The Heir of Archmond

 

Chapter 1

The moon cast ebbing shadows across the mill as clouds danced in the night sky. It was quiet, quiet even for the hidden mill on the outskirts of Archmond. Inside, a raven walked, pacing along the shelves filled with the strangest assortment of eclectic oddities. A jar filled with eyes turned, all following the raven’s movement. A deer head, mounted on the wall, turned to watch as the corvid flapped its wings and hopped onto a desk. Papers were strewn about, forms of some sort, all half-finished. The bird ignored these, as had whoever began them seemed to. It moved toward a door in the back of the strange shop, planting itself several feet away.

Near the handle of the door was a strange dial, divided into several sections with curious glyphs carved into each. The raven cocked its head expectantly. The dial began to move, first to a symbol resembling a tree, then to something like fire, then again to a crescent moon. Click, click, click, the dial turned and turned, finally stopping, the door now opening.

„I don’t really care! I’m not your nurse-maid!“

The raven flapped its wings and moved back as a woman, looking somewhere in her twenties with long, blonde hair stepped out. She wore a dark dress and a wide-brimmed hat that came up into a curved point. Throwing her hands into the air, she moved past the raven, removing the hat and tossing it onto the desk. After a moment, a great white dog, ghostly in demeanor, appeared in the doorway. It paused to sniff the air. It had little time to gain its bearings before a strange, thin man in a long suit pushed past. His features were nearly indecipherable, save for white, chilling eyes and a glowing, greedy smile. The hound narrowed its eyes as the man drifted through the air, following behind the woman.

„My dear, Lieselotte–“ he began.

„No! I am not your ‚dear.‘ Ours is a relationship of convenience and nothing more,“ she warned, spinning around on her heels.

„I’ve really got to you this time, haven’t I? Well, it’s hardly my concern one way or the other. I have business of my own.“

„Then attend to it!“ she cried, turning once more and marching into the shop proper.

The raven flapped its wings, flying a short distance to land up on the antlers of the mounted buck, gazing down at Lieselotte. She turned up, still frowning.

„Well?“ she asked impatiently. The raven merely crowed loudly. „If you want to tell me something, you’ll have to speak properly.“

„Having trouble with your pets?“ the Grinning Man asked coyly, drifting past her and toward the front door.

„Some of them,“ she growled as he threw the door open.

„Ooo… It’s comforting to know you still think so dearly of me. Do try to stay out of trouble while I’m gone. I won’t be around to save your pretty little face if something terrible should happen.“

„Terrible things will be happening shortly if you don’t leave.“

The Grinning Man gave a mock bow and disappeared out the door. Lieselotte fumed, letting out a gasp of frustration before she felt something soft rub against her palm. She turned to see the white dog, pressing itself against her. Her scowl faded and she knelt beside the large beast, pulling her arms around it.

„Xaran, I don’t know what I’d do without you.“ The dog merely gave a quiet, wheezing whine as she peppered it with kisses and affection. Finally releasing him, Lieselotte stood, taking a deep, cleansing breath. Forcing a smile, she turned once more toward the raven. „Now, did we have any orders while I was gone?“

The raven crowed and squawked loudly, Lieselotte’s faux grin dissolving quickly. Eyes narrowing, she looked down at the deer the bird was perched on.

„Did we have any orders?“ she repeated.

The disembodied buck’s head cocked and turned, nodding toward her desk, the raven forced to flutter over to another mounted head. Lieselotte moved to her desk, taking up the papers there. She looked them over for several moments before dropping them back on the desk. Grabbing up her witch’s hat, she moved toward the door, pausing as her hand grabbed the knob. „Keep an eye on things. I’m going out to harvest.“ She paused for a moment, weighing the value of her next words and ultimately deciding to share them. „Also, your handwriting is atrocious.“ Lieselotte stepped out and closed the door firmly behind her.

Fluttering down from the head of a mounted bear, the raven hopped toward the door, cocking it’s head curiously, waiting and watching for a moment. Convinced she was gone, it turned and flew up to a shelf lined with strange flowers and what appeared to be a human hand. It turned back to the door.

