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Chapter 22

Mary-Lynette trudged through the mossy graveyard, her heart dropping in beat with her footsteps.

I can't believe it…

Her eyes stung—but not from tears. Oh no. She wouldn't cry for that jackassnow. She was much, much smarter than that. Mary-Lynette would never waste tears on that boy again. No, no; they were stinging from rage.

That son of a bitch.

Birds sung in the crisp morning air, the distant murmurs of a content society were not beyond her range of hearing, and there wasn't a cloud in sight. A bright and sunny day awaited the inhabitants of this little (or not so little) dome of protection, but Mary-Lynette's view was bleak. The positive outlook around her just served to bring her spirits way, way down. Her thoughts were a swirling mass of venom that poisoned her very system.

She closed her eyes for a moment as she shuffled down the staircase, as if she were trying to get rid of a migraine.

Flashes of last night bore through her mind.

Ash and her, together. Kissing. Cuddling. The ground had been cold, and Mary-Lynette was at the bottom in their little 'session'—but she hadn't minded, because Ash's weight on hers made her hot all over. Ash knew his tricks well. Nibbles on the neck, on her ears…

She sighed. With a hand pressed to her cheek, Mary-Lynette realized she was getting warm. And most likely pink.

She got to the bottom of the staircase, to the bottom of the cemetery hill. She seemed to pick a direction (Was the hospital to the right or left?) and went ahead. If she got lost, it wouldn't matter. She needed the walk anyway. Just like last night, Mary-Lynette was feeling numb; and yet her chest felt like it was doing over-time.

The world, she thought, was such a very, very cruel place.

"Jo."

"Hm."

"What happened last night?"

Jo barely looked up, "Nothing much."

Senior Angerona (or Angora, as most everyone calls her) made sweeping hand gestures that Jo saw from the corner of her eyes. ""So," she began in that unnamable accent of hers, "why this?"

"Why what?"

"This."

"You mean the suitcase?"

Angora's pointed face nodded. "Yes."

Jo dropped a couple books into the compact luggage, looking around for anything else she may need. She took her time answering her mentor.

"I'm leaving for a while."

Again, Angora nodded. "I see that. Exactly where will you be going?"

Jo got up from sitting on the floor. "Do you remember where I last put the jasmine oil, Angora?"

"I told you to keep it next to your other herbs. An organized witch is a productive witch."

"Oh. Yeah." was all she mumbled.

Jo could feel Angora's eyes even as she turned her back to look through one of her ingredient cases—hanging shelves with glass as cover, so you could see inside it. She hoped she looked intensely preoccupied with searching for that one vial—maybe her Senior would just leave the conversation alone.

"Are you going to answer my question, Jo? Or must I ask again?"

No such luck.

"West Coast."

"What's in the West Coast?"

She didn't answer.

She heard the rustling of a robe (Seniors in the Witch Hospital wore robes to distinguish themselves from the others. It wasn't a heavy-duty wizard robe like in the movies. Just like… a tunic draped across the body and over a shoulder. Moroccan-style) which meant her Senior was pacing again. "And you want me to not say a word about this? To anybody? Not even your friends or the other Seniors."

"That would be nice, yeah."

Loud, impatient, slightly annoyed sigh. "You realize how suspicious this is, don't you? You honestly think I'd be letting you go without some information first?"

Jo's eyes read the labels of numerous bottles of all kinds of shapes and sizes while her finger numbered them off. From the reflection on the glass casing, she could now see that Angora's hands were on her hips, her expression one of complete exasperation. "Jo. Answer me." She demanded.

Cherry stubs… Banana leaves… vanilla tempers…

Ah, there, jasmine oil.

Jo bit her lips, opened the knob, reached inside, and then said, "There is none, Angora."

"Jasmine oil? Preposterous. I gave you the refill just last week—"

"No. Information." Clutching the vial, she turned to face her mentor.

"I don't understand."

Jo walked to her gray suitcase and gingerly placed the bottle in a secret compartment with other remedies. "That makes two of us."

Comfortable silence, broken only by the sound of Jo filing through her belongings.

Angora was looking at her, she knew. Staring. Waiting.

Slowly, she recounted last night's events.

"Someone here is hiding."

As soon as those eyes pierced hers, Jo instinctively whipped her head back behind the pew she was against. Her breathing was slightly askew. Aradia's soothing voice seemed to set the whole of Jo's body on ice. She was busted. She was so busted.

