appeared to me a few times as a shapeless black entity with red eyes. She presumably showed herself to me in my dreams as a great black bird possessing the same red eyes."

"Oh my God," Helayna said, placing a hand over her mouth. There were goosebumps visible on the skin of her arms. Lucien could tell the story had frightened her and immediately second guessed if he should have disclosed so many details.

"Did you see it today?"

She nodded slowly as tears began to stream down her face. Lucien leaned himself toward her and held an arm out. She accepted the invitation and leaned in, allowing him to take her in his arm and hold her close.

She felt cold. He squeezed even tighter. The embrace felt lovely, he longed that it could be under happier circumstances.

He felt her tilt her head up and he turned so they were looking eye to eye. Lucien felt his stomach twist it knots as she closed her eyes and moved her lips slightly toward his. He started to close his own eyes when they were interrupted. The door to his room swiftly swung open after a quick but subtle knock.
31

Return of the Lioness

LYRA OPENED HER EYES as cold salt water continually splashed against her face. She looked up and around; it took a minute to recognize the spot where she lay. It was the same spot Lucien had picked her up from and carried her into his home. She felt a sharp pain in her chest and looked down to see the front of her dress was now mostly red. Above the cut of the dress was a bullet hole. She pressed her hand against it despite the burning sensation and then looked at the crimson smeared on her hand. The tide crashed against her and washed some it away.

"What the hell happened," she mumbled.

_You can say that again,_ hissed the voice of Tenebris from just behind her ear.

Her entire body shuddered at the thought that he was still _within_ her. She struggled to her feet before doubling over gasping for breath. She pressed the palm of her hand against the wound again.

The boy shot you.

"You've had your fun. Won't you leave me alone?" she asked of him pathetically.

The demon chuckled.

But we're only just beginning. Besides, you have been severely weakened. You might even be dead without me.

"Not likely. He had no bronze ammunition anywhere in his house. That bullet was probably silver." Lyra looked up at the manor beside the beach and then back down.

You were weak already before it. You know what you must do now.

"I need to return home and rest," she said.

Tenebris made a clicking sound as if to reprimand a child. _No, that's not what I had in mind at all._

The demon forced her to look out over the sea. She gazed in the direction she was pointed and though it wasn't visible, she could sense it. There was a ship sailing maybe a few miles off the coast, a large one carrying passengers.

"No. No. Not that! I won't do it!"

_Come now, you have a reputation to stand by, don't you? Lioness! And really, do you think you have a say in_ anything?! Tenebris' words had grown frantic and maniacal. Lyra looked on helplessly as she fell back into the abyss of her own consciousness.

*~*~*

She awoke lying on her side below deck of a wooden ocean liner. She begged her mind for it to not be so. She begged to be dreaming, but it was not so. She forced herself onto all fours and watched blood drip onto the moisture saturated planks below her and the pulled herself to her feet.

_Can't you feel that? That agonizing weakness? That total depletion? You need this! You need your strength and you know just what blood can do for that._

Lyra leaned over and vomited. Tenebris whispered how pathetic he thought she was before taking the reins. _I need to teach you just how much I mean business. So you're going to stay awake for this one. Normally, your transformation accompanies fits of rage that often mean total black out, but then again, it's not every day you are shot in the chest by a silver bullet now is it?_

Lyra walked up the creaking wooden stairs and opened the door to reveal a lavish den area featuring couches, chairs, ornate rugs, chandeliers, tables of hors d'oeuvres, and an abundance of guests, old and young. She looked down to see her arms change to the color of midnight and her fingers to long razors. A woman screamed and dropped her glass of champagne, which shattered against the floor. Lyra put a stop to that by cutting her into five sections. The woman fell into a pile at Lyra's feet and the room changed instantly to chaos. Screams and shattered glass polluted the air. Lyra kneeled down to the blood quickly spreading across the floor at her feet.

_Listen to my symphony, Lyra! Go and feast my love!_

Lyra watched herself kill and consume every person aboard the ship. The theater of grotesque cruelty extended well into the night until she found herself lying on the deck of the shop surrounded by death.

Tenebris moaned disgustingly. _Your strength is immense! I can feel it coursing through you! Maybe even enough to—_

The demon didn't finish the thought but Lyra could hardly pay it any mind. Just how many times had she done this before?

_All right,_ Tenebris hissed. _I'm through with you. The boy's friends will get me closer than you ever could anyway._

Lyra blinked her eyes and found herself lying in the sand just outside of the Mooncaster manor with the tide washing over her, just as she had earlier that day, only now the pain in her chest was gone.
32

Lockdown

SOLOMON SHUT THE DOOR to Lucien's room behind Cat but didn't start walking down the hall. He looked around to see that they current had the attention of no one and he pulled the sapphire from his pocket once more.

"So back to the apartment then? I suppose this is it."

"No and yes, respectively."

Cat looked up at him with her face all contorted. "What the hell does that mean?"

"Look at this" He held the jewel up in front of Cat's eyes so she could see just how brightly it was glowing. He heard her soft gasp and then returned it to his pocket.

"She is here at this very moment."

"In Zargo?" Cat asked almost naively.

"In this hospital, maybe even on this very floor."

"Probably keeping an eye on him?" She gestured to the closed door behind them.

"I should think so. That means that we need to as well. She could strike at any moment and that of course will be when we do."

"Well, he seemed rather busy in there."

"Right, and visiting hours will be up soon anyway." Solomon looked around and then sat himself in a nearby wheelchair. "Come to think of it, nurse, I'm feeling a bit light headed and short of breath. I may need to check into one of these rooms facing that one."

Cat wore an expression of ridiculousness.

"Nurse! It may be a heart attack!"

Solomon leaned over the side of the chair and winced in his attempt at acting that he thought could be considerable for an award were it being done on the stage. Cat took the grips behind him and cleared her throat as they walked toward the nursing station.

