Dear reader,

It has been a long journey but I am pleased to say that it has finally come to an end. I want to thank you very much for being patient and following this story. As I said, Fire and Ice means a lot to me and the fact that is appreciated has truly sustained me in a lot of less than happy moments in real life.

Thank you very much for those who took the time to review the previous chapter: movies4lyf, fantasy77, DissectingPomengrates, Nina1985 and Crissiemusa. Thank you for your support!

Also, a huge thanks to all those who have reviewed throughout the course of the story! I hope this last chapter is up to your standards.

Last, but certainly not the least, huge thanks to NCD who has always been my strongest supporter. Without her Fire and Ice would have not existed. As such, my gratitude to her is limitless.

On the matter of a potential sequel, this is, as I said up to you. I have already started penning something out and, if people are interested in reading it, I will do my best to post it as soon as possible.

Yours sincerely,

The Author

FIRE AND ICE

BOOK I: THE WIELDER, THE GIVER AND THE HEIR

Chapter 16: If so, then forever your flame did succumb,

And forever your voice from today will be dumb.

If so, then hereafter can bring no rebirth.

If so, then this angel was nothing but earth.

And thus, lovely soil that breath has departed,

I stand by your coffin alone broken-hearted;

And yet I don't weep, rather praise for its fleeing

Your ray softly crept from this chaos of being

(Mihai Eminescu- Mortua Est)

When he opened his eyes, the edges of his vision were blurred, and everything about him seemed far too bright, far too cheerful to match the sad reality of his life and the current realizations. Noah blinked once, then twice, attempting futilely to bring everything into focus. As far as he could tell, he seemed to be in a garden of sorts, tiny specks of colour covering the mass of green that seemed to surround him and imposing green hedges preventing him from seeing what was a few meters beyond them. A few moments of inspection later, he found that he was sitting on a couch, or perhaps bench, of sorts. He tried to move his legs but found that he could not and a wave of panic bubbled in his chest. The sound of metal hitting metal seemingly far away reached his ears and he once again tried to move his body but found his muscles unresponsive. He was trapped.

He could see the tall, blurry figure of a man approaching and all his senses were in high alert. Noah tried to fight against the weakness of his muscles, the weakness of his tongue, but found it to be a futile pursuit. His mind, the logical, analytical mind he had always prided himself on, could find no explanation for his predicament. The man approached him and stood in front of him, as if inspecting him with clear blue eyes, a wave of some ambiguous emotion momentarily passing on his straight features.

It took a moment for Noah to recognize him. The man's face was no longer youthful but instead was marred by the lines of time, his eyes no longer had the arrogance of youth in them, but instead were more tampered, more cautious. Thin specks of grey blended with the luxurious blond locks that reached his chin and the dark blue collar of his doublet. Alton. Or at least, an older, much older, version of Alton, Noah reckoned. Suddenly everything seemed to make sense, or at least as much sense as everything made nowadays, and he allowed his muscles to relax.

"Do you still have the dagger, uncle?" Alton asked with something akin to a long-suffering sigh, his straight posture sagging slightly.

Noah pondered for a second how to reply. He did have the dagger. But it was him, Noah Elwood, who had it. He had no idea whether the weapon was still in Lord Linos Elwood's possession. He didn't know what the man had done with it. Had he used it, like Adam had counselled? And if he had, what had it been its effect? Noah settled for saying nothing and instead looked straight at the other man. Alton seemed to take his silence as reluctance to offer information and, with another sigh, he started pacing in front of him.

"Adam is looking for it" Alton said after a few minutes of silence, as if that was supposed to explain everything. Perhaps it did, Noah reckoned. Perhaps those words made some sort of sense to the actual Lord Elwood, but to him they meant nothing. As such, he said nothing.

"Uncle, your current condition is proof enough…" Alton waved his hand in his general direction, exasperation creeping in his voice "… that you care, or at least cared, for Adenah. If that dagger reaches Adam, there is no telling what he might do with it…and how she may be harmed. I need it."

Noah took in what Alton was saying and looked at his exasperated expression. He seemed tired, beaten down by life itself and his words suddenly seemed more like a plea than a demand. What Mr Mallard had said about Alton loving his sister more than a brother should love a sister, rang in his head and for a moment he looked at the man with different eyes. Perhaps he was romanticizing it, perhaps he was looking into it too much, but the original Master of Water looked like a lover concerned for his partner's fate. Whatever the dagger did, or was supposed to do, obviously worried Alton. And Noah, who had the dagger in his possession, could not help but be worried as well.

For a moment the doctor opened his lips to speak. He wanted to tell Alton that he was not who he believed him to be. He wanted to tell him that he did indeed have the dagger but not in that particular time, but in a time so far removed that it seemed inconceivable. He wanted to ask about what it did, he wanted to know why it was so dangerous, he wanted to know what the weapon actually was. No sound came from his throat and, after a moment, everything dissolved into nothingness.

Covered in a thin sheet of sweat, Noah sprang from his bed as if burned. Automatically, his right hand reached for the drawer of his night stand where he had placed the dagger. He took the offending object out and studied it closely. After days upon days of looking at it, he could honestly say that each and every carving, each and every stone on its handle had burned itself into his mind. Nothing had changed about it. Everything was as it had been seven days before and that perhaps unnerved him more than the alternative. Why was the weapon so important? What could it do? Why had Adam given it to him in the first place?

With a sigh, Noah placed the dagger on the dusty surface of his night table and, with succinct motions, he climbed out of bed straight towards the shower. He needed to get out of the room. He needed to go to Cackle's and see Constance, tell her about the dream and, perhaps, she would make more sense of it than him. He needed to somehow see Hope and try to make her explain everything that has been going on for the past months. No that it would be easy. It never was and it never will be.

