Andrei

By the time we arrived in Oskari, I'd recovered from the incident at the lair, and although there were no direct apologies involved, I'd made amends with Rhydian Sinclair. We agreed to ignore our differences for the sake of our common interests, but we still didn't speak of my parents. There was no sense pressuring the man on the topic of his daughter, either. He'd soon have no choice but to face reality.

Because of Rick and Rhydian's defected status, staying at the house with Helena Varis wasn't an option and with the church still shut down, and the Widow's Peak being too risky, I could only think of one place that would be both comfortable and unoccupied. It came as no surprise when the door to the Murder House was unlocked, but what did come as a surprise, were the dozens of mirror shards stuck to the walls and hanging from the ceiling by strands of silvery thread.

The fiery-haired Partisan sitting at the table was a new addition as well but there was no question in my mind as to who she was. She looked precisely how Sinclair had described her and moreover, she looked exactly like her mother. There was no doubt in mind the two defects behind me recognized her immediately. Considering Sinclair's high opinion of the Squeaky Lass, I hoped I could count on her to remain discreet.

We stepped inside and closed the door, and Adeline Blanchett sat frozen, staring straight ahead with her mouth agape. At least, it seemed as though she was staring straight ahead. It was difficult to tell behind the bug-like goggles she wore. Her astonishment was short-lived, however. We hadn't had the chance to utter a single word before the Successor came flying at us in a flurry of bouncy curls. She wrapped her arms tight around my torso and just as soon backed away, leaving me with little time to react.

She set her goggles on her head. "Father Strauss, it's so nice to finally meet you."

Clearly, I thought. "Likewise, Successor."

"You may call me Adeline, or Adel if you prefer short names." I took mental note of the way her nose scrunched at the bridge and how the sentiment brought a sparkle to her eyes. I couldn't remember ever seeing a smile so genuine. "Now, before I become distracted and forget, I must relay a message from Enforcer Rhian. Are you ready?"

Rhydian sighed.

"Go ahead," I said.

The Delphi cleared her throat and flipped a hand with a certain nonchalance. "Tell him to stay put and help out with all the clever shite. I'll be back soon."

The accent was impeccable and the intonation was near perfect. A curious talent.

Rhydian cleared his throat impatiently, and after sparing a pointed glance over my shoulder, I turned back to Adeline. "Thank you, Adeline. Now, you should know—I've brought these men here because they are trusted and vital to our work. The Amali is Father Emerich Bach and the Strachan is none other than Rhydian Sinclair. You may feel obligated to report them, and I wouldn't dream of putting you in an uncomfortable position, so if there's a problem..."

Adeline cheeks flushed red. "A problem?"

Fury? I wondered.

"I know exactly who these men are, Father Strauss, and I simply cannot believe it."

I couldn't help wonder if Sinclair was mistaken as to the Successor's easy-going nature and her trustworthiness. "I know it's a lot to ask, but I urge you to consider the danger we face. These men are—"

"These men," Adeline interjected, "are legendary! Of course they can stay, and of course I won't be reporting them. That would be ridiculous, Father Strauss."

The collective tension in the room lifted and Rick and Rhydian hauled their bags over to the stairs while Adeline scurried over to the stove to put on the kettle.

In the days to come, Adeline Blanchett shared everything she knew about the two elder Partisans—especially Rhydian Sinclair, with whom she seemed mildly infatuated. With our companions filling in the blanks, we learned some of the legends surrounding them were true, some false, and some fell somewhere in between. The stories were stirring and worthy of their own volume. No mention of what an insufferable ass Rhydian was, however.

Otherwise, the time spent with Adeline Blanchett in her makeshift workshop was enlightening. The scientist's inquiries on the subject of the Anima were a change of pace from the rage-fueled, "Barrage, behead," mentality so far, and with Rick and Rhydian nearby, we were feeling more than ever prepared.

Early one morning, while the elder Partisans slept upstairs, I arrived at the Murder House to find Adeline in the kitchen tinkering at her workstation.

"What are you working on?" I asked.

The scientist turned and opened her hand, revealing a bauble that resembled a black cherry. "I call this HNF, which stands for hope and fear. First we must hope it will work, and then we must fear it will not."

"And what would this HNF do?"

"Why, it would be ignited and thrown at the Anima. Of course, it would only produce sparks and small flames, but we have you to make them bigger, no?"

"No," I said. "Genius, but far too dangerous."