*~*~*

Both Lucien and Helayna watched the door intently to see who would enter. At first, it was no one. It seemed, as if the door was held open simply for the sake of being open. Helayna got up from the end of the bed to see a flustered looking woman with thick bushy hair, an excessive amount of jewelry, and a white lab coat waltz in.

"Terribly sorry about that Mr. Mooncaster, all of my papers here had fallen from their clip."

Dr. Barnes demonstrated what had happened with her clipboard.

"That's quite all right," Lucien said.

Dr. Barnes then looked at Helayna. "Evening visiting hours have concluded. You may come back in the morning, Miss."

Lucien saw Helayna's face flood with fear.

"But—" she started to say before Dr. Barnes interjected.

"I'm terribly sorry. It's just policy."

Lucien's mind raced to find a solution so she wouldn't have to leave but he could think of nothing.

"That's fair," Helayna finally said to the doctor before turning back to face Lucien.

"I will come back to see you in the morning," she said with a shaking voice.

"All right, just get home as quick as you can by coach and lock all of your doors and windows. Explain as best you can to Korra."

She nodded and smiled warmly at him before leaving the room. Lucien felt as though he were sinking into his bed the moment she did. He looked up at Dr. Barnes who had apparently come for more than just to tell Helayna she had to leave.

"I've ordered your discharge documents for tomorrow, also here is your prescription of antipsychotics," she said after retrieving a bottle from her pocket. "Start taking them tonight and everyday henceforth. When the bottle is through and the hallucinations persist, come back and see me to renew the prescription."

Lucien opened his mouth to interject but ultimately just nodded and took the bottle from her hand. He stared intently at it, even after Dr. Barnes had left him.

*~*~*

When he first opened his eyes the next morning, he could hardly see. It felt as though a thin film covered his field of vision. Other than the plain features of the room, he could see the outline of a person standing over his bed and he felt the caress of fingertips against his cheeks, He rubbed his eye sockets and the figure of Rhys came into view, but his eyes were different. His best friend slathered the side of his mouth with his tongue but quickly pulled away the moment he seemed to notice that Lucien had awoken.

"Ah, you're up," he said awkwardly. Lucien tried to concentrate on Rhys' eyes but whatever had seemed off about them had either gone away or had never actually been there.

"How long have you been here," Lucien said, stretching his arms.

"Not long." Rhys was staring at him and Lucien made no effort to look away. For an ungodly amount of time, the man didn't blink his eyes until finally he spoke again.

"I had simply hoped to go and tell Helayna of the wonderful news that you were to be released but I don't know where to find her. I can expect that you would like for her to know?"

"Well yes. She's staying with Korra I think. But wait, why would you—?"

Rhys quickly interrupted. "Hmm yes. He knows where that is."

"He?"

Rhys looked down at Lucien, seeming to snap himself out of a trance. "Did I say he? I meant me. Of course I know where Korra lives."

He then made an about face and quickly marched from the room throwing the door open and into the wall on his way. Lucien was left dumbfounded. He continued to stare at the open portcullis into his room trying to grasp everything that had just transpired. _He knows where that is._ Why did he say it in that way? Who was _he_?

A moment later, Archer Solomon popped through the door followed by his colleague, Cat, still dressed as a nurse. Did this hospital even have any sort of security? The old man examined the room like an inspector searching for the clues to a murder mystery.

"What is going on? And what happened with the blood and the bullets?"

"A change of plans," he said quickly. Cat had decided to take a seat in the corner of the room. "I have on my person an amulet with _special_ properties. Without going too much into detail it allows me to know when the siren is near. And last night, the siren was very near. Almost undoubtedly in this very hospital."

"Last night?" Lucien felt himself yelp. A rush of panic splashed him like a bucket of ice cold water.

Archer Solomon raised both of his hands. "Don't worry. We stayed and hid out in a vacant room in order to keep a watch. But you should know that he is still hear and likely planning something."

Lucien tried to take deep breathes to keep from hyperventilating. There was a knock at the door but it didn't open automatically as it had when Dr. Barnes had entered the previous evening.

"Come in," Lucien said.

The door swung open and instead of Dr. Barnes, a nurse he hadn't seen before entered pushing a cart topped with numerous medical supplies. Solomon stepped back and over to the wall where he had been standing to allow the nurse to work.

The nurse wore a mask over her nose and mouth and a strange bib hung from her neck covering much of her abdomen. When she reached the side of the bed, Lucien immediately recognized the unblemished olive tone of her skin and deep emerald eyes. Lucien's heart jumped into his throat and he felt himself reflexively pull away from her. Solomon unfolded his arms and took a small step forward as though to see what was happening.

"Something wrong over there?" the old man asked.

Lyra made a soft shushing sound, like a mother trying to calm a newborn and almost unperceptively shook her head.

"I am not going to harm you," she whispered before removing the bib and placing it on the tray. There was gruesome scar on her chest just above the top of her dress and apron.

Despite everything that had happened and everything he had learned, he felt an overwhelming sense that he should trust her.

"It's all right, I just still haven't adjusted to giving blood it seems," Lucien said, trying to contain his nerves. He saw from the top of his vision, Solomon return to the wall and refold his arms.

"That was very good, now listen carefully," Lyra said in a hushed whisper. "Forget everything that has happened between the two of us. Your world faces a far greater threat than I have every posed. A powerful demon means to take hold and is going to use _her_ to get to you."

Lucien felt his eyebrows unconsciously lift into his forehead. "Helayna?"

She nodded. "Like me, this threat could have the taken the form of anyone or anything by now." Lucien immediately thought of how strange Rhys had acted and his bizarre request and response about Helayna. Everything seemed to click at once in his mind and nearly forced him from the bed had Lyra not placed a hand against his chest to hold him back.

"I need to go to her!" he exclaimed while still trying to keep things at whisper level. He looked out of the corner of his eye at Archer Solomon who was now watching them with narrowed eyes. He saw him start to dig in his coat when he turned his attention back to Lyra.