Algernon Rowan-Webb decided that, had he not spent half of his lifespan as a frog, he would have been either a world-class spy or a world-class thief. That realization came as a result of a task that Egbert Hellebore had asked him to perform. Namely, go investigate where Miss Hawthorne had lived before coming to the academy. While he found his friend's fascination with accusing the young woman of the wildest of things slightly disturbing, he also knew that he owed a debt to Egbert for the part he had played in his rescue. As such, grumbling under his breath, he had given his assent to perform that task which he found most distasteful. Knowing from the chanting teacher that Miss Hawthorne had been in the village before actually taking up residence at the academy, had given Egbert the strangest of thoughts: that Miss Hawthorne had hidden some sort of powerful magical artefact, which bore the mark of the demon Phoenix, that allowed her to summon demons, of all things, somewhere close to the academy. Algie fundamentally disagreed with that idea, but he also knew that, when the mood struck, his friend was implacable in his beliefs. As such, he had figured that the only way through which he could clear the young woman's name was to perform the required task and find nothing incriminating.

Fortunately for Algie, the village had only one inn and the innkeeper was as interested in maintaining his customers' privacy as he was in maintaining the inn itself, which, considering the decrepit state of the building, wasn't much. Within minutes of his arrival at the inn, the old man had told him that indeed a woman whose characteristics matched those of Miss Hawthorne had lived there for quite a while with a male companion, and had, at some point left the inn, leaving her companion behind. At that particular point, Algie had been prepared to make his retreat, transform into a frog and stealthily go to Miss Hawthorne's former room. But those plans became suddenly irrelevant when the innkeeper, it his crass ignorance, offered him a tour of the room, proclaiming it to be the best room in the inn. Naturally, Algie took him up on the offer.

The room could be described as many things but 'tasteful'. 'clean' and 'beautiful' could not be, in any conceivable way, part of that description. Instead the room praised as the best-suite in the inn, was a small dusty thing, with garish wallpapered walls, and threadbare sheets. The current inhabitant seemed to have left in a hurry which certainly did nothing to improve the overall aspect of the room. Algie sighed softly under his breath. Egbert's paranoia was certainly becoming rather annoying, especially considering that the place he had sent him to had nothing even remotely remarkable about it. It was simply an old, shabby inn room. Even so, for the sake of keeping his promise, he started to half-heartedly pace around.

Had it not been for the strange gust of wind that seemed, for less than a second, to envelop the entire room, Algie reckoned he would have given up. Perhaps it would have been better. But, that chilling wave of air made him stop in his tracks and turn in surprise. Then he felt it. It was like nothing he had ever felt before. For a moment he felt like the burden of the entire world had been placed on his shoulders. His frame involuntarily sagged, his eyes lowered, his hands shook with fear and he could not help but wonder if he would ever be happy again. Taking a deep, dejected breath he looked up and, on the nightstand he could see a small, dark object. As if in a trance, he moved towards it and quickly identified it as being a dagger. Calloused fingers got a life of their own and moved towards the object, touching its decorated handle. It was a marvellous weapon. Suddenly his breath was caught in his throat when his eyes travelled towards the bottom part of the handle where, innocently, for the entire world to see, stood the crest of the Phoenix.

The feeble rays of the autumn sun splashed beautiful colours on the blue cloudless sky but once again, she failed to see them. It seemed that during the past few weeks all that was surrounding her had become painted into various shades of a grey so dull, so unappealing that she suddenly felt very tired of constantly looking at it. With a sigh, Hope tried to turn away from the window but something out there, something hidden in the horizon, something concealed in that great expanse of blue seemed to keep her rooted into place. How many things did she fail to see on a daily basis? A hundred? A thousand? A million? Or maybe it was more… Perhaps there was an infinity of things that she could not see, that she could not perceive. An infinity of little things which, much like the butterfly which flaps its wings only to create a tornado, changed the world every single day.

"Are you killing her?" the voice reverberated off the walls and she suddenly turned, rather startled, only to see Noah's figure standing in the doorway of the staff room.

He was angry. His stance, muscle tense, jaw squared, green eyes glinting, told her as much. Not for the first time, Hope suddenly felt very tired. Much like everything else, Noah himself seemed to slip away from her, slowly but surely, a tiny bit more every single day. What would happen when he would finally leave her? What would happen when she would finally be alone in the world? That was a particular train of thought that she didn't want to pursue, especially since, considering Noah's aggravation, she needed to be as alert as possible in order to placate him.

"I beg your pardon?" Hope replied calmly.

"Are you the one killing Con… Miss Hardbroom?" Noah questioned forcefully. Admittedly, it had not been the first thing that he had wanted to say to Hope. He had a myriad of other questions but, seeing her standing so nonchalantly in the staff room of the Academy whose deputy she might have been actively killing, made his blood boil and dispelled every single ounce of control he possessed.

"You may as well call her Constance, Noah. Your attachment to the woman is hardly a secret." Her eyes challenged his, her mind wondering how he could have reached that particular conclusion.

"Do not patronize me!" the doctor snapped "Now, answer me. Are you killing her? Is that thing killing her?" he waved towards the Ring on her left hand to emphasize his point.

"In all honesty, Noah, I did warn you against falling in love with her!" she answered tiredly, her hand passing through her hair and tangling itself in her curls "But, to answer your question, no, it's not killing her," she offered bitterly.

"Now," Noah completed "It's not killing her now!" he spat through clenched teeth.

"Where the hell is this coming from?" she all but shouted, steadily pacing through the room "You talked to Evan…" she followed at his pointed look, her voice much calmer, her mind considering the myriad of possibilities of what the discussion might have entailed.

"What he said was most enlightening" the response was so sharp, sardonic, and so unlike Noah, that she could not help but feel a measure of surprise.

"And you believed him?!" Hope spat, rather incredulous that her friend would actually trust the word of the one she regarded as her nemesis.

"Perhaps had you been more forthcoming I would have been less inclined to believe him!" he responded in an equally aggravated tone and, knowing that an argument would not solve much, he tried to take a deep breath and regain a measure of control "Hope, I really, really want to trust you. You have been my friend, and so much more, for years… but, if you don't talk to me, if you don't honestly answer my questions, then it's really hard for me to trust you" he explained reasonably, his eyes pleading with her to understand his thoughts and feelings. "Why are we here? Why did you start using the Ring?"

"You have no idea what he did…" she whispered softly, her blue eyes seemingly piercing his very soul.

"He told me he tried to take away your powers. But that is not a reason to…" in spite of the unpleasantness of the conversation, he wanted answers. He wanted to understand her.

"It was more than that… I…loved him, Noah. I was prepared to leave everything behind for him!" her voice was laden with ten years' worth of bitterness and unvoiced feelings and, for a second, the doctor was struck by how unlike her controlled self she sounded.