"Who's th—"

The doors opened. Lady Hannah, Mother Cybele, and Lord Thierry stepped through.

"We must discuss," was all Lord Thierry said, and all noise in the room halted.

Thankfully, they were all in such a hurry to get to the middle of the room. They passed Jo's poor, scrunched-up body with no heed.

"The Lord and Lady have reached the same conclusion I have, my friends." Mother Cybele's mother-like voice carried itself across the great Circle hall with ease, as did her heavy footsteps. "We mustn't sit still any longer. We have to act."

"And what matter are we acting upon this time, Mother?" Wheezy. Must have been Creon. "There are many—hundreds—" (wheeze), "at hand."

"Why, brother, I am speaking of the War. No other matter carries more weight than war."

A blurring of statements:

"What of the War, Cybele?"

"Aren't we doing enough already? Our casualties are already hundreds too much."

"But it hasn't begun yet… we have to wait for the Apocalypse—that's what the Prophecy says!"

Soon, the whole room was a giant debate. It stayed like that for a while.

Jo got her nerves about her. The doors at the front were so huge; they were still in the process of closing. Now all she had to do was get up, walk a couple yards, and she'd be home-free.

She got off her butt. Got on her feet.

Now—scurry the hell out of here.

"Ms. Quartz."

So. Damn. Close.

Madame Ursula cleared her throat, you could have heard a pin drop from anywhere within the room. "Just where do you think you're going?"

An inch from her nose, the heavily decorated doors closed with intimidating finality.

She gulped. "The bathroom."

Heavy silence. Heavy, heavy silence. Jo didn't dare turn around.

"Let her go, Ursula."

"But Cybele, she wasn't even in attendance—"

"Aradia will escort her out. Won't you Aradia?"

No hesitation. "Of course, Mother."

So there Jo was, standing as ram-rod straight as she's ever stood. All eyes on her.

She wouldn't turn around. When Aradia finally reached her, she threw open the doors like Heaven was on the other side.

"So?"

Her eyes must have been glazed. Jo had to blink once and then twice just to refocus on the listening Armenian woman in front of her.

"So, what?"

Her Senior narrowed her stone-hard blue eyes. "So what happened next?"

"Nothing. Me and Aradia talked, I came here, and then you called me saying you had to talk to me." She looked around her modest living quarters, and then at the woman sitting on her bed. "Why did you want to talk anyway?"

Angora waved it off, "Later. What did you and the Maiden talk about?"

Jo shrugged.

"Well. Something in the conversation must have convinced you to…" She seemed to struggle for the word.

The teenage witch massaged her temples. "I'm not running away."

Angora sighed, knowing that the subject was touchy—she treaded carefully. "It seems an awful lot like you are."

Jo seemed to make herself busy with looking over her suitcase, until Angora cleared her throat. That was when Jo looked straight into her Senior's eyes, and said: "I just need you to trust me."

She sighed. "You wouldn't have made it this far into apprenticeship if I didn't trust you, Jo, you know that." Angora took a few cautious steps forward, her middle-aged stature and concerned-but-hell-like-she'll-show-it look causing her to resemble a Mother trying to get through to a hard-headed child. "And I'm also sure you know that I can't stop you."

Yes. Because you believe in freedom. Free choice.

Aradia told me you wouldn't interfere.

"I wouldn't blame you if you cancelled it, Angora," and she couldn't believe her own words, but Jo went on. "My apprenticeship, I mean. There are a lot of junior stonecharmers here that would gladly take my place."

"I'm sure I wouldn't have a choice when the Circle realizes you're gone." Her Senior sounded regretful, which made Jo feel a short sense of pride, "But. You know how I hate to leave an assignment half-finished. You're not leaving tonight are you?"

Glancing at the clock, Jo wondered how much time she really had. "I don't know."

And then, it was as if an over-inflated balloon had just popped. Her Senior jumped from her bed, the pin-straight, graying hair that reached all the way to her back not messing one bit. "Then come with me, and quick. We have work to do."

"In any case, I know that I was as right as rain to 'hire' that 'stalker'." Cue devilish smirk. "Very right."