"Of course it's dangerous, Father S, we are discussing firepower."

I shook my head. "I haven't been properly trained, and it wouldn't be sanctioned."

"Do you think this was sanctioned?" Adeline dangled the HNF by the wick between two fingers. A madwoman in bizarre, magnifying spectacles—fiery curls abounding. "No, Father S, it was not."

"I see your point, but I don't have a way to study the techniques I should have mastered years ago. I've had no one to learn from. I'm much too unpredictable."

Adeline set the HNF down on the table and trotted across the room, heels clip-clopping. "What you must understand is that your ability to control the elements is not in addition to you, it is a part of you. It begs your attention and you reject it. Of course it rebels. If you wish to ask a favour of someone—or something—you must first get to know it."

Hidden away in one of the kitchen cupboards, Adeline revealed a stack of scientific textbooks which she offered up for my perusal. Sinclair was thoughtful leaving me in her company. I'd be sure not to thank her.

We hadn't reopened the church, and I hadn't yet announced my return, so I skittered between the house and Blanchett's workshop like a thief in the night. Despite my efforts—cautious but terribly unskilled—the townspeople spotted me sooner than I would have liked. They demanded to know more about the deadly fungus. I perpetuated the fib by evading their questions with complex terminology and the appearance of busyness.

Over the course of a week, we'd survived two Anima attacks in the night—one at the workshop and another on the way to the Widow's Peak. Rick made quick work of the attacker at the workshop and the Commander dispatched the one outdoors. As usual, the Legacy wanted nothing to do with our business. Furthermore, she and the Commander suspected they'd been successful in conceiving as she'd been suffering symptoms. In light of this, the Widow's Peak became our new base of operations, and that's where we convened most nights. The den, a sectioned area on the ground floor of the Peak, suited our purpose.

That night, Rick was absent for the meeting while he guarded Adeline's workshop.

"We need to take action against Lidia, with or without Rhian," Commander Reider said.

Adeline shook her head. "I respectfully disagree, Commander Michael, Sir. If we are impetuous and fail, we'd be putting her in greater danger when she returns."

"Then tell us where she went," Rhydian said. "I'll get the lass and bring her around," he added, as if the lass were a runaway chicken and not his daughter.

"No offense, but this isn't the best time for a family reunion," the Commander said. "Rhian's always been difficult to factor and we should limit our variables."

Rhydian took a long drag of his cigarette, smoke billowing out of his nose and mouth as he spoke. "You don't think I bloody know that?"

The Commander shrugged. "I don't know what you think you know about Rhian, but we're her friends, and your sudden appearance in her life is going to affect her."

The Commander had a point, and I suspected Rhydian's decision to exclude himself from our plans going forward was a rebellious response to Reider's authority. The Strachan answered to no one—least of all to Palisade. Of course, he didn't leave the Widow's Peak without issuing a warning: should anyone tell Rhian about him, he'd kill us himself.

Outside the inn, a winter storm raged while we stayed warm by the fire in our cozy den. The inn was excellent at keeping out the weather, but not so much the people. Ivana peeked her head past the curtain, "Not too sorry to bother, but there's a couple here to see you. All of you."

"A couple of what?" Adeline asked.

"Lovers," Ivana said.

"Romance? How exciting!"

"Why is there a couple here to see us?" Reider asked.

"What, am I working for you people now? I have no idea. It's busy. People are cold and hungry. Go see for yourselves."

Evidently, the proprietress still hadn't warmed to the Commander.

The three of us emerged from the den while the couple in question waited patiently in the common room, each carrying a cloth-bound parcel. I recognized them as the first couple to have gone missing—one of my parishioners and one of the local guardsmen.

"This is all we could afford to repay you with, Partisans," the woman said.

"While we appreciate the sentiment, we cannot accept gifts in exchange for service," I replied. "But again, thank you."

"Gifts?" said the man. "She threatened to kill us. Us and the rest."

The Commander stepped forward. "Sir, you've lost me—who threatened to kill you?"

"The little blonde bitch with the spots on her face."

By then, a dozen pair of curious eyes burned holes in our backs.

"You mean the little blonde bitch you claim rescued you?" Michael asked.

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"Yes, the one who rescued us from that awful man," the woman continued. "We were all so frightened and she was so brave. She would hear none of our thanks, Amalia knows we tried."

Adeline shuffled to the side and reached for my hand.