"So that is it? Revenge for something that happened ten years ago?" he asked sceptically. Somehow, it wasn't enough for him. Somehow, believing that she went to such lengths for something as petty as revenge was worse than her doing it on a whim.

"… There is so much good that I could do with that power. I saw it, Noah. Every time I went to give them eternal release I saw it. There is so much bitterness, so much fear, and so much evil in this world! I could change that!" she answered after a moment's worth of consideration, her voice filled with emotion, her blue eyes sparkling with something akin to passion. To Noah, she looked slightly maniacal.

All these years, Hope had seen it all. She had seen the ugliest facets the world had to offer.

She had seen a family who had died because the mother had been careless enough to leave the unlit stove on. The entire incident would have been avoided if someone had reminded the woman to turn off the gas.

She had seen an old man who had waited for years and years for the painless release of death. His pain would have been avoided if someone would have been able to give him release sooner.

She had seen a young girl, a child, throw herself off a building for no reason at all. The girl wouldn't have resorted to such measures if someone would have compelled her not to.

She had seen an abused child cry for an abusive mother. The mother would have been unable to inflict such pain upon her offspring if someone had stopped her.

She had seen a young couple succumbing to disease and a young woman trying to kill herself because she did not want to be left behind. The whole situation would have been prevented if someone would have healed them both.

She had seen an old man, a priest who was supposed to offer guidance, abuse his position in the most horrible way. The child that was with him at the time of his death wouldn't have had to go through such a traumatic situation if someone would have suitably punished the lecherous man.

She had seen an old woman whose very life force had been tainted by the terrible life she had lived. The woman's soul would have been saved if someone had prevented that from happening.

All those things, all those terrible things, could have been prevented if someone would have wanted to avert them. Alone she could not stop them. After all, she only saw the end of the journey. But if she had the power, if she had the ability to see the entire journey and not only the destination, Hope believed that she could change it. She could create a world where the just and righteous could live in happiness and peace. A world where those who committed dire crimes would be punished. A world with no violent impulses, with no fear, with no betrayal.

"I'm sorry, Hope, but I fail to see your point…" Noah said carefully slightly taken aback by the passion in her eyes.

"Don't you see, Noah? The Master of the Four Elements has control over the fate of this world and its individuals. He can change lives, he can change people, and he can change the course of nature itself. Air and Earth may bring about Life and Death, but Water and Fire are perhaps more powerful because they can change human nature. Together they can shape thoughts, mould characters, inhibit impulses which are harmful to those around us. With only two Elements I cannot do anything to change that, but if I had all four of them, I could… " her words trailed off, and her blue gaze looked for a moment into thin air, as if looking for something that wasn't there.

"…take away free will?" he questioned sharply, rather horrified at the notion.

"What if your father hadn't boarded that plane ten years ago? What if someone had stopped him from boarding that plane?" Hope retorted in a level voice, her eyes piercing his.

"But that's… that's madness… It can't be done! It shouldn't be done!" he whispered softly, pondering her words carefully, his mind reeling at what he was hearing.

"Who says that is shouldn't? I'm not talking about abolishing free will, I am talking about preventing bad things from happening. Is it truly such a bad thing if a murderer's impulse to kill is curbed? Is it bad if a rapist is prevented from acting on his primal desires? Is it bad if a parent is prevented from beating his child?" the woman questioned quickly carefully watching his reaction.

"God!" he exclaimed in a breath "You could do that, couldn't you?" On the one hand it sounded crazy, it seemed terrible. But, on the other hand it was also idyllic.

"Yes" she whispered gently seeing his features soften slightly.

"But how would you know what things needed to be prevented?" he questioned reasonably. He didn't quite agree with what she wanted to do, but he was more than interested to understand how she thought she could do it. "You would need a seer… So you became friends with the heir of the most powerful line of clairvoyants in the country. But I must have been a disappointment because I am not able to see the future…" he offered a bitter smile.

"Not yet" she said in a low voice "But once you inherit the gift you will be" she explained in a gentle voice, her thin hand lightly touching his shoulder.

"Are you seriously telling me that you are planning to kill my mother?" he questioned incredulously, his eyes widening in horror.

"No! Even if I wanted to, which I don't, I wouldn't be allowed to touch a hair on her head!" she answered quickly, her hands raised defensively.

"But you know when she will die," he followed with a certain measure of horror still ringing in his voice "And it must be soon. That's why you started to use the Ring, so you would become Mistress of the four Elements at the same time that I inherited the gift. You were going for efficiency!" he offered a bitter chuckle.

"There are millions of misfortunes happening every day. People shouldn't have to suffer longer than necessary"

"It's brilliant!" Noah said rather hysterically "I must hand it to you, Hope. It's a brilliant plan! Apart from it being contingent on the deaths of both my mother and the woman I love, that is!"

"Noah, do be rational!" she urged "Your mother would unfortunately pass away whether I want it or not. And, as far as Ms Hardbroom is concerned, I told you that I am no longer interfering with her welfare"

"You stopped the bond?" he stopped and looked at her carefully to gauge whether she was telling the truth or not "Why? And don't try to say that it was for my benefit because I know that's not the truth!"

"Let's just say it's no longer necessary" she said carefully and Noah inferred that she was talking about Mr Mallard's current unfortunate state of health.

"He loves you" Noah said simply as if that was the most powerful argument in the world. Perhaps it was.

"I know" she said softly after a moment's thought, her voice trembling slightly.

Grand wizard Egbert Hellebore experienced a rare moment of triumph when his friend gave him the proof that he had extracted from Miss Hawthorne's former place of residence. To a certain extent, he could say that he felt somewhat guilty for putting Algie in such a position. He knew that his friend despised any underhand means and methods and he was clearly shaken by the revelation that Miss Hawthorne was not entirely as innocent as she pretended to be. On the other hand, Egbert felt a substantial urge to shout "I told you so!" at the top of his lungs. Yet, when Algie returned he offered neither comfort nor did he indicate that he expected praise. Instead, he took the felonious object, smugly informed the headmistress that they had all the proof they needed and marched towards the staff room.