"I'm sure it was a brilliant choice, Angora." Jo played along, smiling at her Senior. They were both trying to pretend that talk in her room never happened, it seemed. This was like any of the other jobs they were assigned to. Senior and apprentice, working and discussing for the good of the patients.

And in the dim light, Angora smiled back. "Brilliant as a polished diamond. With any luck, some brilliance may rub off on you."

Jo laughed, "We'll see."

She looked around at where they were. At the tall candles and the brick walls and the low arches leading to semi-dark, wholly-foreboding halls. Throw in a couple shelves and desks and pantries of books as thick as a baby's head and some suspicious looking trinkets, and you've got a witch's Barbie dream house.

In reality, though, it was just a basement.

The pair had walked through the halls from her room to the window of Perse. Angora's incantation said, and a slit of dark, open space appeared in front of the shrine. That open space (when looked at very closely) was actually the start of the staircase that led to the Witches' version of a storage room. A storage room, a library, and an emergency retreat for the most urgent cases.

Now, they were both walking through a darkened archway to the right to arrive in a room the shape of a circle. This generally small room, with miniature balls of gas lighting it up all around, was visibly wall-less. Bookcase after bookcase covered the whole shape from floor to ceiling, and besides them, the only furniture in the room was some sort of podium in the middle. The smell of rust and mildew and everything ancient permeated the air.

This must have been the library.

She was ogling the feel of the room—the atmosphere of pure, untainted history, when Jo heard the most awful thing.

"Close your jaw, child, you have no idea how many insects are flying about."

Oh… no. Oh Goddess, please—please no.

Her eyes fixated on a figure in the corner of the room. How she missed her when she entered, Jo will never know.

"What is she doing here?"

Angora gave her a warning side-glance and whispered, "Respect your elders Jo."

"Elders, Angora, not dinosaurs." Jo choked quietly back.

"Hush," she chided, but she couldn't hide the laughter lighting her sapphire-blue eyes, "she's only two or three decades older than me."

Jo choked, this time loudly.

"You're about eight or seven decades off." Jo mumbled, and, though Angora would deny it, she knew she snickered at that for quite some time.

Meanwhile, Nurse Petronella was done bending down at one of the book cases. How she could even operate those toothpick-sized and brittle legs of hers, Jo may never know.

But then she stood up, and what particularly stupefied the young witch was that the Senior Nurse that looked old enough to have a pet mammoth, and who was just thought of as having 'brittle legs', was effortlessly carrying a book thrice her arm-width. A book that was most likely heavier than herself.

"I told you to close your jaw," she reprimanded Jo, walking towards the traditional, wooden book-holder that sat in the middle of the room. "I had to wipe away moth balls off this cover. Some of those might have been eggs. If the Goddess answers my prayers, and if you don't shut your mouth soon, you might choke on a new-born."

Jo actually had to bring a hand up to close her jaw. Then she curled her lip in a little sneer. "You'd like that wouldn't you."

Petronella merely fired a glare at her.

Angora was quick to intervene. "What book is that, Petty?" Unlike Jo, Petronella had no problem whatsoever with Angora calling her Petty.

"A very old one, Angerona. A very, very old one."

Angora immediately glanced a warning at Jo, making sure she wasn't going to use that as a springboard to dive into another insulting-exchange.

But she needn't have worried. Jo was in her work mojo now. She was hyped. Because, besides the shriveled old prune that was holding the book, she loved old stuff.

"Let me see—"

"No." The book was almost religiously set on the stand. Petronella, not taking her dark eyes off Jo for one second, flipped the bulky cover open. A generous amount of dust puffed out in the process.

"But—"

"The answer is no. This book isn't a play-toy. You're lucky you're even here." She sniped. To Angora, she ordered, "Angerona, control your lackey."

"I'm not a lackey. I'm official. Tell her Angora—"

"Address your Senior properly!" Petronella seethed. "I swear Angerona, how you even saw any potential in this one…"

Jo flushed with anger. "I'm fully qualified as an apprentice, Nurse Petronella. Ask anybody."

The hag stuck out her glare for a while longer, before hastily—but carefully—flipping the pages. Obviously looking for something specific.

A little patch of silence here. And then,

"Can I at least know one thing?"

Petronella shook her head, but Jo was already biting the bullet. "What does this have to do with my case?"

"Nothing." Petronella said. "Everything." Angora muttered.