„Brat.“

****

Lieselotte moved through the makeshift garden behind the mill, a wicker basket hanging from one arm and a piece of parchment in the opposite hand. Squinting in the darkness, the witch muttered a few indecipherable words under her breath and a tiny ball of light appeared, hovering near her shoulder and illuminating a page.

„Let’s see… bat thorn, shimmerweed, and athelas.“ Nodding to herself, she tucked the paper away and gave a final look at the remainder of the garden, making a mental note to check on the rest of them the next time she was in Archmond. She passed through the gates of her garden, a guarding demon statue giving a low bow as she moved by. She plucked the key for the mill from the air, the metal materializing in her hand as it moved toward the door, but before she could open it, a shriek pierced the night. She turned, closing her fist and dissolving the key as she stared into the night. The walls of Archmond proper were a good hundred yards away, the city lying otherwise quiet in the moonlight. The castle, Chateau du Archmond sat above the city on a narrow precipice, like a hungered tiger hunched over its prey, the moon glittering off it’s windows like a dozen spider eyes. Quirking her lips, Lieselotte turned back to the door, once more. Before she could even conjure the key again, another scream rang out through the night.

„I swear, if it’s Grin,“ she growled, turning from the mill and marching into the night. She followed the road as it led into the village properly. As she drew closer, she could make out a shadowy figure rushing through between the closed shops and houses. As it stepped into the moonlight, Lieselotte could see it was a woman, or at least a petite man in a lovely dress. Her wailing once more cleared up the matter in Lieselotte’s mind, the necromancer looking to see what she was running from. In a moment another figure, this time heavily cloaked slipped from the buildings, overtaking the woman in seconds.

Tackling her to the ground, the figure dragged her toward a large building, a warehouse if Lieselotte remembered correctly. The figure’s intentions were quite clear as it hunched over her pinning her arms and pulling aside the hem of her dress. Fire burning in her eyes, the necromancer moved faster, arm outstretched. Her lips moved in a silent, ancient spell, a ball of dark energy growing in her palm. With a flash of light it shot off, slamming into the cloaked figure, knocking him clear of the woman.

Lieselotte continued closer as the woman scurried to her feet, looking about for only a second before scrambling toward her savior. She nearly knocked Lieselotte off her feet as she threw her arms around her.

„Please! We must run!“

„There is a mill down the road. Tell the raven Lieselotte sent you,“ she replied, her voice betraying no sense of panic or urgency.

„What?“

„Do it,“ she repeated, sending the woman on her way. The woman nodded and rushed off down the road, Lieselotte now turning her attention back to the attacker. She scanned the perimeter of the warehouse. It seemed he was gone.

She approached the scene quickly, kneeling to inspect the grounds. She found heavy boot prints in the soft dirt paired up with lighter ones, no doubt belonging to the woman she had rescued. She stared closely at the heavy prints. There was some sort of pattern in the print, an unusual occurrence for the standard smooth boots of Archmond workers. The struggle had marred it badly, but it seemed to be diamond shaped.

„Who goes there?“ came a deep, masculine voice. The witch stood, pulling her hat quickly from her head. A lantern appeared around the bend of shops and houses, held by a portly man. He approached quickly, a sword at his side and a dark cloak around his shoulders. „It is after curfew, what business do you have?“ he asked.

Lieselotte adopted a demure smile, nodding slightly. „Pardon me, sir. I was simply in the area. I heard a woman in distress and came to investigate.“

The guard seemed ruffled, pushing past her and casting his light over the area. „Where? I see no one?“

„Oh, but surely you heard her screams, good sir? She was assaulted on this very spot.“

The guard looked over the area then turned back, eying the witch suspiciously. He raised his lantern and drew closer to her, his free hand now resting on the hilt of his sword. „And did you see this mysterious attacker?“

„Oh, of course not, sir,“ she replied, eying the diamond crest of Archmond that latched his cloak together.