Upon entering the small and shabbily furnished staff room, he could see that Doctor Elwood and Miss Hawthorne were locked deep in conversation, neither paying particular attention to the door. They were speaking in a low voice and whatever the woman was saying the doctor seemed to be rather intrigued, if not slightly disturbed. The fact that neither turned to face him, somewhat ruffled Egbert's feathers and he closed the door with a thud to draw their attention.

"Miss Hawthorne, I demand an explanation!" the Grand Wizard declared rather menacingly, proudly entering the room, offending object and proof of her misdeeds clasped in his hand.

It happened at an alarming speed, yet somehow, time seemed to stand still. Miss Hawthorne slowly turned to face him, and for a fraction of a second, her eyes seemed to lock on his extended hand. The dagger trembled violently and he instinctively lessened his grip on its handle. In less than a heartbeat, the weapon flew towards the woman. In less than a second, it passed through her chest as if it was passing through thin air. Miss Hawthorne's blue eyes widened slightly in surprise and, for a second, looked at the growing red stain on her cream shirt. Behind her, the weapon exploded in tiny little shreds as if it was made of glass. The woman's body fell into a graceful arc and its descent was stopped by the hands of the doctor, who yelled her name as he caught her.

Entire frame quivering, the doctor placed her on the floor and tried to stop the flow of blood. His hands desperately pressed on the gaping wound on her chest. He turned to Egbert and he seemed to be saying something. Egbert couldn't hear him. He could hear nothing. He could say nothing. He could see nothing, but the growing red stain that was forming on the moth-eaten carpet at an alarming rate.

Something akin to a small electric shock passed through his body and Evan Mallard opened his eyes immediately. With, slow, deliberate movements he tried to raise himself to a sitting position on the couch. Fighting a wave of dizziness, he tried to assess his surroundings, the grogginess lingering from his disturbed afternoon nap making the task much more difficult than it should have been. Something was wrong. His skin felt hot and clammy and beads of sweat were forming on his forehead. He took a look around his private parlour and could see that the fire in the fireplace seemed to have gone out. He made a move to call for one of his servants to re-light the fire, but he found that his limbs were heavy and his throat dry. A gust of air seemed to blow out of nowhere and made him shiver involuntarily, a sudden chill taking hold of his body. He mentally cursed that the fire wasn't lit and, with a deep breath, he found the strength to call for one of his servants.

The words however died in his throat unvoiced, for vivid orange flames were dancing in the fireplace. Evan froze. Fighting a slight bout of nausea, he immediately turned his head towards the door to check whether she was there. The doorway was empty. Composing himself as much as possible, he rose from the couch and proceeded to walk towards the hallway. Was she truly there? Had she changed her mind? Had she come to finish what she had been unable to do the last time they had seen each other?

Perhaps the doctor had talked some sense into her. Perhaps she had finally understood the error of her ways and had come back to him. Did the doctor tell her everything? Knowing his inherent honesty, he must have. Then, by now, she must have known that everything he had done had been done for her. Perhaps she understood the depth of his love and, maybe, just maybe forgave him. Even if she didn't forgive him, a chance to see her again, a chance to maybe convince her that she should stay with him, a chance to change her mind was something too precious to be discarded easily. A mixture of anticipation and anxiety was building in his chest and his heart was protesting mildly at the unwelcomed feelings. The hallway was empty.

"Hope?" he called, his voice breaking the eerie silence of the house. There was no answer.

After a few minutes of standing uselessly in the hallway, he turned back to the parlour, the exercise tiring him to a frustrating extent. With a sigh, he sat down on his couch watching the flames dance in the fireplace. Perhaps he had imagined it. After all, it wouldn't have been the first time he had imagined her to be there. The air in the room suddenly felt hot and stifling and he found it hard to draw breath. He waved one hand towards one of the glasses on the table to fill it and extended his other hand towards the fire in the fireplace to extinguish it with water. The flames disappeared.

Eyes wide, Evan moved towards the fireplace, his heart hammering madly in his chest. The wood wasn't wet.

"Hope?" he called, once again, in a strangled voice, and, once again, his call was met with nothing but silence.

He briefly wondered for a second if this was some sort of game she played. Like her very own twisted version of hide and seek. Or maybe she rejoiced in seeing his anxiety. Perhaps in a few moments she would come out laughing at how foolish he was. He looked at the offending piece of wood, summoning a gust of air to bring it up to his level for closer inspection. The piece of wood started burning. He felt sick.

"Hope?" he tried to call, but his lungs weren't in a benevolent mood and all that he managed was a weak whisper which seemed to echo throughout the room. No one answered.

Evan raised a violently shaking hand towards the offending flames. The fire disappeared. The room was spinning, the air around him thinned, his legs felt as if they were made of jelly, pain was radiating through his chest and his heart threatened to beat out of his thoracic cavity. He focused his attention once more on the fireplace and, despite the pain, raised his hand once more. Vivid, orange flames appeared.

"No…" he whispered softly and fell senseless to the ground, like a wooden puppet whose strings had been cut.

When she heard the commotion in the staff room, Imogen abandoned the warm cup of tea that she was enjoying in the courtyard under the last rays of the feeble autumn sun, in favour of running to see what happened. In the hallway, she was unsurprisingly met by Miss Hardbroom whose second year potion class must have been disturbed by the noise. For once both in absolute accordance with one another, they entered the staff room immediately and were met with a sight that to Imogen seemed to be staged after some sort of macabre pseudo-Shakespearian play.

It was with a strange sort of detachment that Imogen observed that, close to the end of the room, Doctor Elwood sat on the floor holding in his arms what at first appeared to be a doll, but on closer inspection identified itself as Miss Hawthorne. The doctor's hands, clothes, and face were covered in so much blood that she thought it impossible to belong to only one human being. She numbly wondered whether the doctor was hurt as well. Nearest to the door, loomed the figure of the Grand Wizard and had the situation been any different she would have probably laughed at the expression he bore. His eyes were widened, his face was twisted in a grimace, his mouth kept opening and closing as if he wanted to say something but he could not find the words. Imogen found that she shared that particular sentiment. She wanted to say something. She wanted to ask a lot of questions. She wanted to make sense of what she was seeing. But nothing even remotely coherent came to mind.