"Yeah, a real hero. Until she came knocking at our door, demanding we pay up. Clothes. Oil. Food." The man tossed his parcel to the floor, spitting upon it for good measure. "Disgraceful bastards. We never should have trusted you."

Wrong...Father…process…blocked, I thought.

Or had I?

No, I hadn't started fantasizing in the third person. The thoughts—the words—they were my own, but they were not of me. Simply put, Adeline Blanchett had something she wanted me to think. Unfortunately, the transmission was incomplete, disjointed and beyond me.

The second message, however, was not.

DANGER!

The villager reached into his vest, and while the Commander was still distracted by the parcel at his feet, I grabbed the villager by the arm and shoved the Commander to the side.

My role should have ended there. The Commander should have picked up from where I left off, and perhaps he would have, but I'd grown impatient and annoyed. Making use of my abundant strength, I flung our would-be-assailant out of harm's way. He crashed, and I turned around expecting to see an overturned table and a few disgruntled patrons. Instead, I faced a man on fire.

Aim was not my strong suit and it was not my intention to send him sprawling into the hearth. The inn erupted with ear-bleeding screams. The Anima whose clothes were now ablaze rushed at me with a sudden burst of speed and when I raised my arms in defense, the inn fell silent. The man on fire was a man no longer.

All that remained was ash.

We were no longer welcome at the Widow's Peak. You may even say we'd outstayed our welcome in the village itself. The man I'd thrown into the fire was one of the Anima, and if our suspicions were correct, so were the other the villagers who'd returned seemingly unscathed. But appearances were everything, and to those who'd already seen what I was capable of, it appeared I'd murdered an innocent Barren by way of disintegration. In addition, the rumors of Sinclair's shakedowns could not be disproved.

It was a game well played, leaving us with nowhere else to go but the house. The parcels did not contain food, nor oil, but they did contain clothes. Two dresses, three sets of trousers, dress shirts, dinner jackets, a blouse, and a corset.

"On the bright side, at least we'll look good for each other," Reider said, holding the jackets up to his body each in turn. "I'll take the blue one."

"You can have it all, Commander," I said. "I'll have nothing to do with whatever this is."

"Surely not the dresses?" Adeline asked. "The violet one is practically made for me."

The tailoring was exquisite and seemed to be designed with our tastes in mind. It was disturbing, but no more disturbing than the object we found hidden among the clothing. It was a tattered book, smelling old leather and Hocks spirits. The Commander opened the book toward the middle, turning the pages two at a time. Each of them revealed a portrait of notable skill, each of them labeled with a date.

"What is this? Reider asked.

"I've seen this before," Adeline said. "It belongs to Enforcer Rhian."

The Commander flipped another page. "Okay, and who are these people?"

"Oh, just people! She's quite talented, isn't she?"

"Wonderfully," I said. "Now why aren't we panicking?"

"Because I know where Rhian is," Reider said. "And she probably wouldn't have time to sit around and draw. I'm betting she left a few things behind to lighten the load. It doesn't mean she's in danger, it just means Lidia wants us to think she is."

The Commander flipped to the most recent entry—dated the night the villagers returned from captivity and the night of the madman's death. The accompanying sketch, however, was not the work of a talented artist. It was a childish caricature, complete with X-shaped eyes and a protruding tongue. While I was still processing what exactly we were looking at, my stomach lurched when there was a knock at the door.

Standing on the other side, covered head to toe in fluffy snow, wasn't an Anima. It wasn't Sinclair either. It was a fair-haired freckled Strachan, but not a one I recognized.

"Ehm—'ello," he said, peering into the house. "I'm looking for Rhian Sinclair."

"And you are?"

"You can call us Bells if you like. So—ehm, is she here?"

Sinclair did mention that Councilwoman Kelly might eventually send a scout to check on her. According to the Commander, we were to protect her and her whereabouts at all costs.

"She's asleep," I said.

"Wake her, then?"

"She's asleep because she's ill."

Adeline shuffled around behind me and eventually toward the stairs, sniffling pitifully. "Father Strauss," she coughed once, twice. "I'll inform the Enforcer of her guest." After staring into the house for a long, drawn moment, the Strachan tilted his head back to address me again. "What in the six hells is wrong with you lot?"

I peered around the Strachan at the heavy snowfall. "Winter."

Upstairs, one of the doors creaked open and slammed closed.