„Good. Perhaps you best be off then,“ he sneered, taking one more glance at the scene.

„Oh, I shall. That poor girl, I’m surprised she wasn’t completely smothered.“

„What?“ the guard said, turning back.

„Judging by the depth of those boot prints, her assailant had to be quite the heavy man. Portly, even.“

„I think it’s time your returned to your home, Madam,“ the guard reiterated.

„Very well, but if you need something for the bruising on your sides, come by my mill. I might have a salve.“

The guard opened his mouth to respond, but quickly froze. Lieselotte merely smiled as she began walking back down the road.

„Halt,“ he cried out. She could hear his heavy steps as he rushed to her, grabbing her shoulder and forcing her around.

„Couldn’t find any willing tail at the tavern?“ she asked.

The man drew his blade, aiming it at her throat. He moved to skewer the witch, but his blade refused to move. „Wh-what… You’re a witch!“

„Oh no, good sir, you must be mistaken. I’m just a humble clerk.“

The guard pulled on his blade, but it was frozen in hair. „Release my sword!“

„Oh, I’m afraid I can’t help with that either. I’m not the one holding it,“ she replied, still quietly moving back to her mill.

The guard’s eyes moved from the now disappearing Lieselotte to his blade where a gloved hand was slowly materializing around the blade. „I am.“ The sinister voice pierced the man’s heart, causing him to drop to his knees. Bit by bit, the Grinning Man appeared, twisting the sword around.

Lieselotte turned the handle of the now unlocked mill, hesitating only a second as one final scream pierced the night. With a smile, she stepped inside.

Chapter 2

„You could’ve gotten a reward out of her, you know.“ Lieselotte ignored her ethereal companion as she moved through the mill, arranging bottles of various liquids and potion ingredients. This did little to discourage the Grinning Man as he drifted closer and closer to her. „Maybe enough to get away from the mill.“

„She was a servant girl,“ Lieselotte groaned. She rolled her eyes and shoved the rest of her armload onto a nearby shelf unceremoniously. „She had no money!“

„But surely her masters-„

„Find her as easily replaceable as a missing handkerchief. Nobility are the same wherever we go.“

„Yes, rich and easy to manipulate.“

„No,“ she held out a correcting finger. „Disconnected and unconcerned about those they rule over.“ She paused for a moment. „And… your thing, I suppose. But mainly the latter.“

It was far too early for this much frustration and drama. She was already having a dreadful time adjusting to the local time after moving from such a distant shop, and now she had to deal with him. Weren’t the missives from the Council and stacks of orders enough? But as she heard the door of mill open, she saw her relief approaching in a bundle of white fur. Her frown quickly dissolved into a smile as she knelt and wrapped her arms around the wheezing dog.

„Xaran! My dear sweetness… you would never try to exasperate me like Grin, would you?“ The dog sat silently as the young witch poured out her affections on the beast, only the hollow chuckling of the Grinning Man disturbing them. „Don’t be jealous, Grin. It’s unbecoming.“

„Oh I’m far from envious of your little pet, but I might implore your to look a little closer,“ he replied as his gloved hand gestured toward the dog’s mouth.

There, camouflaged in its fur was a large, white envelope. Lieselotte stared at the envelope for several seconds, unwilling to acknowledge its existence out loud, her eyes filled with a hint of betrayal.

„It’s not going away,“ Mr. Grin said.

Lieselotte stood, brushing stray fur from her dark clothes before taking the envelope. Blazoned across the back was a bright, blue diamond crest. She stared at the seal, silent and unmoving. She gave a low humph and tossed the letter over her shoulder, marching back to her desk. Of course, the letter never reached the ground, but was instead caught by a disembodied white glove.

The witch dropped into her seat and pulled the orders that had piled up in her absence close. They were extraordinarily boring, but it was still work.

„To the Madam in charge of the Mill,“ echoed the Grinning Man’s voice.

„Do I have any mandrake root?“ the witch asked, staring at her order.