Naturally, it was Constance who got her bearings first. With an air of purposefulness that Imogen envied, she walked towards the doctor and gracefully kneeled besides him, touching his shoulder with a thin pale hand, which was ever-so-slightly shaking. The man turned his head towards the potions teacher and, although no words were exchanged, some sort of silent conversation seemed to pass between the two. The doctor shook his head and, for a moment, it seemed that Miss Hardbroom's confidence faltered. She looked down at the woman the doctor was holding and her expression seemed to visibly darken. After keeping silent vigil for a few seconds next to the doctor and the girl, Constance rose from her kneeling position and turned her attention towards the other two occupants of the room.

"Grand Wizard Hellebore, perhaps you could inform the headmistress of what has happened?" Imogen only realized how quiet it had been when Constance's voice, more unsteady than usual but still maintaining a certain degree authority, broke through the silence.

The Grand Wizard took a moment to process what had been asked of him and, after some silent deliberation, he nodded, turned on his heels and left the room.

"Imogen…" Constance turned to her, her voice much gentler than it had been previously "Mr Mallard would want to know… Perhaps it would be best if you informed him?"

Imogen wanted nothing better than to be able to agree, but she found that she could not. She couldn't be the one to cause him so much pain. She briefly looked Constance in the eye and gave a small shake of her head, her legs involuntarily carrying her towards the side of the room. The deputy said nothing but sighed, straightened herself and walked out of the room. Imogen leaned against the wall.

Constance didn't allow herself to process what she had seen. She couldn't allow herself to think about what stood behind the door of the staff room, because if she did, she feared she would fall apart. It wouldn't help the situation in the slightest bit if she fell apart. As such, instead of focusing on what had happened she focused on what should happen. Ideally, she should have been able to take Noah out of the room, but one look at him had told her that it wouldn't happen anytime soon. He needed time to digest what had occurred, he needed time to come to terms, he simply needed time… He didn't need her at the moment, so with her characteristic practicality she shifted her attention towards those who did. With a steady step she went towards Amelia's office.

The headmistress, the Mr Rowan-Webb and Grand Wizard were sitting around Amelia's desk, the latter obviously quite shaken by what he had witnessed. Once she entered Miss Cackle gave her an inquiring look, confusion clearly etched in the in the aged features.

"Constance, what happened?" Amelia quickly asked and she could not help but suppress a sigh.

"The dagger just flew out of my hands and just… just killed her…" the Grand Wizard muttered incredulously, the cup of tea he was holding tilting dangerously

"Constance?" the headmistress asked for confirmation, her expression now one of horror.

"It appears so" she answered as calmly and detachedly as possible. "Amelia, we need to keep the girls from the staff room. I suggest we cancel classes and tell them to go to their dormitories" she followed firmly when the headmistress seemed to be headed for full-panic mode.

"Yes, you are quite right…" Miss Cackle replied, thanking whatever divinity was out there for Constance's presence and her ability to be the voice of reason regardless of how incredibly illogical the situation was.

"Perhaps you could also inform Davina?" she suggested mildly, knowing fully well that the chanting teacher would be hysterical the moment she heard the news and that Amelia was much more suited to dealing with that kind of reaction.

Amelia answered nothing in return and instead turned on her heels to perform the task she had been assigned. Releasing a deep breath, Constance allowed her shoulders to drop slightly as her eyes travelled to the recently installed telephone. With a slightly trembling hand, she took the little black address book Amelia kept and started looking for Mr Mallard's number. While she had absolutely no compassion for the school's patron, that was certainly a call that she wasn't looking forward to making.

About an eternity later, a wild-eyed, clearly shaken Evan made his appearance in the doorway. When he entered the room, Imogen had to fight the impulse to go to him immediately. For a second he stopped in the doorway and his hazel eyes surveyed the scene, widening slightly at the sight of the figure lying prostate on the floor. Then he went pale. Paler than he had been and, considering that his normally tanned skin had been long ago replaced by something akin to sandpaper, that was saying something. His legs failed him for a moment and, had he not caught himself on the door frame, Imogen would have gone to him and caught him herself. But his shaking hands did manage to hold a tight enough grip on the wooden frame and Imogen stood still at the other side of the room. She watched as he momentarily closed his eyes, licked his dried lips, his tall body slouched, his broad chest heaving in an attempt to draw a deep breath and his free hand making its way to a too-creased forehead. When he finally opened his eyes, she expected to see tears in them. But his eyes were dry and in their depths she could see such sorrow, such disbelief, such grief that it momentarily stunned her.

"Take your hands off her!" when he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper and his words were hollow, his hands griping the frame tighter.

The doctor looked up, tears cleaning away the splatters blood from his cheeks. Hazel met green and an unspoken conversation, one that was completely foreign to Imogen, seemed to take place. The doctor did not comply. Instead, he held onto the mass of flesh and blood even tighter as if his very life depended on it. Evan looked away for a second and his entire body shuddered as if hit by an unsuspected chill. He rested his forehead on the doorframe and swallowed, as if the words he was trying to give voice to were physically paining him. Perhaps they were.

"Please, take your hands off her…" the command was no longer a command, but a plea so pathetic in its nature that it made Imogen avert her own eyes from the blond man.

Slowly, gently, with the upmost care, the doctor released the body and placed it on the moth-eaten, blood-defiled carpet of the staff room. With his hold, every physical ounce of restraint was gone as well and the full force of what had trespassed seemed to hit him in a flash. Sobs coursing through his frame, something akin to an animal cry coming from deep within his chest, Noah Elwood crawled to the end of the room. Trembling hands held onto unsteady legs and his head rested upon his knees. A grown man reduced to the state of a child. Imogen wanted to say something. She wanted to comfort him in some way but, once again, found herself rooted to the ground.

On unsteady legs, he walked to her and almost collapsed by her side. Evan cradled her corpse in the same way that an attentive father carries his firstborn. It was only then that Imogen chanced a look at what had been Miss Hawthorne. She decided there was nothing even remotely beautiful and poetic about death. What had once been a fairly attractive young woman had been reduced to a prone, unresponsive, slack mass of flesh. Her pale skin had become an unattractive grey colour, her red lips no longer contrasted with her skin, the muscles in her face had gone lax, her jaw protruding and incongruously revealing a row of blood-stained white teeth. She didn't look peaceful. She didn't look like she was asleep. She looked like a broken, terrible, frightening doll. And yet, Evan failed to notice all that and held her as if she was the most precious thing in the world.

