shadows and stones - an original fiction series of gothic, horror, dark fantasy

1:1

Michael rested with his eyes closed, gently stroking Hannah's hair as the girl lay curled in his lap. To outward appearances she seemed to listen while Bridget read aloud the adventures of Paddington Bear, though in reality they doubted she heard a word. He paid no attention to the story himself, having heard it many times before and caring for it little. His presence appeared to give Hannah comfort, though, and he would endure anything for her. When he entered her room, sitting softly upon the bed, she would crawl into his arms, resting there calmly. There was no outward expression to show he was anything more to her than just another piece of furniture and perhaps, living as she did within her own world, it was what she believed him to be. Michael would be her chair forever, if he thought it might bring her back to reality.

A scream, echoing from the opposite end of the house, shattered their peace. Brigid stopped mid-word while Hannah's fingers clutched at him fiercely. She was not reacting to the sound - Michael was certain she had not even heard it - rather to his sudden tension. Carefully, quickly, he extricated himself from her grip, transferring it to a large stuffed bear, which shared the bed with them. To Brigid's inquiring gaze, he shook his head.

"Finish reading. I'll handle this." Faster than human legs are the wings of a bird: Michael shaped himself quickly into a hawk, flying through the corridors to Eva's rooms, where the scream had originated. At the door he shaped back to human form listening intently. No sounds came from within and when he tried the knob, it was locked. One of the staff was approaching - the heavyset Ursula judging by the depth of sounds picked up by his sensitive ears. Rather than wait for her to bring him the master keys, he transformed into a mouse, passing swiftly through the gap beneath the door.

Inside, he once more he took human form. Searching the sitting room showed she had not been using it recently; no fire had been made in the fireplace, and the chairs showed no imprints on their upholstery. Without knocking he entered the adjoining bedroom. It was disorderly, but not unreasonably so; worn clothes were draped across an old chair, shoes were piled beside the bed, exactly what he expected from a young woman of her age.

An overturned chair in front of the writing desk by the window was out place, however. A pen lay on the floor, an open book on the desk. Michael glanced at the pages and stopped - it was a journal. The final entry ended with a long jagged streak of ink, as though the writer had been surprised or interrupted. Seeking clues he read the last few lines.

Oh, well, I guess I'll go to bed now since it's well past midnight. Michael teased me about my sleeping tendencies while we were on the road to Stonehenge. He said we don't need to sleep or eat, our bodies will just keep going, whole and healthy. When I mentioned I was tired he said it was simply habit, that if I wanted to I could give it up after only a few days. I'm not so ready to lose all sense of normalcy yet. Besides, sometimes sleep is comforting.

If he doesn't sleep, what does he do all night?

None of my business, I suppose, anymore than I should give a damn what the big crow with horns outside my window is doing staring in at me

"A crow with horns?" Michael felt a chill.

The window stood wide open, a gentle breeze playing with the curtains, but no crow sat outside it now. Shifting to wolf form he padded to the ledge, using the lupine sense of smell, dreading to find a particular scent even as he sought to identify her abductor. As he feared, the scent was there. Eva had indeed been taken from the house unwillingly.

Hackles rising, Michael growled deeply, angry with himself for not having recognized the potential danger. Just because almost a hundred years had passed since "that one" had come near he'd had no excuse to relax his vigilance - now Eva might be paying the price. Perching on the ledge preparing to follow the trail, Michael paused at the arrival of Ursula, gasping for breath as she entered the room.

"Sir, what's happened to the girl?" Fear filled the woman's voice.

Hating to waste any time, yet knowing he should not leave without explanation, Michael snarled in a lupine voice, "Grief," then launched himself into the air - a bird of prey tracking its quarry.

"Goddess protect her," Ursula murmured as she watched him fade into the darkness.