"You can go nowhere. You and your instrument are far too important. More important than you can understand right now. You must leave this to me."

"Why did you come here to tell me this then?"

"Because Tenebris will try to find you, and when he does he will break you. But if you stay in this hospital you should be safe until I can deal with him."

"Son of a bitch," Lucien heard Solomon mutter. He looked up to see the monster hunter examining the same small blue jewel he'd done previously and then return it to his pocket. Before Lucien realized what was happening, Solomon had drawn a firearm and pointed it at Lyra who, conversely, had removed her mask and turned to face him. The sapphire rose jewel was shining as brightly around her neck as Lucien had ever seen it.

"How lovely, we can end this right now," Solomon sneered.

"Your day will come, James Tolston, this isn't about you and me," she said. Her voice almost sounded fearful. "I know what bullets you have in that gun and I would love nothing more than for you to pull that trigger but you will unleash a evil far greater than what even the likes of you can stand against."

"Tolston?" Cat asked, now standing as well.

Lyra laughed. "Why you thought you could ever hide your identity from me is very amusing, I must say."

Solomon snarled and lifted his hand to Cat, seemingly to indicate any questions regarding his name would have to wait.

Lyra took a step back but kept her eyes locked on the weapon. "There is something much bigger at work here," she said, raising her hand and wrapping it around the glowing blue jewel hanging from her neck and pointing her other at Lucien. "Keep him safe!"

By the time Solomon could squeeze the trigger, she had disappeared.

"Dammit!" Solomon screamed as soon as the bronze round burst through a glass vase seated on the bedside end table and embedded in the wall.

After a very long pause, Archer Solomon holstered the weapon and pressed the back of his hand against his forehead. "She said that name and it threw me ... that was all it took for me to lose focus."

"Would you care to explain?" Cat chimed.

Lucien listened to Solomon explain that Tolston had been his name before he became a monster hunter, that with his background, he never would have been allowed in.

"That day did a lot to twist me into the madman you see before you today. The day I stole this piece of her jewel and she repaid the kindness by taking my Lina from me did even worse. It took time to come back from that state. I have never lost focus like I did just now and that will certainly never happen again."

"We have to go. Helayna is in trouble," Lucien said, frantically putting on his clothes. He didn't care what Lyra had said. He knew that look of fear Helayna had given him when describing the bird and the eyes. She hadn't described the eyes that Rhys looked down at him with that morning, no, she'd described the eyes of the Lioness.

"Did _she_ tell you that?" Solomon inquired, threateningly.

Lucien ignored the question and placed the three books Helayna had brought him in the messenger bag leaning against the end table that he assumed she had left as well. He dusted the broken bits of the vase from it and threw the strap over his shoulder.

"She's a deceiver Lucien, what else did she say to you?"

The door was suddenly thrown open. Dr. Barnes stormed in.

"Did I hear a gunshot?"

No one answered and instead exchanged nervous glances. Solomon quickly moved his coat to cover his firearms, but not before the doctor caught a glimpse of them. She glared at him and looked over at the hole in the wall.

"What happened to the vase?"

Lucien looked up at Solomon who stared back at the doctor completely stone faced.

"My apologies ma'am. There was a spider."

The doctor eyed the trio one at a time ending at Lucien. She seemed to take a certain issue with him getting dressed. "You cannot leave. In fact, none of you can. Hospital is on lockdown, apparently there was an incident at the main gate. I cannot allow anyone to go outside."

"But—" Lucien tried to interject.

"You'll be perfectly safe in your room.
33

Taken

LUCIEN FOLLOWED CAT through the busted glass of his hospital room's lone window. Solomon exited last and urged him and Cat onward. The fresh air was a godsend but he noticed immediately there was no music in the air. In its place a chaotic commotion sounded in the distance coming from the direction of the East Gate.

Away from the hospital and on the street level, Cat stopped and turned to Archer Solomon. "What is the plan exactly?"

"I'm thinking," he replied, flustered. "We won't be able to go anywhere with reachers swarming the city. Where is this Helayna anyway?"

Lucien sank when he realized that Korra's apartment was pretty close to Rhys', maybe a few blocks from the East Gate. Solomon seemed to read the expression on his face as if the words were written in ink. He nodded.

"I have two weapons and enough ammunition to go and help the effort but you'll need to find cover."

You and your instrument are far too important. More important than you can understand right now.

"Don't worry," Lucien said in return. "I have a plan. Meet me at the gate!"

*~*~*

"Where could he be going?" Cat asked, watching the scrawny violinist jog up the abandoned street.

"Doesn't much matter," Solomon said, turning to make eye contact with her. Whatever _she_ is planning will have to do with the reachers breaking through. We need to get over there and keep an eye out for an oversized black bird."

Solomon pulled one of his revolvers from his belt and tossed it Cats way. She caught it and smiled up at him. "For Garron," she said, to which he replied, "for Evelina."

She followed Solomon in a jog in the opposite direction that Lucien had started. They ran toward the ominous sound of death and gunfire. Her stomach was tied in knots and her nerves felt fried by the time they reached the action. The scene before her was deafening to all senses. Her hearing seemed to muffle permanently following the first shot she sent to the nearest reacher's head. The city's guard seemed to have a decent handle on the situation. A few of the salaried monster hunters had fallen but that number paled in comparison to the body count of reachers that littered the area. The problem was they simply kept coming.

Cat ran out of ammunition as a hunter was cut down maybe twenty paces in front of her.

"Watch it!" Solomon cried as he stepped in front of her and hurled a hunting knife into the place where a nose should have been. He then handed her a bundle of fresh bullets.

"How many are left?" she asked while frantically pushing the rounds into place.

"Apart from the ones we need to save," he started. "Not many."