Then a flash of remembrance. "And where's the test results you promised? I thought we were here so you could tell me about what happened to Ash?" This time, directed to her Senior.

"You said only one thing." Petronella pointed out. "I'll get to that later." Angora promised.

Jo sucked in any more questions, settling for just talking.

"That book seems awfully old…" she cooed.

"This book may very well be the first book ever written by witch kind. Maybe the most powerful."

And this is supposed to discourage me…

"Can I see it now?"

"You'll have to wait 'till I die, child."

Jo shrugged. "I can wait five minutes."

"I've outlived all my cats. I can outlive you."

"Unity, ladies." Angora quietly tittered. Clearly, she was enjoying this.

Jo glowered, freshly annoyed. "If I can't see it, why am I even here?" She turned to Angora, because the question was obviously slated towards her. But then she did a full 360, realizing that Angora had moved and was already inching towards Petronella and her book.

She whined, "Angora…"

Angora looked at her sideways, then to Petronella, and then back. Finally, she said, "It's "The Book of Le Fey", Jo. Have you heard of it?"

Jo vehemently jerked her head in a "No."

"Tsk, tsk, child. The first records of a spellbook and witch-guide ever written. Do you not know the most famous witch in history? The most famous enchantress in the world?" Petronella didn't look up from the book, her fingers busily bustling over its pages.

Again, Jo shook her head.

"Morgana Le Fey, Ms. Quartz," Petronella said, "We're looking through the life and times of none other than Morgana Le Fey. To help you with your homework."

"Love is a known factor—no, a needed factor to perform any powerful spell. Without love, or any form of raw emotion, a spell wouldn't have essence. It'd just be a spell."

Listening to Petronella spat on and on about love was strange enough. What was stranger was the fact that Jo had no idea where this conversation was headed.

She was seated on the floor (no furniture, remember?) and the ground was literally… ground. Some sort of orangey-red, clay-or-dirt-like substance. Whether clay or dirt, it was easily marked. So Jo was absentmindedly doodling with her fingertips while the other two in the room spoke without so much as glancing at her stooped and brooding form.

"It's not a force to be reckoned with, love. Ah, even the best can fall into it. And when you fall, you can't go back. It's like a spell of its own, in a way—"

"Petty." Looking up, Jo saw that Angora was too getting impatient. She said, "Tell her. About the spell."

The decrepit woman puffed through her nose. The little hag hated interruptions. But she, nonetheless, reluctantly shuffled to face the teenager. "The most remembered and most powerful spell ever performed by Morgana was the spell she used on Merlin— and you know him, don't you?"

Well duh. "Well duh." Jo said. "Wasn't he that magician who helped that King Arthur?"

Angora put a wary hand on the book. "Yes. That one."

"What about him?"

"Morgana bewitched him."

"… bewitched?"

"It was in self-defense. He was clingy, power-greedy, and a pervert. She did what any woman would have done—" Petronella was all too eager to defend.

Jo cocked her head. "What? You mean Morgana put him to sleep? I thought it was that other Lady…"

"The Lady of the Lake. Some books—a lot of them, actually, say she did. In reality though, she and Morgana were the same person. Mythology embellishes a lot of history." Angora explained.

"Yes. A permanent sleep. She wanted to have him gone." Petronella said.

"But… it wasn't permanent."

"No."

"What happened then?" Jo asked. "If she was so powerful, how could she mess up?"

Petronella answered, "Power doesn't equal invincibility, child, remember that."

Angora answered the question, "No one really knows. All the books say that it was on purpose, that the sleep was supposed to last only a couple thousand years. But the spell she used was strictly permanent. It even says her intentions here, in her journal."

Jo shook her head.

"So," she asked, because as interesting as this was, she was getting impatient, "what does this have to do with anything?"

"When Merlin was said to be 're-awakened'," Petronella moved aside as Angora promenaded towards the book stand, trailing a finger oh-so delicately down the pages of the book when she reached it, "Right… here. She wrote about the time, when she saw him again…

"'When the man of old—the only blemish on my repute—found his way back into my long life, I found that he recalled naught of what happened eons ago. I know it was him, for his gait was him, his face him, his spirit him, and his whole fundamental nature his own. He was the man I remember before all my troubles. It was he, and all the memories so cleanly locked away seemed to haunt me again. But the wizard (for he still claimed his powers) didn't remember a thing about our affair. The sorcerer—the only skill equal to my own, the one I had damned, the one who swore eternal love—has forgotten me.'"