1:2

This is getting old. I mean, do I have the phrase "Please abduct me!" tattooed on my forehead or something? And what is with this freak show? One minute I'm writing in my journal, the next minute this cross between Batman and a half-wrapped Egyptian mummy flies through the window and knocks me out in my own bedroom. When I wake up I'm in yet another stone-walled dungeon with yet another dirt floor, and YES, another damn spider. Granted this dungeon has a small table, a chair, and a bowl of fruit, it is still a prison, and I'm getting damn sick of being locked up. If this is some kind of new test on Michael's part, then, immortal or not, so help me God I'm going to find a way to kill him when I'm out of here.

"Michael Edward Rath! Get me the hell out of here!" My shout just echoes, unanswered. Fine, I'll find my own way out, but he'll regret making me do it.

I've already had a good look around. Like the last dungeon I was in, there is a door above me and further up, a window letting in light. The door is not too high: I think I should be able to climb to it, though it'll probably be locked. Too bad the window isn't lower, I'm too afraid of heights to climb that high. Then it hits me, duh, I can change shape into anything now, and height is no obstacle for a bird.

With a little concentration, I become a sparrow, leaving my clothing in a heap on the floor and shoot upward to freedom. If I weren't so pissed I'd enjoy this more! Flying freely with my own wings, even in an enclosed space, is an incredible sensation. I'm glad I turned out to have an instinct for shaping birds.

Reaching the window, I end up frustrated. There are bars of course; I saw those from below. A sparrow is more than small enough to get between them. The glass, however, will be more of an obstacle. I can't break it as a sparrow, and the ledge isn't wide enough to support any form that would be able to.

Annoyed, I fly down to the door to scope it out. It proves equally resistant, however: no gaps in its construction, no space between it and the floor. There isn't even a keyhole for me to exit as an insect - if I even knew how to shape one. Whoever built this place appears to have sealed everything tight, like they knew what sort of prisoner they would have. More proof it was Michael who put me here - who else could possibly know about my recent change?

Landing on the ground near my clothes, I am just about to shape back into human form when I spy something I missed from the higher angles - a small opening near the floor.

Since my catalogue of shapes is limited to wolves and birds, I stay in sparrow shape and hop over to investigate. It appears to be a pipe, but the darkness inside is complete, giving me no idea of where it may lead. Bravely I hop onto the lip and start my way through to whatever outlet I can find. Fortunately, a sparrow is small enough to fit the narrow opening.

After only a few steps into the pipe, I start sensing something wrong. My bird legs feel weak and shaky and my bird eyes are having trouble focusing on the walls. What I know is metal pipe suddenly seems as flimsy as paper, and I swear I can hear the sound of the earth beyond it pressing down towards me. Fingers of dirt are squeezing on the pipe, reaching to entrap me and steal my breath away. Is the pipe crushing closed around me, or am I just imagining this all?

Within seconds I am back in the dungeon in my own form, panting and terrified. I don't understand what happened, I'm not claustrophobic, nor do I fear the dark. Birds often build nests in small enclosures for protection, so they shouldn't have any instinctive fear of tunnels. Despite the truth of this the thought of reentering the pipe leaves me drenched in cold sweat. Why am I so afraid? Chilled with sweat, I dress quickly so I can regroup. My timing is perfect.

Creaking above warns me the door is opening. The creature who kidnapped me stands there. Unless he is more mentally unstable than I've thought, it is not Michael: I don't think he has the imagination to become something so horrible. Can this thing really be alive? Its body, from the waist up, is emaciated as though it has not had food in centuries. I can count every bone in the rib cage, hands and arms. Even part of the spine is visible where the skin caves in below its ribs. Could there even be organs in that narrow space? Its lower half is covered in filthy cloth wrappings, for which I am grateful. I got to see the mummy of Tutanhkamun when I was a kid, and once is quite enough when it comes to mummies.