Then came a noise in the distance, akin to a noise that struck Cat strangely when she first stepped foot in Zargo. She fired a few more rounds into an approaching reacher and returned her attention to the air. The sound was nearer now and she was sure of what it was.

Music.

"Do you hear that?" She said, nudging Solomon after he emptied his firearm.

Solomon turned to face the direction that the obvious source of the sound and a smirk appeared on his face.

"Well I'll be damned."

Cat noticed the reachers in the area begin to act strange and turned back to see a large flock of birds approaching. A moment later, a one-horse carriage came over the hill piloted by a very old looking man with a beard that extended past his knees in the seated position. Lucien was in the back of the carriage and he was playing a violin.

Then it clicked. These were the birds from the dome that Solomon had shown her. She looked back at the gate. Reachers were no longer pouring through, in fact, they were fleeing back the way they came!

"Well shit, Solomon. What do you think about this?"

When he didn't respond, she looked up to see him softly shaking his head still wearing the smirk. Lucien's carriage came to a halt in the square in front of the gate with the army of lyrebirds circling him still singing. Many of the surround buildings had let open their windows to bear witness to the miracle. When the last reacher had retreated, Cat saw Solomon quickly run to the gate.

"Hey! Patch it up! Patch it up!" he cried. The orders were repeated through the ranks until a group of guards sprinted for the guard house and within moments came back out with handfuls of makeshift supplies to accomplish the task. Solomon aided while Cat walked over to Lucien as he concluded the performance to a roar a cheers and applause from nearly every soul present.

"Impressive work," she told him.

He climbed down from the carriage and the birds, seeming to follow their master's every move, settled on or around the transport. The violinist was beaming.

"Who would've thought, huh?" Cat said, still astonished herself.

"Certainly not me, not before today," he said.

The old man who'd been driving the carriage walked up. He was barely taller than Cat herself was.

"That was something, Lucien. Obviously, we need you back."

Lucien shook the man's hand shifting to full embrace like long lost friends. "Believe me sir, I am ready to come back but," he said before exchanging a glance with everyone standing in the circle including now Solomon and another guardsman. "I have one last thing to do first. Helayna is in trouble. I need to find her."

The old man nodded. The guardsman standing next to Solomon spoke up. "How can we help?"

Lucien started to speak but Solomon handled it for him. "We need a carriage of our own. I imagine Maestro Michelo will need to get these birds back to their proper home as soon as possible."

The maestro nodded again. Cat rolled her eyes. Solomon seemed to know just everyone.

The guardsman took his orders and disappeared while Michelo climbed back into the seat of his carriage. He whistled a peculiar and complex whistle that Cat had never before heard and at once all the birds perched themselves on the back of his coach. Not ten seconds later, a replacement carriage appeared.

"All yours sirs and ma'am."

*~*~*

Lucien, Solomon, and Cat climbed out of the stagecoach and eyed the building before them. Most notably, every window on the second floor had been broken out. Solomon handed Lucien a bronze dagger and looked him sternly in his eye. Lucien gulped and tucked it into the back of his belt as both Cat and Solomon drew their weapons.

With Solomon leading the way, the trio filed into the building and up the stairs. On the second floor, they found the door to Helayna and Korra's flat sitting wide open. Inside, every loose item had seemingly been broken into as many pieces as possible. Shards of glass and splintered wood littered the floor.

Solomon took the blue rose petal from his pocket and returned it. "I don't think she's here."

_That device probably knows nothing of Tenebris,_ Lucien thought. He wondered if Solomon even believed that there was another threat beside the siren. Could he really trust the words she'd spoken to him in his hospital room?

"Shit," Cat muttered as they entered the disaster area.

Furniture was flipped in all directions making the floor hardly visible beneath the mess. Jagged lines of red followed along the walls as though smeared by a hand covered in blood. Once they'd been inside for more than a few seconds, Lucien couldn't help but notice Korra's absence as well.

"Everyone stop moving," Cat suddenly called out from the kitchen. "I can hear something."

Lucien stood still in the middle of the living area while Solomon poked out his head around the corner from the washroom. A distinct thumping sound could be heard. It seemed to be coming from the wall nearest to where Lucien stood. He cautiously stepped to the wall and placed his ear against the white plaster.

The thumping grew louder and started to beat at a regular interval. Solomon stepped from the washroom to a door nearest that section of wall. He opened it and gasped at what he saw.

"My God," he said before pulling Korra from the floor of the closet. Her hands, ankles, and mouth were bound by rope. Her face and arms were covered in lacerations and her eyes appeared swollen and red. Solomon quickly cut the binds with a knife from his coat.

At once, Korra fell back to the floor clutching her sides and groaning in agony.

"Find a blanket and put that chair on its legs," Solomon barked before helping Korra to her feet. Lucien found the worn leather chair in the living room and turned it upright while Cat retrieved a blanket that had been tossed under the dining table.

After she had been made as comfortable as possible given her current state, Solomon kneeled before her.

"Can you tell us what happened?"

"He-he came. Rhys..." her voice broke as she spoke the name. "Rhys came and took her."

That confirmed it. That confirmed everything.

"I mean it was him—but also it wasn't. He was different. His skin pale and his eyes like gold ... and his voice. His voice was frightening."

"Possession," Cat said ominously.

Lucien and Solomon looked at her. "This seems like a case of demonic possession," she continued. "Demons are known to have the yellow eyes of a cat. Did either of you know this Rhys character before today?"

Cat looked first at Korra and then back at Lucien.

Lucien nodded and noticed out of the corner of his eye that Korra had as well.

"She said there was another... Tenebris," Lucien heard himself mutter, and against his better judgment.

Solomon promptly stopped stroking the ends of his beard. "What's that now? _She_ said?" His wild eyes pointed directly at Lucien. "She sent you on a little scavenger hunt, did she?"

"Could you try to be reasonable?" Lucien said, raising his voice. "Helayna's life is at stake right now!"