Jo waited.

The two Seniors simply looked at her.

Finally, she asked, "And..?"

Angora stared intently at her, willing her to comprehend. "… sound familiar?"

"What?"

Again, just two pairs of eyes. One blank, the other urging.

Slow and stumbling, she said, "You…" Jo blinked to clear her thoughts. "You think what happened to Merlin is what happened to Ash?"

"It's the only records of anything that resembles your case."

She thought it over, cast her eyes upward.

"All right. It's a lead. I'll take it." Then she brought her eyes down. Brown and purple, they both stared with something closer to excitement than thoughtfulness. "But does it say how to cure it?" And fast?

That last line, she knew, would make it to Angora's head without her having to say it.

Angora cleared her throat. "There is no cure."

Weight. Heavy lead-weight on Jo's hopes.

"There is… no cure?"

Angora cleared her throat again. "It says in this that Morgana didn't do anything. She thought he was better off."

He probably was.

"That can't be it though," Jo objected, "that can't really be it."

"Sorry, child," though Petronella looked nowhere near sorry, "that's it."

"Are you serious?" Jo pulled at tangles in her hair. She pulled and pulled at her bangs. "No cure?"

"It's a pre-mature diagnosis, Jo. A trial."

"I can't believe you called me in for this, Angora. You know how much time—"

"I called you in for my experiment report." Angora put out.

Jo took a deep breath. "Fine. Let's have it. And fast."

Angora's stone-blue eyes narrowed. "I don't ask for as much respect from you as I should."

Jo turned away.

"My experiment," and here Angora was clearing her throat to make her voice sound lighter, "was a success."

Jo, in turn, cleared her throat to make her voice sound lighter. "What was your experiment, by the way?"

"The power of love."

She said it with such seriousness. Jo looked up.

"I'm sorry. What?"

Though her eyes still held their sapphire glaze, Angora's lips tugged up. "You heard me right. The power of love. It prevailed—like always. You see," she stepped off the podium and onto the dusty ground, the trail of her robe casting a miniature cloud of debris as she walked. "Ever since I joined Circle Daybreak, I have been wondering to myself exactly what kind of power the soulmate cord has. How much it honed, what good it was—don't take me for a skeptic, Jo, I have heard the stories and seen the miracles, I did—do believe in its power."

Having reached the sat witch, Angora bent down to offer a hand. Jo took it. She got up, absently dusted herself, and asked, "This experiment was about the soulmate principle?"

Angora nodded. "I used psychoanalysis Jo. Putting people under certain conditions, observing—using the outcome to diagnose. All we had to do was get the two of them together in a place where we could watch without being noticed."

Jo blinked. "I don't get it." Then she threw her hands up in exasperation. "I mean, I know what psychoanalysis is, but I don't get why—or how—you did it. Isn't Ash in lockdown?"

"Not last night he wasn't." Angora muttered, looking slightly ashamed. "And the how part was easy. I asked the nursing staff to give Ash a, uh, window of opportunity to… escape his confinements. Mary-Lynette was a harder case to crack…"

"In the end, we had to settle for a nervous breakdown." Petronella said. "Mary-Lynette was given the message that her town was turned to ash. Burnt down. By the Others. After that, we just had to wait and see where they'd end up. Because the cord was strong enough to bring them together in a single place…"

Petronella kept talking. But Jo was stunned to deafness.

Process the information… one word at a time… process.

"... and in the end, all Angerona and I had to do was watch as it happened through one of those portable video recorders—"

"You told her… what?"

Petronella, off-guard, "What?"

"Her town… in Oregon?" Jo stuttered, "What… what was that?"

Angora, understanding, "It was the only news that would have given us the appropriate response, Jo. It was necessary."

"And cold-hearted. Nurse Petronella," because it was obvious she was the one who suggested it. Angora wouldn't have gone so far, "you can't just make these lies up as you go—"

"T'wasn't a lie, child." The crackled voice grew sour and deep. "The town really did burn to the ground."

Jo stopped. "But they didn't announce it…"

"They can't throw a ceremony for every slaughtered town or city in the world. There's hardly enough time. We're at war."

Well there's no appropriate response to that.