Only the face is fleshed out, giving some appearance of normalcy, as does the flowing length of black hair that streams down it's back nearly touching the floor. But the normalcy of that face is just an illusion, destroyed by the pair of bizarre ram's horns curving out from the sides of its head. The bat wings, which I remember seeing before it knocked me unconscious, are now gone, but I really think they would help. I wonder. Is this creature male or female? Is it one of us?

"I thought thou mayest find reassurance in God's Word." The deep voice is oddly accented, and the speech is slow, as though each word is considered thoroughly before being uttered. A covered basket is lowered to my level by means of a rough strand of cord.

I wait until the basket rests on the floor before cautiously approaching. The contents are interesting as I inspect them; a loaf of bread that looks like someone baked it by hand, a bottle of what may or may not be wine - I can't read the writing on the label - and a Bible. It is the last item that makes me laugh in irony.

"You've got to be kidding." I look up at the creature. "Do you really think giving me a Bible will make everything better?"

"Comfort lies in the Words of Jesus." Maybe it is Michael after all, he is fond of giving enigmatic answers.

"Look, whatever you are, if Michael is part of this, tell him I am not amused and I'm getting real sick of being locked up!"

"Michael? Doth the Celtic bastard now blaspheme by bearing the name of an archangel?" Not Michael, then. I doubt he would insult himself just to fool me. The creature continues muttering to itself like a psycho in the movies. I really hope we aren't related, 'cause if this stuff runs in the family I do not want to inherit it.

"He is indeed part of this child, but I promise thee it will not be for long. Meantime take strength that what you suffer here will bring thee grace in the eyes of the Lord." With that homily finished, the creature closes the door. I hear a bolt being shut on the other side.

"That guy is definitely a few tacos short of a combo meal," I mumble as I investigate the basket's contents more closely. The bread is disgusting. Whoever baked it must have ground the wheat themself using a stone mortar, because every bite crunches ominously. While I'm no connoisseur of wine, not surprising since I'm not legally old enough to drink yet, I'm damn sure this bottle contains a nasty vintage. I set it and the bread aside. Maybe it's time to practice survival with not eating, like Michael always suggests.

Unable to eat, I think about what my bizarre captor has said. The tone of voice tells me it doesn't like Michael. On the contrary, it almost seethed with contempt when it said his name. And that phrase about Michael being part of this, but not for long, worries me. There was an odd emphasis on the word 'be.' I imagine one could rack up a lot of enemies in 2,000 years and Michael does not exactly have a friendly personality. Could this…thing be planning to kill him? It can't be one of us, then, or it would know we are immortal. Comforted with this excellent reasoning, I decide to get some sleep. Since he has not provided me with a bed, I use the table. I've had enough of sleeping on dirt floors.

I think I've been asleep for only a short time when the creaking of the door wakes me. Opening my eyes, I realize it must be night outside; no more light comes in through the window. Before I can rise I hear something sliding, followed by a thud on the ground nearby. Another creak and the door shuts. A groan from the object dropped tells me I am no longer alone; another prisoner has joined the club. I suppose I should be afraid, but I confess knowing I am immortal gives me more courage than is sensible. I approach the groaning lump openly.

The darkness is too complete for me to make out any details, so I try something Michael had suggested once when we were touring a rather poorly lit castle. Concentrating, I shape only my eyes into those of a cat. To my delight and surprise it works. Suddenly I can see as though it were full daylight in the dungeon. What I see, however, washes the pleasure out of me in an instant.

The object on the floor is definitely a person. To be precise, it is Michael. Blood covers his right arm where there is a long, jagged cut. More blood pours from a gash on his left temple. I help him into the chair, careful not to jar the injured areas. He is conscious, but dazed, definitely in pain from the injuries. I use the nasty wine to clean them and the sting brings a howl out of him. Fully awake now, he starts cursing in several languages I have never heard, and a few I actually know. Eventually he notices I am there.

"Eva, are you well? Has he injured you?"