"So," I said, leaning casually against the door frame as to bar the entry. "Why Bells?"

"The name's Bellamy," the Strachan said. "Lucas Bellamy."

"I see." I searched for a smile. "I thought there may have been a story."

Lucas Bellamy shook his head, squinting. "So, about Sinclair…"

"Of course," I said. "Follow me."

Lucas Bellamy hesitated before entering the house, but did eventually follow me upstairs where a hushed conversation was taking place behind one of the doors. It wasn't the cleverest of plans, but it was a plan, and it was the only plan in our repertoire with a moderate chance of success.

"Whatever, just tell them to go away," said one of the voices behind the door. "I won't be seeing anyone looking like this, what with all the vomit, and sweat, and whatnots coming out my nose." I sucked in my cheeks, baring down.

Bells shouted at the door. "Oi, Rhian, it's Bells, mate. Got a missive from CK that needs signing. How's about it I slip it under the door so I can get the hells out of here? This place is a goddess-be- damned death-trap."

Truer words.

The plan proceeded perfectly. The message was exchanged under the door, was in the process of being read by Adeline, and all that remained was for her to squiggle an "S". Instead, the door to the bedroom opened wide, revealing that there had only ever been one person behind it.

"I'm sorry, I cannot do this." Adeline shook her head slowly, locking her wide, glistening eyes with mine. "Rhian must see this for herself."

You see, the Strachan had not been sent by Councilwoman Kelly to verify Sinclair's well-being. The missive was not a routine inquiry, either. The messenger, unaware of the grave news he carried, had been sent to inform her of Feargus Finlay's death.

The news scarred us all—a deep and permanent etching. Lucas Bellamy was unable to leave until Sinclair returned and signed the missive, so he remained with us at the house—annoyed but altogether relived we weren't sick. Adeline Blanchett, not having known Feargus Finlay personally but having known how important he was to us, was sympathetic in our time of grief, tending to our every comfort. The Commander was the first to break and the last to recover from the news. Finlay was not the first of his friends to fall in combat, but he was the closest of his friends. The missive revealed he'd died in Endica—one of a number of Councilwoman Kelly's agents to have met a similar fate. The Commander was the only one among us to have experienced the dissent up north firsthand.

"You should have signed the missive." He looked to Adeline from his behind puffy, red-rimmed eyes.

"No," I replied. "Adeline made the correct choice."

"I made the only choice! Are you suggesting we keep the news from her?"

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm suggesting," Reider said. "I—she needs to stay focused. We all need to stay focused."

From his place around the kitchen table, Bells spoke next. "Funny story, but I lost both my bunkmates last year. It was utter shite, but I didn't go mucking up my next job. Commander, you should know better than to say something like that."

Not what I would personally call a funny story, but he'd made his point.

"I found their relationship quite disturbing," the Legacy added. "Borderline incestuous, I say."

Glaring to the left, I replied, "Legacy Varis, you understand the two aren't actually siblings?"

"They may as well have been. They were raised together practically from birth. And am I to believe they were innocent, all those nights sharing a bed?"

I spared a glance toward the Commander whose jaw contracted and expanded.

"It seems I've struck a nerve," Varis continued. "Why is that?"

"Right, I've changed my mind," Bells said. "Someone sign the missive so I can leave."

In a flash of purple and fiery-red the Successor stood from her seat so quickly it sent the chair sprawling backward with a clatter. She slammed her first against the table. "Enough! All of you are behaving like babies." Adeline stabbed a gloved finger in Reider's direction. "Commander, you are supposed to be her partner. You are supposed to be her friend. Rhian deserves the opportunity to face the truth even if you are not ready to do it yourself. And you—" the finger targeted the Legacy next "—it's those like you who sully our names. I don't say this often, but I don't like you, Legacy Varis. Not one bit. And you—" Adeline's next victim was a petrified Bells "—have been an adequate messenger and have done nothing wrong. We appreciate your service."

I didn't wait for the finger of truth to accuse me of anything, instead I excused myself in favour of the Anima-infested night. For a time, I paced the perimeter of the pond, recalling my time with Feargus Finlay. He was a nuisance, but he was a rare breed. He was knowledgeable, wise, and intelligent leaps beyond us all. And somehow, he was happy. His ridiculous antics—unnecessary but certainly never boring—remain among my most cherished memories.

Feargus Barnabas Alistair Jack Finnegan Finlay was the best of us.

He would be missed.

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