"My love… I am so sorry…" he whispered softly, slowly, methodically caressing her black curls. "Why didn't you stop? Why didn't you…?" he released a deep breath and closed his eyes for a second, swaying slightly to one side. With one hand he held the woman close to him, with the other he supported himself.

Imogen knew that he would fall. She just knew. With resolute moves she went to where he stood and placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. She would not make him release his hold on Miss Hawthorne. She would not dare to. Instead, she gently helped him drag himself and the dead woman towards the unlit fireplace. He didn't turn to her. He didn't acknowledge her presence. His eyes never left the pale face of the corpse in his arms. Once he had his back against one of the pillars of the fireplace, had sufficient support and was in no immediate danger of falling, Imogen went back to her spot and stood as still as before.

"I killed her" Evan said to no one in particular after a few minutes of silence. Doctor Elwood immediately raised his head, his bloodshot green eyes fixed upon the blond man. He said nothing.

"That day… If I didn't do what I did… If I had known what I know now… If I would have listened to her… If… God!" he followed in that strangely empty voice, the last word seemingly robbing him of breath. He closed his eyes once again and rested his head against the stone fireplace, lifting Miss Hawthorne closer to him. Imogen could do nothing but watch, her hands aching to comfort him and her mind telling her that she had no right to intrude on a moment so very personal.

"Do you know how much I love you? Did you ever know? I love you so much it hurts. It hurts to look at you, it hurts to think of you, it hurts to…" his eyes were fixed upon her unmoving features, his hands were trembling as they touched her. Imogen wanted to look away, but found that she could not. "It wasn't supposed to end like this. You were supposed to understand. When you came to me after such a long time, I thought that you did understand. I thought that you knew… "

"But then you left. Why did you leave, my love? I would have done anything… anything for you. I would have done anything to keep you safe, my love. Don't you see, Hope? How can you see so much and be so blind at the same time? Everything I did, everything I am doing, I'm doing it for you. Only you, my love. One day you will see that, won't you? And when you do, you will come back to me and everything will be right again," he buried his head in the dark curls for a moment and then placed am almost revenant kiss on her forehead.

"The house is still standing, you know? I wanted to destroy it after you left but you always did like that place. We can live there… and no one… no one… will be able to say anything about it. And we will be happy, like we were before. Just the two of us! You will come back, won't you?" he whispered to her, his arms cradling her closer to him.

"She won't!" the doctor's voice said dryly from the corner of the room, his green eyes having an angry glint to them. "She can't! Don't you see she's dead?" he looked accusingly at the dead woman, his voice a mixture of anger and despair.

For the first time since he started holding Hope into his arms, Evan looked up to face the doctor. His mouth opened slightly as if he wanted to refute Noah's claim but immediately closed it. He closed his eyes and rubbed his left hand tiredly against his face. When he opened them, his pupils were widened in shock for his hand was covered in blood. Her blood. For a moment he stood there in a daze and Imogen thought he looked very much like a child who had been woken up from a deep, restful sleep. Then comprehension dawned on his features and left behind nothing but misery.

Evan furrowed his brow and looked at the dead woman in his arms. Blinking rapidly, he placed her on the ground and used his now red hand to lift himself up. He took a deep breath and swayed dangerously on his feet, his hand clutching the border of the fireplace as tightly as he could. He looked again at Hope but his gaze did not linger. Instead, he averted his eyes and tried to move away from the place. Within a few paces his knees buckled and, in less than a fraction of a second, Imogen was by his side.

For once, Imogen was grateful for her choice of career, for she would have been unable to support him had her muscles been less toned. She placed her arm around his waist while he unconsciously held firmly onto her shoulder. His finders were digging into her flesh but she had neither the strength, nor the willingness to complain about potential bruises. She could no longer see his face but she could feel his laboured breath on the skin of her neck and his head resting limply on the top of her short, blond hair.

"Evan?" she said softly from her awkward position, feeling him limp against her frame.

"I'm… sorry… I… need a moment…" he answered in a breathless voice and Imogen held onto him tighter.

She gently steered him towards the chair closest to the door. Under normal circumstances she would have aimed for the couch but that was too close to the place where… The rickety old chair was the better alternative. She placed her free hand on his chest to support him better and could feel his heart pounding erratically against her palm. For the first time in minutes she felt fear. The journey to the blasted chair seemed endless and all she could think about was getting him there, getting him away from the dead woman on the floor and preventing something bad from happening. Well, not something bad. Something bad had already happened, Imogen rationalized. Something worse. When they finally reached the chair she allowed him to fall limply on it, his breathing hard, one hand clutching at the unstable armrest, the other placed on his chest. His eyes were closed, his forehead was creased, a thin sheen of sweat forming on it.

"Doctor Elwood!" Imogen called as calmly as she could while she opened the top buttons of Evan's shirt "I need your help…"

The doctor, who had curled into himself once more, looked up and, for a second did not, could not understand what she was saying. Sheer frustration coursed through her veins and she would have bodily attacked the man had he not nodded in understanding after a few painfully long moments. With movements which were too slow for her taste, Noah deemed to raise from his position and made his way across the room, unconsciously stopping next to Hope's body. He looked down and froze in his tracks, his eyes traveling wildly between the dead girl and the man. Every instinct in him, finely tuned over the past ten years told him to go to her.

"Doctor Elwood!" Imogen called, slightly more aggravated than before "There is nothing you can do for her…" she followed much more gently when seeing the utterly lost expression he bore on his features.

With a deep sigh, Noah nodded and made his way toward where they were. Somehow, when he actually reached them he seemed to fully comprehend the situation and placed two shaking fingers on Evan's neck.

"Mr Mallard…" he started professionally, his voice completely empty, completely neutral "You really need to try to calm down."

Then the doctor laughed. A hoarse, hysterical, unpleasant laugh that reverberated off the walls and filled the entire room. Imogen wanted to slap him. Evan opened his eyes and, between gasps for air, looked at the man knowingly. If not for his utterly pathetic state she would have said that he was mocking the doctor with his eyes, daring him to make him 'calm down'. Once again she had the feeling that there was some strange understanding between the two but she did not ponder it any further. She moved towards the doctor to shake him from his insanity.