"Physically I'm fine, mentally, I'm ready to commit murder. Who the hell is that freak, what the hell happened to you, and why the hell am I in yet another dungeon?" I climb onto the table, unwilling to sit on ground now stained by wine and blood. Prepared to listen, I gesture for Michael to give me whatever answers he can manage. Predictably, they're good ones.

"That freak, as you so appropriately refer to him, is unfortunately one of our brothers."

"Wonderful," I groan, "I expected as much. The horns were a dead giveaway."

"I am sorry, Eva." He actually sounds genuine in the apology; I am amazed.

"What for? Not warning me there is a nut in the family? You could have, you know, I've only asked about others a hundred times."

"I thought you should learn more about yourself, before learning about them." He looks up at me, and blood from his temple runs into one eye. I wipe it off with the edge of my shirt, another one he'll owe me when we finally get home. "Then too, it never occurred to me that he would be aware of your existence. I'm sorry for not realizing he would use you like this."

"Use me?" I don't like the sound of that.

"Eva, you were not kidnapped for your own sake. As a Catholic he would care nothing for you. You were taken to be used as bait."

"To trap you?" It makes sense to me, based on what the freak said.

"Yes."

"What does he have against you? Did you lock him up in a dungeon, too?" The glare he gives me proves he is definitely not amused, which is fine, because neither am I.

"Grief is far older than I am. Probably the oldest of us all."

"Grief?"

"It is all he has ever caused in his life; it is the name he deserves. If he has another, I neither know nor care."

"So, tell me about him." I make myself comfortable, leaning against the wall for support.

"Later," Michael says, rising from the chair to look around our prison. I can see from the shape of his pupils that he, too, is using cat's eyes to see in the darkness. "I assume you have tried the window and the door?"

"Yes, they're well sealed. There is a pipe down here in the corner, though." I point it out from my vantage point on the table. After examining it closely Michael seems satisfied that it's worth trying. I can't bring myself to think about entering it again, and when he suggests we go, I find myself having to confess my fear. Surprisingly he takes me seriously.

"Then you will not try it again. I'll go through later and find a way to open either the door or the window. First, I want to let these injuries heal; it's hard to hold another shape when wounded."

Together we sit again, me on the table, him in the chair. As he takes off his shirt to get a better look at the wounds, I realize he carries his clothes with him when he shape changes, a trick I would like to know, since arriving everywhere naked could become inconvenient.

"How do you manage to keep your clothes with you when you change?"

As usual, he answers me with another question. "How do you take your hair with you?"

"I don't have to worry about that, it's part of me," I snap back.

"Think of your clothes as being part of you as well." It couldn't be that easy, but knowing Michael, it probably is. Frustrated, I change topics asking how he got himself injured before I succumb to the urge to injure him more.

"From Grief. I was incautious in following the trail he left. Knowing it was a trap, I should have kept better watch. He took me by surprise above this house while I flew as a hawk seeking an entrance. As a larger bird, he attacked me. Before I could react, he had torn my wing and struck my head. I couldn't stay aloft or in shape."

"That was stupid." The criticism slips out before I can stop it.

"I was distracted," he snaps.

"By what?" For a moment he is silent.

"By you. I was afraid he might have hurt you." For the first time I realize he does care about me. Maybe he isn't as selfish as I thought. Afraid to hurt him with an embrace, I reach down and take his hand in mine, giving it a squeeze. He looks up at me in surprise, then smiles; not a cocky smile, or an evil smile, but a real one which makes him look younger and kind.

"You should do that more often."

Still holding his hand I fall asleep.

1:3

When I wake, it's light in the room and Michael is gone. I presume he is trying the pipe, though when I go down on my knees to listen I don't hear any sounds from within it. Knowing I will have some time to wait before he can free me, I return to the table. The stale bread is still sitting there, but I keep fighting my hunger - I'm not that desperate yet.