Cat took a step toward the crazed hunter. "For fuck's sake, Solomon, he's right, could you take it easy?"

Solomon said nothing and removed his hat. He rubbed his hand over his head and sauntered into the kitchen area, kicking shards of glass as he went.

Lucien glared at the man for an extra moment before turning back toward Korra.

"Have you any idea where he might have taken her?"

Lucien could see tears well in her eyes as he awaited an answer. She squeezed her eyes shut, bowed her head, and pointed to a door at the end of the hall in which the door itself was pulled to but not completely shut. Lucien approached the door with his heart thumping loudly in his chest. When he was near enough, he pushed the door the rest of the way open. Inside, Helayna's harp sat with every string cut out. Written on the wall were rough uneven red letters that read, "Grey's Peak."
34

Grey's Peak

"THIS ISN'T HOW I operate," Solomon said with his arms folded. "We'll be walking right into a trap like goddamn little mice."

"I disagree," Lucien countered. "She said she wants to destroy him and I believe her."

"She wants to destroy a demon that she has obviously been in cohorts with? Do you hear yourself?"

Lucien snarled at the old man. "What difference does it make? You want your chance to kill her? You'll have it so long as she keeps her word."

Solomon shook his head. "Not like this, not under her parameters. Listen to me Lucien, the only thing this creature—this siren—means to destroy, is life. She must do so in order to thrive as she does. Killing and consuming gives her power."

Lucien looked at the ground for a moment before glaring Solomon eye to eye. "Just answer me this. If it were Lina up on the mountain, would you fight so mightily against going?"

Solomon said nothing. He turned to face the window and began to stroke the ends of his wiry beard. Having had enough, Lucien turned around and left.

He met Cat on the sidewalk in front of the building and in his rush, nearly crashed into her.

"Hey! Korra is speaking to the guard now before she checks in at the hospital. Guardsmen will likely be over soon, probably our cue to go," she called out over her shoulder.

"Wonderful," Lucien said back, barely stopping to turn around.

"Where are you headed so fast? The carriage is right here." Cat indicated its location by pointing her finger across the street.

Lucien, now several paces from her, finally stopped and turned around. "I'm going up the mountain—alone. Honestly, I'm not sure how you put up with him."

Cat curled her lips under and placed her hands on her hips. Lucien turned around and continued on his way. As he walked, he could hear her footsteps rush inside.

It didn't matter, none of it did. Only rescuing Helayna from whatever undue torment she was suffering did. Lucien wondered why Helayna had to come back in the first place. If she hadn't, this wouldn't have happened. Maybe none of it would have. His life could have just gone on as it was, in peace and in tune.

Lucien might have made it four blocks before Archer Solomon's stagecoach skidded to a halt beside him. The door popped open. The dark hat, dark eyes, and salty grey beard of Archer Solomon leaned out.

"Come on then," he said. "They won't even open the gates for you without me there."

"So you're suddenly interested then?" Lucien asked, apprehensive to even approach the carriage.

Solomon sighed. "Yes, I am. And for what it's worth, I'm sorry."

Lucien could tell by the old man's face that the apology didn't taste well. He looked up at Cat on the driver's bench who smirked back from the corner of her eye. Solomon cocked his head to the side while he waited for his answer. Lucien made the old man wait just a little longer and then stepped forward and climbed into the carriage. Solomon snapped the door shut as Lucien allowed his weight to sink into the cushioned seat.

*~*~*

With the gate shut behind them, Solomon reached across and opened each of the doors followed by the side and rear windows.

"Do you understand why I did that?"

Lucien nodded, he knew very well that all they'd done is drive the reachers from the city. They were still out there.

"You will need to continue to play as you had earlier. Might not be as effective as with the birds but it might keep them from tearing this coach apart."

"Okay," Lucien said, readying he violin under his chin.

"We just need to make it to the mountain. Reachers can't climb, you know? That's most likely why he took her there."

With that, Lucien began to play. He played the same song he had been struggling to write for so long and now he expected, it was nearly complete.

He ran his bow softly against the first string and stagecoach disappeared around him, teleporting him to the midnight void he knew so well. A glowing, spiraling beam of red light danced to the melody of his music as he performed the piece's entirety. Near the end, Lucien could see a woman in a white dress standing in the distance watching him. She stood there, or maybe she floated in the black mist with her eyes closed and her head tilted carelessly to one side. He squinted his eyes to get a better look at the woman when the large calloused hands of Archer Solomon extracted him from the musical trance.

"Excellent work, my friend," he said while Lucien tried to shake the haze. "We've arrived."

Lucien looked out through the open door of the carriage to see the town of Vici. Once nestled in the foothills beneath Grey's peak.

Cat guided the stagecoach to the town's public carriage house where the trio left the horses to continue on foot.

"I don't expect this demon really meant to evade us. Grey's Peak is the shortest and least treacherous in the entire range."

Cat threw her hands up. "Whoa. Master investigator over here."

Lucien looked up at Solomon who didn't seem to react.

"I'm just saying. It may seem easy but we still have two threats to look out for. And if I may remind everyone, the demon and the siren are most likely working together. Just be ready. You know what to do with the knife, Lucien?" He made a cutting motion against the skin of his hand.

Lucien nodded and looked up at the steep trek ahead of them. The town of Vici was remarkable sparse for the time of day. A shadow, not just from the mountain itself, seemed to hang over the village.

"What the hell is with this ghost town?" Cat said as the three walked down the middle of a barren street.

"It's no ghost town. Grey's peak has some strange properties about it," Solomon replied. "When you live this near to a breeding ground for magic, you get a sense for when to stay indoors—for when a storm is near."

Lucien gulped and kept his gaze ahead.

"The flowers that grow up there are the physical manifestation of that very magic. Try not to look too closely lest you want to lose your mind."

"I am familiar with them," Lucien said. Solomon gave him a look of acknowledgment but said no more.