"No, Miss Drill…" he raised a hand to stop her "I don't you see how idiotic it is? Don't you see it? The love of the man's life is dead and I am telling him to calm down! As if it's nothing…" he finished his maddening dissertation with a chuckle "Miss Drill, my bag is in Constance's room. I have sedatives in there. Could you please bring it?" he followed more rationally, a strange glimmer in his eyes.

Imogen was torn. For one, considering the doctor's current mental instability she didn't dare to leave an essentially sick and defenceless man in his care. God knew what he would do in his insanity! On the other hand, the doctor, covered in blood from head to toe, was certainly not fit to be seen anywhere near impressionable girls and fragile staff members. Thus, sending him to fetch his own bag was out of the question. She looked down at Evan and he nodded. With a sigh, Imogen ran towards Miss Hardbroom's room.

Left alone with Evan and essentially far calmer than he had felt in the past hour, Noah took a deep breath and once again checked the pulse of the other man, this time taking his wrist. This mundane, mechanical task somehow made him feel better. After all, as long as he had something to do, something to focus on, he didn't have to look at the other side of the room. He didn't have to look at her, and at her blood and think about what had happened.

"If I do nothing, there is a fair chance you will have another heart attack and die" Noah said in a neutral voice, releasing Evan's wrist and allowing it to fall on the armrest.

Had he been able to breathe properly, Evan would have probably laughed. As it stood, the only thing that came out of his mouth was a feeble, gasping, sound which might have remotely resembled a chuckle. Noah looked at the bitter expression the ailing man displayed with inquisitive green eyes. In the hazel eyes of the young man he could detect frustration, sadness, desperation and a trace of longing. In return, the doctor offered a bittersweet smile of his own. He understood.

Constance rose from the foot of her bed when he entered, her very soul shattering at the picture of Noah, broken, desolate, covered in blood, making his way into her room, several hours later. He walked towards her, his movements robotic and mechanical and sat listlessly on the floor at the foot of her bed, his elbows placed on his needs and his head leaning on the heels of his palms.

"Mr Mallard?" she asked softly, busying herself with preparing a quick cup of tea. Anticipating that Noah would come to see her after the tragic events of the day, Amelia had been gracious enough to send food and hot water to her room, so he would have some nourishment and something warm to drink.

"He had an episode, but I believe he is better now. He is in Miss Drill's room, resting" his voice was far from the gentle tone he usually used. Instead it was devoid of any feeling and Constance quickly decided that she did not like the change. "The girls?"

"They didn't see a thing…we took them upstairs and made certain that they would stay in their rooms" she answered as kindly as she could and handed him the cup of tea, quickly casting a warming spell on it to keep the liquid warm if he didn't have a mind to drink it immediately. He took it from her hands and gave a grateful, if absolutely mechanical nod.

The silence in the room was stifling, suffocating her with its awkwardness. Not for the first time in his presence, she wished she had the social graces of some of her colleagues. She wished she could comfort him, put him at ease, and tell him that everything would soon be better. But she could not. She had little experience with comforting people in general and even less with helping them to deal with such an event. Whatever she thought of saying rang untrue and superfluous to her ears. Wringing her hands, she did the only thing she thought might help. She sat by his side on the floor and waited for him to talk. If she could not speak, she could at least listen.

"The Grand Wizard was kind enough to make the arrangements to…" he started after a few moments of complete silence, his gaze fixed on the warm brown liquid in his hands. "I didn't stay to see them take her away… I couldn't. Tomorrow I will go make arrangements with a funeral house. I know that her family has a plot somewhere within the domain of Hawthorne Mansion but she never really told me if she would like to be buried there or not… Maybe, Evan knows" whether he was speaking for her benefit or for his own, Constance could not tell. There was an eerie sort of calm about him that she neither could understand nor liked.

"I will go to Hawthorne mansion tomorrow… Knowing her, she probably doesn't even have a bloody birth certificate" he shook his head and offered a bitter smile towards his cup of tea.

"Do you want me to…" Constance started to offer but was immediately silenced by his head moving so fast to face her that she thought his neck might snap.

"No!" Noah snapped, and she was taken aback by the forcefulness of his answer and the slight desperation noticeable in his tone. "God knows what she keeps in there! I can't… I can't put you… in danger" he continued much more mildly, his green eyes pleading with her to understand. She simply nodded, and he seemed to relax almost immediately.

"I need to get cleaned up…" he said matter-of-factly after studying the dark brown prints his fingers had left on the white porcelain cup.

Constance was grateful for that declaration for it allowed her to instantaneously spring into action and afforded her the immediate comfort of not feeling so very inadequate. She quickly walked to her dresser and retrieved three white towels for him. Prolonging her activities as much as possible, she went to the bathroom and swiftly lit all three candles, took out a fresh bar of soap and put it on the rim of her sink and a two bottles of shampoo and shower gel in her shower. Under normal circumstances, the dour Miss Hardbroom would have never in a million years allowed a man to make use of her shower, for that was a dire breach in decorum that she would not condone. But those were not normal circumstance. And he was not just any man. He was Noah and she was not going to allow him to walk covered in his best friend's blood to the dingy inn he called his home for the time being.

"Everything is ready…" she touched his shoulder gently and was rewarded with a grateful nod. It was only when he closed the door behind him that she actually allowed herself to sigh.

Behind the closed bathroom door the sound of falling water barely covered the sound of desperate tears.

When Noah finally exited the bathroom, his eyes were red and she automatically averted her own eyes, the silence in the room becoming so much more pregnant and stifling. He stood in the doorway looking slightly lost at what to do next, seemingly perfectly conscious that his current state of undress was not exactly appropriate for polite company. Feeling a faint blush making its way to her cheeks and trying to hide her reaction, she turned on her heels and made her way to the chair, where Amelia had been kind enough to place some clothes borrowed from Frank Blossom for the doctor to change in. They were certainly not what the doctor himself would have chosen, or even of a remotely similar quality, but she supposed, given the situation they would do. She took them and, with a steady a hand as possible, she offered them to him.

"Amelia borrowed these from Frank Blossom…" she explained, perhaps unnecessarily, her eyes still fixated on the modest floor of her room.