A horrible yowling noise from the pipe makes me turn just in time to see a rodent shooting out of the opening. In midair it shapes into a black cat, landing squarely in the middle of my chest. All four sets of claws dig into my skin, and in spite of my resolve last night to try liking him I want to strangle the bastard.

"What the hell is your problem? Let go of me!" Struggling to peel Michael off, it is a few moments before I notice my shoes are making squishing noises on the floor and my socks are feeling very soggy. Water pouring steadily from the pipe is slowly turning the ground into nasty clinging mud. The onslaught of water must have driven Michael from the pipe, though it does not explain this reaction.

"Well, turn into something that likes water, for God's sake, and let go of me!"

"He will not do so. Certainly not for the sake of God."

Between Michael's behavior as a cat and the water sucking at my feet, I didn't hear the door open above us. Grief's voice brings an instant reaction from both of us as I back against a wall for protection and Michael begins hissing and spitting at our freakish brother.

With a single stroke of his bat wings and more grace than I expect from one so demonically shaped, Grief descends to ground level. Allowing his rags to drag in the muddy water, he slowly moves towards us while his wings shape away. Michael digs his claws deeper into my flesh. I don't understand why he seems so afraid.

"He will not descend to the water, little sister. Not for the sake of God, in whom he does not believe, nor for the sake of anyone else." Michael hisses louder, and I feel the blood draining from my face. This creature walking so sedately towards me is terrifying.

"How do you know?" I challenge, hoping he'll stop moving and keep talking. Beyond and above the door is still open. Somehow I need to get past him and escape.

"Did he tell thee we can not die little one?"

"SHUT UP!" Michael growls. I'm surprised, I hadn't known we could speak in other shapes. "She does not need to know that now."

"Why not? Why not tell our little sister the truth of our mortality? Tell her the Lord God in His wisdom ensured the end of all demons who walk this earth, through the purity of nature?"

"We can die?" My knees go weak from shock. Why had Michael lied to me, what purpose could it serve? Or is it this lunatic who is lying? I don't know whom to believe. My fingertips dig into the stones of the wall to prevent me from falling into the mud.

"I will protect her!" Michael hisses. Grief ignores him, speaking directly to me.

"Earth, fire, water. That which gives life, takes life. Each of us has our weakness, child. The demon should have spoken truth to thee."

"She had enough to bear, to understand. She had enough fears, I did not wish her to have more."

"I don't believe you. Michael may have treated me like shit in the past, but he's never lied."

"Then drop him into the water, little sister. Witness the truth." With emaciated fingers Grief gestures towards the floor, now up to my ankles with muddy water. Through the cloth of my shirt I can feel Michael's heart pounding. He really is terrified, confirming what Grief has told me is true. Without a second thought I embrace Michael tightly, no longer worried about the damage he is doing with his claws.

"Do not be afraid, little sister, thou willst not be harmed. I have already tested thee. Had thee passed through the pipe thou wouldst have discovered the water basin through which thou wouldst have had to swim. Had thee passed the water, thou wouldst have encountered a burning inferno, which would have at last turned thee back. Earth is thy nemesis, it is what drove thee from the pipe."

"You could have killed her!" Michael screams, shaking with fear or anger or both.

Grief ignores him. "Give me the demon, and thou willst be set free."

My terror in the pipe, the earth pressing against me stealing away my breath, now I understand. I only need to avoid underground places and I will be fine, nothing will be able to harm me. Relief floods through me. At least water will not be my death.

A skeletal finger touches my arm preparatory to pulling Michael from my grasp. I let myself get distracted, and Grief has closed the gap. With a scream of disgust I kick out, hoping I will shatter one of his fragile bones. Momentarily he falls to one knee, giving me a chance to escape. Leaping onto the table, I move us farther from the water threatening Michael's life.

"I won't let you kill him!" Grief is moving towards us again.

"Stay upon the table, it will serve little purpose, child. The water will rise unto the roof of this room, which is sealed tightly. Even should he rest upon thy head, he will eventually be consumed by the purifying water of the Lord."