Just ahead a posted sign read, _Grey's Peak Path_ on one line and, _Continue At Your Own Risk_ on the next. The second seemed to just be slathered onto the sign in either deep red paint or fresh blood, it even appeared to still be running at the edges. Lucien rubbed his eyes and suddenly the second line was gone. He shook his head from side to side to regain his focus.

"Is everything all right?" Solomon asked after walking past Lucien a few steps and turning to look back.

Lucien looked down at his watch: ten minutes after eleven. "Definitely," he said.

The mountain stood menacingly before them. Without looking up to acknowledge the Goliath structure, the three started up the path. It began as a subtle hill weaving back and forth around clusters of trees and rocks. Solomon marched in front, with Cat not far behind him. Lucien brought up the rear knowing full well he was the least in shape of the group.

"Not too terrible, now is it?" Solomon called back over his shoulder.

"Nope," Lucien answered, already out of breath. "It's not too bad."

Dark clouds began to gather over the hilltop. The path continued to weave back and forth, growing steeper with every turn. Lucien spent much of the hike with his eyes pointed down at the ground in front of his feet. When he decided to look up, he saw that his companions had gotten a good bit ahead of him and had stopped to wait. He continued to trudge at the only pace his legs felt capable of, grabbing onto low hanging branches for assistance as he went.

"I'm sorry," he said, heaving. It felt like they had been at it for hours already. "How far along are we anyway?"

Solomon retrieved a small map from one of his pockets. "We're halfway up now. Look at the sun though. What time did we leave Vici?" he asked, retrieving his own watch from another pocket.

Cat shrugged.

"It was about eleven o'clock," Lucien chimed in, assuming he was the only one of the group that had bothered to note the time earlier.

"What's the time now?"

Lucien pulled the watch from his pocket and popped it open. It still showed ten minutes after eleven.

"That can't be right," he muttered softly, raising the timepiece to his ear. It still ticked but for whatever reason, the hands hadn't moved.

"What's the matter?"

Lucien looked up at Cat. She sounded just as alarmed as he felt.

"My watch has finally stopped working. It's still showing the exact same time from when we were just starting on the trail."

The three of them shared a grim look. Even at the pace he held them to, Lucien knew it shouldn't have taken until late afternoon to only reach the halfway point.

Solomon leaned his weight against his knee with his boot propped against a large rock. "All right, I was going to propose a break. But we have to reach the summit before nightfall or the mountain becomes infinitely more difficult to scale. Lucien, can you go on or do we need to stop?"

"I feel capable enough, let's keep going."

Solomon and Cat each turned around and continued up the ever-steepening trail. Lucien followed closely behind. They made the rest of the journey in almost total silence. Perhaps under a shared anxiety of what was sure to unfold, be it grim or triumphant. Lucien felt the lack of food he had consumed that day catch up to him in an instant, magnifying the discomfort his nerves were already causing him. He expected Solomon likely felt nothing, just another day for a legendary monster hunter. What was one more monster for his mantle?

When they finally reached Grey's Peak, the sun sat halfway below the horizon. Lucien looked down at his watch again. The hands still hadn't moved even a single minute. "Dammit," he muttered under his breath.

The storm clouds Lucien had watched form on the way up swirled around above them, threatening to do their worst but strangely, no one else was present atop the mountain. Lucien could see neither Helayna nor Rhys, nor Lyra for that matter anywhere. Only the resounding red glow of the mountain lilies could be seen. The three of them were alone.
35

The Rose of the Sea

RAIN BEGAN TO FALL on the travelers atop Grey's Peak. Lucien couldn't believe his eyes as he again scoured the clearing for signs of Rhys or Helayna.

_"_ I knew it," Solomon called out, annoyance clear in his voice. "We were tricked."

Lucien ignored the old man, turned, and received a strike to his left cheekbone hard enough to send him tumbling.

Lucien lifted himself from the ground rubbing the sore side of his face. In his hand, he felt the warm sensation of freshly drawn blood. He looked up at the shrouded figure of Rhys. His skin was pale and cracked and his eyes bore a fierce yellow glow. Rhys stared back down at him, chuckling to himself.

"I knew you'd come."

"Shit!" Solomon and Cat simultaneously cried after they'd turn to see him.

Solomon reached for his gun, but what appeared to be trees roots shot up from the dirt wrapping his hands and arms and binding him to the dirt.

"Oh my God," he heard Cat mutter.

He looked over at her to see her pull a small metal crucifix from around her neck and start to speak indistinctly in Latin.

Rhys began to laugh. "Yes! Yes! Try to drive me out!" he cried, raising both arms into the air. "Up here, you will only drive me deeper within him!"

With every word the possessed man uttered, his voice grew deeper and more booming, as if somehow amplified by what was happening. The glow of the red mountain lilies intensified until the area was as bright as the midday sun.

Cat began to stutter her words as Rhys raised a hand as if to grab her. Lucien looked on in horror as the crucifix pulled itself out of Cat's grip and flew toward Rhys' outstretched grasp. It stopped and hovered with an inch or two to go. After a few moments of hovering there, Rhys squeezed his fingers in toward the reflective steel as it melted like an ice cream cone to the ground.

Rhys broke into another roar of hideous laughter as more roots shot out of the ground and bound her in the same manner they had Solomon.

"This is between you and me alone, Mr. Mooncaster."

Lucien looked down at the rope in Rhys' other hand. Helayna was tied at the end up, similarly to how Korra had been tied and put into the closet. Lucien and Helayna locked eyes for a moment. As she squirmed in the bindings, she continually shook her head at him as if to deter him from something.

"Let her go, now!" Lucien cried.

"Don't worry. I very much mean to. Right after you read from my holiest of literature and pledge your everlasting soul to me."

Lucien looked around for any sign of Lyra. What could she have meant by having a plan to stop him? Whatever she was doing now couldn't possibly be a part of any plan. He looked down at Helayna who was now shaking her head more aggressively than before. It seemed she could read his intentions and was trying her best to sway him the other way.