"It was a success in any case, Jo." Angora's breezy voice put in. "The soulmate priniciple? It is strong enough. Strong enough to get through his memory impairment, at least for a little while."

Now Jo was getting really lost. If Angora kept switching topics, back and forth…

"Uh, how do you know?"

Petronella scuttled over, and the deep and used voice that couldn't possibly be coming from her petite body rang out. "Ash and his sweetheart were used as gerbils, child."

"Gerbils?" Jo's eyes narrowed. "You used Mary-Lynette?"

"Ash was with her," said Angora.

"But… that's a blind risk. If they were alone…" Jo thought out loud, the fact of it just settling in. "He could have escaped, he could have killed her. She's only human—"

"She had protection, Jo. You know I would not have arranged it if I wasn't sure of the girl's safety."

Jo sighed through her nose. "Of course, Angora. Who'd you get for surveillance?"

If Jo was lost before, after Angora's answer, she was completely muddled. Stupefied.

"Christy Ann. The Redfern? Delilah's twin."

(Processing…)

And then…

Ho-ly crap.

She was turning in a flash.

"Jo—?"

"Where does that ingrate think she's going?"

Over her shoulder, already in the main room, Jo yelled:

"Not a brilliant choice Angora. Seriously—not brilliant."

The girl with olive eyes and metallic black curls showed up just when Mary-Lynette knew for a fact she was lost.

"Need a point in the right direction sweetie?" Her smile was too sugary, but Mary-Lynette couldn't complain.

She had been walking for the best of an hour. Somewhere in those twists of the sidewalk she must have taken a wrong turn, or she just chose the wrong direction in the first place. Either way, Mary-Lynette didn't see the steeple of the hospital anywhere nearby and the area about her was greatly unfamiliar.

"Um… yeah. Yes please." She gave a rueful look. "Sorry."

The girl waved it off elegantly. She was beautiful, exotically so. "Don't apologize, hun. Everyone gets lost once in a while."

Mary-Lynette laughed softly and surreptitiously rubbed her eyes. She hoped the girl wouldn't notice how red they were. "Yeah, yeah I guess so."

"Where are you headed?"

"The hospital? The one with witches."

"Honey, every hospital has witches." Without another word, the girl began walking in the other direction, beckoning Mary-Lynette to follow her. "It's this way."

And so she followed, staying a couple steps behind. Mary-Lynette focused on her walking.

"Are you doing okay?"

"Hm?"—Why no, no I'm not—"Yes. Why do you ask?"

The girl wasn't turning back to talk to her, so Mare had no idea what her expression was like. "Oh, it's nothing. But… you are Mary-Lynette Carter right?"

She was not used to this kind of attention. How does word even spread in a place this big? "Uh huh."

"Oh so you are her. I'm sorry, but I just heard what happened to your town... Briar Rose?"

"Creek." Mare felt like an automaton. The words spilled out like bile. "It's—was Briar Creek."

"I'm sorry, but if it helps you to know, it could have been a lot worse. A fire in the night is better than a daylight massacre."

Mary-Lynette blinked. "Uhm... gee. Thanks."

"And about your soulmate too, I'm sorry about that."

I don't need your pity.

"Thanks," she repeated.

This time, the girl did look back and grinned, clearly thinking she won Mare's approval. She stuck out a perfectly manicured and perfectly tapered hand. "I'm Christy Ann Redfern by the way."

Redferns seemed to be everywhere…

Mare didn't take her hand. No matter how helpful this girl—vampire—was being, something was off.

When she didn't withdraw her hand, Mary-Lynette blamed the weather. Her arms were still hugging her chest. "It's cold. You understand."

"Oh," Christy Ann said, "of course."

The silence may have been awkward, but Mare didn't mind. Her thoughts were occupying her enough.

So Briar Creek burning… that was real.

A shiver ran through her.

She hoped her family was okay. She hoped there'd be help soon.

She hoped hoping was enough.

The sun was high in the air, must have been noon. Not a cloud in sight. Looking around, Mare wished she could look at the scenery, smile, and say "Wow, this is beautiful." Under different circumstances, she was sure she would have.

But her issues were painting the day gray. Everything was going wrong.

Prickling in her eyes…

Last night, everything seemed almost alright.

She was too busy blinking away the prickling feeling. Mary-Lynette bumped into Christy Ann, and a poised, stiff vampire was very startling to bump into. She was almost like a statue.