Grief passes close to the table, moving toward the doorway. He is going to lock it again, trapping us both in here. I try desperately to form wings on my back, but I don't know how to control my powers that well yet. Nothing I can shape will carry both Michael and myself out of danger. Grief stands directly below the doorway and faces us again.

"I shall at last see thee destroyed little brother, just as I saw the end of the Egyptian whore. I still hear her cries in the flames as they returned her soul to Hell. Canst thou hear them too, little brother?"

Meaningless to me, the words send Michael into a frenzy. Before I can stop him he launches from my arms towards Grief's face, screaming in feline fury. With inhuman speed Grief snatches him from the air. Not one to be stopped Michael, still a cat, sets about ripping into the emaciated arm with all four sets of claws, ignoring the bony hand clasped firmly about his neck. I jump from the table to help. Before I can take a single step, Grief ends the battle with chilling finality. Swinging his arm in a smooth arc he smashes Michael's feline body against the hard stone wall.

Bone crushes as it connects with unyielding rock. Michael ceases all motion, hanging limp in Grief's grasp. Slowly, agonizingly, his cat form blurs, reshaping to his human one. Michael appears to be unconscious, blood streaming from his nose and mouth as Grief continues to hold him tightly by the throat. The angle at which he hangs is unnatural; I think Michael's back has been broken by the impact.

Screaming, I rush at Grief, striking with my fists and kicking with my feet. As though I were nothing more than a fly, he bats me away with his free hand, sending me flying back. I land in the muddy water next to the table.

"I have waited a very long time, little brother, to send thee back to the hell where thou and all of our ungodly brethren belong."

Laughing, he drops Michael's body. Water splashes onto me from the impact, causing me to close my eyes momentarily. When I open them again Grief is on his knees shoving Michael as far into the water and mud as possible. It isn't deep enough to cover him completely; most of his face and chest are above the surface. I am near enough to see the absolute terror in his eyes when they open again. Echoes of my experience in the pipe reawaken at the sight. I don't think: I simply act.

Leaping from the floor, I grab the chair, raising it high above my head. Envisioning muscles they become real, envisioning power, I make it mine. Shaping myself into a being of utter strength I lunge forward, smashing the chair over Grief's head; stunning him into releasing Michael. Before Grief can recover, I throw myself between the two, dragging Michael's head and upper body onto my lap, as much out of the water as possible. I'm too afraid of hurting him to lift him higher, so I pray that for now this will be enough to keep him alive.

"By what right do you dare condemn him?" Furious, I scream at this creature who speaks of God and attempts a murder in the same moment.

"By the divine right of the Lord Jesus Christ, who forgave me the sin of my birth and pointed me towards the path of my life."

"He told you to commit murder?"

"He told me to perform deeds worthy of the love of God! He told me to redeem myself!"

"He told people to love their enemies, to return kindness for ill! He would never condone anyone taking the life of another." Anger is rising dangerously within me. Had I not already Become, I think this madman might have pushed me to it. How many of our siblings have died at his hands? How many who might have shared their lives and stories with me? I want to turn into something dangerous, I want to make him pay for all those deaths.

"God did not mean ones such as he to exist!" Grief screams in his own defense, pointing a twisted finger at Michael, who is now waist deep in water. Beneath my hands I can feel his body shaking. I pull him up further.

"Of course He did! He meant everyone! He meant those who betrayed Him, He meant the Roman's who murdered His son. He did not discriminate against anyone due to their birth. If He had, then you would have had no hope at all. When He told you to perform deeds worthy of the love of God, murder is not what He meant."

"Thou art ignorant child."

"I may be younger than you, but I am not a child, nor am I ignorant. It's not the life you are given which determines your worthiness, but what you do with it. Did any of us choose to be half-human shape-shifters? No, we didn't, but it doesn't follow that because we are what we are that we must be evil!