"You would let her go, if I read from your book?"

"But of course. At once," Rhys hissed, his eyes glowing brighter by the second.

"And the others?" Lucien added, pointing at the reachers holding Solomon and Cat hostage.

"If that is what it takes."

Lucien took a deep breath and reached a hand forward to take the book. Without warning, both he and Rhys were thrown from their feet as an enormous flock of blackbirds stormed the clearing like the pelting rain of a hurricane. Lucien looked up to see the torrent of birds begin to focus their flight into a cylindrical pattern. He looked over at Rhys who, armed with forces of the supernatural or not, was caught by surprise just as much as he was.

"Quickly Lucien!" boomed Lyra's voice from the avian maelstrom. "Bind him!"

Lucien's mind and heart raced. After a moment's thought, he dove for Rhys who hadn't gotten to his feet yet and tackled him back to the ground. He wrapped his arms around Rhys at his elbows and locked his hands together. Rhys' physical strength was immense but for the moment, Lucien felt as though he had the upper hand.

The flight of blackbirds tightened even further until the figure of Lyra stepped forth from the cyclone. As she did, clad in her typical white dress, the mass of blackbirds dispersed. Her arms were the color of midnight and her eyes projected a more brilliant red glow than even the mountain lilies that surrounded them. She leaned forward and picked the old leather bound book up from the ground. Rhys continued to struggle violently to escape.

"You've made a fatal miscalculation, Tenebris. Your time in this world is coming to an end."

She flipped the book open and began to read in a language Lucien recognized as Latin, though he understood none of the words. Rhys began to struggle even more fiercely than he had been before. The air and clouds surrounding the mountain began to swirl, with streaks of silver, just as the flight of the birds had been.

"No! Stop!" Rhys cried through clenched teeth. "Stop, you bitch!"

A deep hideous rumbling accompanied the swirling clouds. Lucien felt the strength in his arms giving up and at last, Rhys broke free. He lunged in the direction of the standing siren but with mere steps to go, he fell helplessly to his knees crying out in agony.

Lucien was confused by the scene unfolding before him and it seemed that tragically, Solomon may have been right. Lyra was performing the act herself that she once promised to force him to do. She was bringing the demon into the physical world. Lucien cursed himself for trusting her word.

Lyra's verse came to an end and she closed the book. At the same time, a black vapor spewed up and out of every orifice on Rhys' face. Simultaneously, the vapor formed the shape of a man and Rhys collapsed to the ground.

The shadowy shape walked back and forth, becoming more opaque with each step it took. Lyra watched its movements with caution. For a second her eyes caught Lucien's.

"You've done well," she said. "Just stick to your plan."

"You tricked me!" Lucien cried out. "I trusted you!"

Lyra didn't respond. She reminded him of the dagger tucked in the back of his belt without saying any words at all, as if by telepathy. A dull gray aura came over her as though all her color had simply faded. The black faded from her arms and red from her eyes as she slumped to the ground. Lucien then caught sight of the man standing between him and her. Clad in a ruffled and dirty pinstripe suit, he knelt in the dirt with his hands clasped against its forehead. With Lucien watching, the demon fell forward onto all fours and started to cough and breathe gutturally.

"What have you done!" the sinister being shrieked, jerking his head up and turning to face Lucien. From the surrounding glow, Lucien could see gold in the menacing figure's eyes. The demon rocked back and forth with his hands clasping his face as if Lyra had dealt him a serious blow by reading the passage.

"T-Tenebris," Lucien muttered almost under his breath.

The demon went from being distraught to stone faced in an instant. He then chuckled insidiously and climbed to his feet, completely flipping his disposition. "You tell me, Mr. Mooncaster, was that convincing?"

Lucien could hear Solomon and Cat still struggling to escape the grasp of the tree roots. He watched in horror with his mouth hanging half open as Tenebris walked toward him.

"Did you think your little scheme with Lyra here had paid off? That I would just be crushed by her sacrificing her own soul and marking herself to die in three days?"

Lucien couldn't answer but the mentioning of three days took him back to that evening on his balcony. As the demon took a step toward him, Lucien reached into the back of his belt for the only weapon he could reasonably get to.

"Nuh-uh-uh," Tenebris said with the teasing tone of a child.

Lucien unfortunately hesitated, and in a flash, the demon appeared just before him and delivered another back-fisted strike to the side of his face. Lucien toppled to the ground as Tenebris lightly shook his hand up and down as though the blow had hurt his knuckles.

"I have wanted to do that for so long, boy," he said, laughing.

The demon lunged for Lucien, but this time he was able to pull the bronze dagger from his belt. Tenebris tackled Lucien before he could get to his feet. He viciously grasped at Lucien's neck as the two struggled against one another, rolling back and forth against the rocky ground. Lucien swung the blade with all of his might and only knew he'd caught his target when a yelp of pain rang out.

The momentary pause in Tenebris' aggression allowed Lucien to climb to his feet. He held the knife ready to strike again but the demon was too quick. With movements like lightning, Tenebris knocked the blade from Lucien's hand, sending it hurtling away, and grabbed him by the neck.

Lucien pulled against the wrist that had ahold of him with both hands but his enemy was too strong. A fleeting glimmer caught Lucien's eye. He looked over to see the bronze blade had landed near Lyra's feet. He heard a self-satisfied chuckle and looked back to see Tenebris grinning mercilessly.

"You see, Lucien, it didn't matter what you did. My time was imminent and has finally come to fruition. Pity neither of the two of you will be around to see it."

You will survive the three required days locked in your manor allowing his power to travel from the nethereal plane into ours. After that, you will die a quick and painless death. A modest reward for your sacrifice.

There was something about that threat. It was as if to keep something from interrupting the curse. Tenebris began to walk casually toward the edge of the cliff, adjacent to the path he, Solomon, and Cat had taken to get there. Only now as they moved into the glow of a lily, Lucien saw the gash across the demon's cheek still leaking blood.