Then that was when Mare heard the footsteps. Running footsteps.

Then she saw the girl. The witch girl from the hospital. She seemed almost as startled to see the two girls, because she abruptly stopped. Her eyes—yes, Mare remembered her different colored eyes, if only she remembered her name—scanned her, then Christy Ann, and then the whole scene, like she was expecting to find something else. Or someone else.

Breathing almost hard, Jo realized who was missing, "Ash."

Behind Christy Ann, Mary-Lynette shivered.

Jo gave her a sympathetic look, but hey. At least she was okay. Two Redferns in twenty-four hours could be pretty fatal. Especially when one was a bitch.

Christy blinked. "What about him?" Oh great. She was acting coy.

"Where is he?"

"Oh."

Yeah. Oh.

Finally, "He's back at the hospital. I didn't talk to him or anything. If he tried an escape, I wouldn't have stopped him."

Jo coughed a little, trying to steady her breath. She was in such a hurry—and running was healthy, but it still did its toll.

"How do you know he's at the hospital?" She asked suspiciously.

She held up her cell phone. "Ally called. He was staring at the wall when she passed by his room."

Good enough. "All right then. Come on, Mare—"

Before Mare could move, however, Christy casually said: "Pity you weren't there at the meeting."

Jo was startled, Mary-Lynette stopped mid-step and looked confusingly from one girl to another.

I should go. Mary-Lynette needs to go back to the hospital...

"What do you know about the meeting?" Jo asked.

"Oh, well, I wasn't invited of course, 'cause I'm not one of you, but I got all I needed from Ally." Jo couldn't restrain her flinch. She knew she forgot something… she forgot listen in on their secret meetings. Christy Ann noticed her reaction, and she smiled. "The Circ. had this huge debate about the rebelling Midnight Witches. But you should know all about that, right? I mean, you are close to the leader, aren't you…

"They have a prisoner of war too you know, after the cleanup in Boston they found a minion of hers." A look that said I know you know who I'm talking about.

"They're questioning her right now, and actually, she's blaming a scumbag called Ash for her capture." A sharp little inhalation. A look at Mary-Lynette and Jo saw that she was staring intently at the ground. "Funny how things seem to tie themselves together." Christy laughed.

When neither Jo nor Mare made a try at replying, Christy Ann kept on laughing.

"It was a very entertaining night, Jo, I'm sorry you missed it."

Clenched fists, locked jaw. You didn't have to be a vampire to see how affected Jo was.

Don't ask. Do not ask.

"What was… the debate about?"

It took a while for her to stop laughing that incessant, tinkling snort of hers.

"Whether or not The Midnighters had a spy stationed here, of course. You have heard about the leaked information haven't you? The Lord and Lady are calling treason, that's the only way they could get that kind of info. Suspicions were made last night." Christy Ann's back was turned to Mary-Lynette. The girl didn't see the devilish, knowing smile the vampire gave. "Heavy suspicions."

Jo bristled. "What's that supposed to mean."

"Oh." Christy Ann smirked. "I think you know."

Reluctantly, Jo broke her stare-off with the lamia. She had matters to attend to.

"Mary-Lynette, let's go."

She didn't need to be told twice.

Not trusting herself to look right back into those mischievous green eyes and still keep control of her fists, Jo turned her back. "Thanks for watching her Christy, we'll be going now."

She smiled, cocked her head like it was all fine. "My pleasure."

Then the two left.

It was a while before the conversation started, but when it did, Jo had to give Mare props for her ice-breaker.

"That girl was unpleasantly… bitchy."

Now that lightened up the mood. "Just get to know her more, Mare, and I guarantee you—you won't regret that statement."

And before they knew it, the two girls were walking in a much, much more comfortable silence.

Good. Jo thought. I need this.

Mary-Lynette was thinking the same thing.

Neither girl knew how right she was about that at the moment. Jo was trying to keep herself away from everything that had to be done. Mare was trying to keep herself away from everything that had been done. Jo hadn't learned yet how easy things can go flipside—how easy a moment of happiness could very well lead into a day of tragedy. Mary-Lynette knew exactly that—and yet even she couldn't be prepared for the coming events.

No one would be.

Author's Note: (Yes, some accounts say Morgana Le Fay is the same person as Nimue, the Lady of the Lake)

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