"I have spoken to those who know Michael, who have lived with him, and whose ancestors lived with him for centuries. While you have been out hunting down and murdering our kind, he was helping people, people who were being persecuted by others like you, too holy for their own good."

"Lies, child. Lies to deceive thee."

"Not lies, truth! Have you ever given food to a poor man rather than prosecute him for stealing it? He has! Have you ever sheltered a person whose only crime was a difference in opinion regarding faith, when other sought to murder them? He has!" I'm warming to my subject now, remembering the endless stories Michael's cook, Ursula, has filled my ears with when I asked her to tell me about him.

"You are nothing but a pariah on this earth who has never lifted a finger to help another. He risked his life coming here to rescue me, knowing it was a trap and knowing your intentions. If he were the monster you describe, he would have left me to die. He is still a better man then you, and if you both died today, it's not he who would be sentenced to hell!"

Grief wavers. No longer menacing, he stops moving towards us, instead standing with confusion darkening his features. While he ponders, I act to save Michael, lifting him further from the water, dragging him onto the table. His face twists from the pain my movements must be causing, yet he remains silent through it all. When Michael is safe, I place myself between my brothers, ready to fight physically if necessary, though I hope it is words that will win this fight.

"He must die."

It seems that Grief has made his decision. I'm beginning to think it will take violence to get sense through his obviously thick skull. As he moves towards us again, I feel myself changing into the image I see in my mind: a she-wolf protecting its young. I don't fully become the wolf, though; instead I stand with its teeth, eyes and sharp claws, yet still on two legs, ready to defend my brother.

"Then, you hypocritical freak, you will have to kill me as well, for I renounce any faith which would condone your actions." Shocked, he stops. I gesture for him to come forward. "Come then, bastard, kill me for the apostate I now am. When I reach the gates of heaven I'll be sure to ask them what the truth is, because I know I'll be going there, and Michael will be close behind me."

"Thou knowest not what thou sayest." There is desperation in his tones. "Thou cannot forsake God for one such as he."

"I reject your idea of God. My God would not demand the death of anyone, my God is a loving God." The wolf wants to attack, to kill. I resist, but I'm impatient, tired of waiting for him to decide. "Now no more talking. If you want him dead, get over here and try!" I growl.

Grief doesn't move. Silence seems to go on forever as I stand between them, listening to Michael's tortured breathing behind me, and watching the face of the monster before me. At last, just when I am ready to give up all hope, Grief turns his back to us, shapes his wings, and rises to the doorway.

"I have much to think on."

"Turn off the water at least!" I shout as he closes the door. I hope he heard me.

The adrenaline rush that helped me shape this bizarre form passes, returning me to myself. With nothing to do but wait, I climb on the table, resting Michael's head upon my lap. His breathing is unsteady, whether from injuries or the pain I'm not certain. I wish I could do something to ease him, but there is nothing in this room which will help. Too bad immortality doesn't include invulnerability.

"You kept your clothes on." For a second I wonder if Michael is ranting, then I realize he is talking about my shaping. I had indeed kept my clothing when I took the werewolf form. Like he told me before, I had to let it simply be part of me.

"You're right," I laugh. At least something good has come out of this, but I don't laugh long. "Can you move anything?"

"No." His voice is rough; it must hurt him to speak. Suddenly I want to cry, I am so terribly afraid. How will I stop Grief from killing Michael if he decides to go through with murder? Or if Grief sets us free, how will I get Michael back to England if he can't move? God help me, I don't even know where we are.

Michael must sense the change in my mood, for despite his pain he speaks again. "I will heal, Eva, do not worry. I have been more seriously injured before." I find this hard to believe, but I don't argue. I want him to stay quiet, resting while he can.

For a while I stare at the water below us - hoping and praying that I am not wrong in thinking it has ceased to rise. Looking towards where I know the pipe lies near the ground, I no longer see the telltale ripples of a current. Thank God for small favors then. At least my words and actions had some impact.