She could not exactly pinpoint what was making her more uncomfortable. The uniqueness of the situation? The fact that, against her very nature, she did find the doctor attractive? The desolate, lost look in his eyes? Noah didn't answer. He didn't take the clothes she offered. Instead, he came to her and pulled her against his chest, the side of his head pressed tightly against her temple. For a second she wanted to protest. It was so very inappropriate, so very foreign that it made every muscle in her body stiffen against the sudden contact. But then she could feel him shudder, and felt droplets of salt make their way down his cheek. He was crying and whatever concern she might have had about propriety went out the window. Tentatively, she wrapped her arms around his waist and, when feeling this sudden contact, he pulled her closer, tighter, as if she was his only anchor in this world. His skin was warm from the shower and smooth to the touch and, as if they had a life of their own, her hands found themselves tracing comforting circles on his back. She placed her head against his shoulder and unconsciously inhaled his scent, a rather pleasant combination between the products she usually used and his own smell which made her slightly lightheaded.

After a few long minutes of holding her, he raised his head and Constance was suddenly confronted with the full power of his green eyes. His gaze, always so very expressive, met hers and she could see within its depths a myriad of unvoiced feelings. She saw his despair, his wretchedness, and above all, she saw his need. His need to have her close, his need to feel her alive and well in his arms, his need to give himself to her. She said nothing for she could not speak. It had been such a long time since such feelings had been directed towards her, with the kind of intensity that made her heart beat madly in her ribcage. Words were useless so she did not seek them. Words could not express what either felt. Words could not describe the magnitude of the situation. She merely nodded and his lips came crushing down onto hers.

In his first kiss she had first felt respect and chastity. In the second one she had felt passion. This was entirely different. It was neither chaste nor passionate. It went beyond that. It spoke of feelings which had been buried deep within him for heaven knew how long, and seemed to surface all at once, engulfing them both with their intensity. He was giving himself to her, stripped naked of all pretence and liberated from all confines. She wrapped her hands around his neck and tried to match his honesty by offering the same openness of feeling.

Hurried, yet gentle hands roamed her body and, for a second Constance hesitated. It was not in her nature to rush into such things. She was a woman of reason and not of emotion. And yet, at that dire time, at that time when reason could only go so far she could not help but embrace emotion. Not only for his sake but for hers as well. It had been too long since she had allowed herself to be swept away. Her first love had been one born out of need for escape. It had been founded on immature dreams and rash actions. Her second love was one born out of a different kind of need, a need for companionship. At its foundation stood respect and trust. She gently took his hands and, instead of allowing him to uselessly fumble any further with the myriad of tiny buttons her dress had, she softly spoke an incantation under her breath and opened them herself.

Epilogue…

O, what is the meaning ? What sense does agree ?

The end of such beauty, had that what to be ?

Sweet seraph of clay where still lingers life's smile,

Just in order to die did you live for a while ?

O, tell me the meaning. This angel or clod ?

I find on her forehead no witness of God.

(Mihai Eminescu- Mortua Est)

Hidden away in the vast Southern French countryside, Chateau Martel was quite unlike any building in the area. It was a vast, imposing structure, with dark grey walls and angular windows which defied the much more subdued Provence style so characteristic of the region. For centuries the hard stone of the Alpes Maritimes had served as a natural defence and the endless rows of trees surrounding the propriety gave the building a well-deserved air of mystery. If outside the building seemed imposing, inside the décor made it positively sumptuous. Paintings by grand masters adorned wallpapered walls, pained ceilings supported golden candelabra and richly decorated baroque furniture spoke of a place which had been untouched by the notorious French Revolution.

In one such room, the tall figure of a man cast shadows on the plush rugs. Impeccably dressed, a glass of Bordeaux in hand and a black cell phone pressed to his ear, the man paced the room methodically, from one end to the other. His frame was tall and straight, and his movements careful and careless at the same time. There was a certain tension in his broad shoulders, which made the dark material of his coat crease slightly. A sly smile adorned straight, rather angular features and amusement danced in vivid blue eyes.

"Mademoiselle Lynn, thank you for informing me of the sudden development" his voice was smooth baritone, no trace of an accent in his tone, his smile widening at the response he heard from the end of the other line "Well, chérie , I did tell you that our time will come, didn't I? Until later, then!"

He ended the call and with deft fingers he took a small bell and rung it delicately. As if on cue, an elderly gentleman, perhaps in his late fifties, made his appearance. Unlike that of the other man, his frame was short and stout, his head was bald and his eyes were partially obscured by round glasses. In his pudgy hands he carried a napkin of sorts and a faint grimace on wrinkled features, betrayed his annoyance at having been interrupted from his previous task.

"Monsieur LeBlanc, prepare the guestroom on the second floor. The one that overlooks the garden" the man ordered, faint traces of amusement clear the tone of his voice.

"Will you be entertaining, sir?" the one called Monsieur LeBlanc asked subserviently, inclining his head in a, perhaps excessive, showing of respect.

"I will, indeed. And she is a very special guest, so I will accept nothing but perfection" the man turned from the window and directed his steely, blue gaze at his interlocutor, his voice razor sharp as he issued the order.

"Perhaps you could tell me more about the lady's preferences? To make her stay more enjoyable?" Monsieur LeBlanc met his employer's gaze absolutely unperturbed, his composure proof of the regularity with which he received such orders.

"I have yet to meet her. But she is a lady of great influence and taste. No expense should be spared in making her comfortable" the master replied with a trace of eagerness in his voice, and for once, Monsieur LeBlanc's interest was piqued.

"Perhaps her name? We could have the towels monogramed to give the room a more personal air" the butler inquired out of curiosity than anything else.

"Hope. Hope Hawthorne" the name rolled of his tongue easily and the corner of his lips turned up in something akin to a smirk.

Monsieur LeBlanc inclined his head and made his way towards the door. He did not recognize the name of the lady, but, if she made his master so animated he reckoned she must have been rather special. His master never lost his composure over a woman. His dalliances with the fairer sex were few and far between and never resulted in any emotional attachment that he knew of. For all his… eccentricities, his master could not count a weakness of spirit or heart among his less desirable attributes.

"And, Monsieur LeBlanc…" the man's voice rang again and the butler turned immediately"… I need you to procure me a shovel…"

The End