"Any last words?"

Lucien thought hard. "You failed," he said finally but with a choked gasp.

Tenebris softened his grip and looked all around. "Take a look around you, boy."

Lucien did his best to shake his head. "You were supposed to get me, but instead you got her. After three days, she won't die. Sirens are immortal."

"Nearly immortal," Tenebris hissed. "Foolish boy, _this_ was the plan the entire time. I must say, you did play your role marvelously. You see, as powerful a mortal soul is to consume, an immortal one is that much greater. And for the cherry, you've rid me of my binding affliction to her." He stopped and snorted before raising Lucien by the neck higher into the air. "Can you even imagine what it is to feel unreciprocated love for a creature so beyond compare? Of course not. Had Lyra not been as weak as I had anticipated she would be, you might have."

Lucien watched blood drip from his gashed cheek to the ground. "Then surely you are aware of what your blood is capable of doing to her in just such a moment as this. But how could you have accounted for that, there's never been real blood in your veins until now."

Lucien watched fear envelop the demon's face. He turned with only enough time to watch Lyra take the blood-laced bronze dagger and force it into her abdomen. Tenebris threw Lucien to the ground and ran after her. Lucien looked up and happened to catch Lyra's eyes looking back at him. Tenebris had collapsed halfway to her and was convulsing violently in the dirt. After a few grotesque seconds, the demon was still. She stared back into Lucien's eyes for what felt like an eternity before they both looked down to see the patch of deep red spreading quickly across her dress.

Lucien stared into Lyra's eyes and saw a quiet peace in them. She softly motioned in the direction of Helayna.

Lucien felt a shock pulse through him and swiftly ran to her huddled, bound body as Lyra pulled the dagger from her gut and laid it beside her. Before he started on the rope, Lucien looked over into Lyra's eyes one last time as she released her final breath. Very suddenly, as if by the same dark magic that enabled the horrors she had subjected him to in his home; she transformed into a cluster of large black birds with matted feathers going in every direction. The birds fluttered against the ground for several seconds before one by one, they each fell still. When the last bird was motionless, the tree roots holding Solomon and Cat hostage dissolved into ash and the pair fell to the ground. With the fading of her life force, so too faded the vortex of silver clouds shrouding the mountain, revealing a crystal clear midnight sky.

Lucien grabbed the bronze dagger from underneath the carcass of a blackbird and cut the ropes from Helayna's mouth, arms, and ankles. She immediately threw herself into his arms, nearly tackling him to the ground. She lifted her face from Lucien's neck and pressed her lips into his. Lucien closed his eyes and kissed her in return as a warm, ecstatic sensation washed over every nerve in his body. Solomon placed a firm hand on Lucien's shoulder as he and Helayna let go from their embrace. Cat stood beside him.

"I can't believe that it's over," she said, eyeing the motionless body of the demon. As soon as she uttered the words, the body of Tenebris began to convulse once more.

"What have you done?!" screamed the conjured Tenebris who's golden eyes had popped back open. Each member of the group jumped back and watched in horror as the being writhed violently against the ground. From the corner of his vision, Lucien saw Solomon through his arm out in front of Cat and draw his pistol.

_So this was the mastermind behind it all. The one to blame for the months spent in Hell,_ He took a cue from the monster hunter standing beside him and held the bloodied, bronze dagger at the ready.

The howls of an immortal death became guttural sputtering hiccups as the demon's recently acquired physical body began to fold in on itself. The amorphous blob of tattered clothing and splintered bone and flesh continued to collapse inward until it seemed to reach a critical mass and disappeared altogether. Lucien looked at the spot in the clearing where Lyra had been. Besides the strewn carcasses of blackbirds, all that remained was the mystic sapphire jewel still glowing bright. He watched as the glimmer faded to dark and the jewel, of its own accord, disintegrated to a pile of sand.

The three travelers exchanged glances of inundation. After several seconds, Lucien was the first to speak.

"Is anyone hurt?"

Solomon, Cat, and Helayna each examined themselves and seemed to find nothing out of place.

"What about Rhys?" Helayna asked, pointing at his motionless body, still lying on the ground.

Cat jogged over and placed her fingers against his wrist and her ear to his mouth.

"He is alive, but his breathing is very shallow."

"Then we've got no time to lose," Solomon said, hoisting Rhys' body up over his shoulder. "Let's get out of here."

For Lucien, the chance to leave Grey's Peak couldn't have come sooner.

*~*~*

At a table on the patio of the Fifth Street Corner Cafe, Lucien lifted a cup of hot tea to his lips. It had been months since he'd seen the likes of Lyra or any monstrous blackbirds. Though the occasional squawk from overhead still provoked a flinch and left him uneasy.

"I'm sorry; I just can't believe I tied the both of you up. Tell me again what happened," Rhys said incredulously.

Korra laughed and recanted the story with a hand on his knee. She and Rhys sat across the table and Helayna sat beside him. Helayna took a sip of her coffee and exchanged a glance and a grin with Lucien.

Over all the years he'd known her, he had seen a great many things in her deep blue eyes. Be it wisdom, curiosity, and cosmic beauty, all the way to terror and anguish. This time, things were different. This time, he looked into her eyes and saw his future. And for the first time in years, the future looked bright.

*~*~*
Dear reader,

Thank you so much for joining me on the preceding journey. This story has held a special place in my heart for many years now and I sincerely hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it. As an indie artist, reviews and commentary can go a long way so feel free to share your thoughts with me at Amazon, Goodreads, or any other social media of your choosing. Additionally, please subscribe to www.crtyrabooks.com to get the latest information on my next book. When you do, you will receive a free eBook that dives into the tragic history of our good friend, Archer Solomon.

I wish you well and hope we may do this again sometime,

Regards,

C.R. Tyra