"He's turned off the water." I tell Michael.

"Good." He doesn't sound as relieved as I'd hoped, but then I can only imagine what he must be going through, and it doesn't surprise me. I lean back on the wall once more, prepared to wait.

Exhausted, I finally fall asleep despite my resolve not to. Only when I feel Michael's weight suddenly lifted from me, do I wake. To my horror I see Grief holding him above the water. There is fear in Michael's eyes, though he doesn't show it on his face. Still paralyzed, he can do nothing to defend himself, and I know I can't get from the table to him in time, should Grief decide to drop him back into the water.

"Come, little sister." Gracefully, Grief rises, carrying Michael out of the room to the dry corridor above. I follow, flying out as a bird, then quickly change to myself when I am beside him. I don't trust Grief, so I prepare to take a stronger form if necessary. It isn't. He carries Michael to a nearby room, places him upon the clean bed within, then turns and leaves without a word of apology.

"I suppose this means he doesn't plan to kill you." I am more than a little surprised my words had actually worked.

"As soon as I can move, we are leaving." Michael growls. I don't blame him; Grief is too unpredictable to trust. Unfortunately, it will take time for Michael's broken bones to heal enough for movement. Despite our ability to recover more quickly than a normal human, he will not be well enough for days. Meanwhile, I'm tired. The bed is wide enough for two, so ignoring his protests I climb in to get some sleep while he mends.

"Wake me if you need anything," I mutter as I start to drift off.

"Eva?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you." I fall asleep smiling, knowing how much it must have cost him to say that.

1:4

Michael sat once more in Hannah's room, gratefully cradling her while Brigid read from another book. It had taken a full three days for him to recover from the broken back Grief had given him, and the healing had been agonizing. Even now he could feel stabbing pains when he moved too sharply, though he did not let the others of his household know.

Eventually, when Hannah drifted into sleep, he left her under the watchful eye of her nurse. Walking to the opposite side of the house, he paused to listen at Eva's door. The sounds of music came to him through the wood, reassuring him she was all right. He had worried about her, how the changes of Becoming would effect her, but she seemed to be doing fine. She was stronger than she believed, stronger even than he had thought.

As he moved through the rest of the house, everything was silent and peaceful. Stepping outside into the cool summer air, he breathed deeply, taking in all the scents upon the winds, reveling in the diversity. Shaping a wolf, he raced across the grounds, tearing the grass beneath his paws until he reached a favorite spot, where he stopped to enjoy the feel of wind blowing through his fur. Looking back at the house, he remembered the words he had read in Eva's journal the night she had been kidnapped by Grief.

She wondered what he did at night if he did not sleep. Leaping into the air, he became a bird, flying fast and dangerously through the obstacle course of the trees. Just as he passed by Eva's window, the light went out; she was going to sleep. Laughing a bird laugh, he passed by the window, swooping close to the garden grass before shooting straight upwards toward the moon. When he reached the apex of his flight, he turned, hurtling back down at a speed so dangerous it tore feathers from his tail.

At the last possible moment he slowed, alighting gently upon the ledge of Eva's open window. Like a child she slept, breathing softly and evenly while curled around one of her pillows. Hopping onto her bed, he walked to her ear and whispered the answer to her question in a gentle bird voice.

"I live."

episode i: journey into darkness - episode ii: tea party - episode iii: awakening
episode iv: the book of grief - episode v: paterfamilias - episode vi: breaking points
episode vii: the dark of the mind - episode viii: decisions
episode ix: momentary distractions - episode x: exorcising demons i
episode xi: porcelain visions - episode xii: the nature of jackals
episode xiii: exorcising demons ii - episode xiv: the invitation
episode xv: body & soul - episode xvi: mothering sunday
episode xvii: imbalance of power - episode xviii: interlude
episode xix: between life and death

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