„- in recognition of your brave service to Archmond-„

„I think it’s in the herbalist bag. I hope it’s still good.“

„-you are cordially invited to Castle Dupin-„

„Wait, does he seriously expect me to just have void root laying — floating around?“

„-to receive personal gratitude from from the Dupin family.“

„Are you quite done?“ Lieselotte’s balled fist had somehow slammed into the desk without her knowledge or permission. A light air of laughter was the only response for several moments as she took long, deep breaths to calm herself.

„Signed… Charlotte Dupin, Stewardess of Archmond.“

Lieselotte stood and moved past the Grinning Man, snatching her hat from a surprised bear head mounted on the wall near the door. The Grinning Man drifted through the air carelessly, his smile piercing the darkness of the mill. „Where are you going?“

„I need more ingredients.“

„You’re not going to find void root around here.“

„Then I suppose I’ll walk,“ she replied as she opened the door, shafts of blinding light bursting in.

„To the desert?“

„If I must. Xaran!“

The white dog stood from where it had been laying in the corner and joined its mistress outside. The first morning rays were arching over the town and in the distance a cock’s crow echoed. Lieselotte didn’t seem to be moving toward anything in particular, having simply started down the nearest road, silently marching.

„Why don’t you want to go?“ the Grinning Man’s voice whispered.

„Because you wish it.“ This was met with raucous laughter, which bothered her only slightly less than his actual talking.

„You don’t really think you have a choice in the matter, do you?“

„You’re witnessing my choice in the matter.“

„You can’t turn down a summons from the nobility. Who knows what they might do to your little mill if you offend them.“

„Let them burn it if they feel so inclined; it will be less work for me,“ she replied.

„Oh, and how will the Council react if they knew their representative acted so poorly to the governing family?“

Lieselotte stopped, fists clenched and a sour expression twisting her face. She didn’t really think the mill would be burned down. Even if it was, it would only mean one less shop to manage and the Council would find plenty of ways for her to make up the difference. Either way, the Council was unlikely to be pleased with her disrupting their business in an area like Archmond. What should she do? She hated pausing to think like this. She needed to say something clever, and quickly before Grin –

„You’re going, aren’t you?“

„Only to be done with the matter all the sooner.“ She held her hand out and the Grinning Man gently laid the invitation in her grasp. She opened it, reading through the important bits. Cordially invited…impending ascension… Count Dupin… „Count Dupin?“

„It seems the former Count passed away not long ago. His son is set to inherit the title soon and they’re having a banquet to celebrate,“ the Grinning Man informed her.

„You seem quite knowledgeable about the local nobility. Suspiciously so.“

The Grinning Man’s form materialized before her, hovering in the air, the morning light radiating through him as he balanced somewhere between this world and the next. He leaned closer, his grinning maw inches from her. „I’m a keeper of knowledge, my dear. It’s my job.“

„Then share one bit of it: why are you so keen on my attending?“ she asked. Her golden curls, even shadowed by her large hat, shimmered in the sunlight, her blue eyes attempting to pierce his mysterious demeanor.

„Well… there’s really only one way to find out.“

****

The gleaming alabaster brickwork of Castle Dupin sat upon an otherwise rocky mountain edge, flattened and cleared out over years by the hard working lower class of Archmond. It looked down upon the town, not unlike the nobility themselves, physically separated from the commoners by a deep and jagged gorge. The multiple towers and stained glass adorning the entrance overlooked an unnatural garden, likely also built on the backs of the townsfolk, that sprawled off to either side of the castle.

Lieselotte’s footfalls echoed against the hardwood of the drawbridge as she neared the front gate. She had debated for some time whether it was prudent to bring her witch’s hat, but knowing that a great deal of nobility and constabulary would be present eventually swayed her toward leaving it behind, along with the raven and her beloved Xaran who would mind the shop in her absence. Her short absence. She had no love for the ruling class, flaunting their wealth and imposing their will on those too weak to resist. She had dealt with them before, in other counties of course, but they were all the same. They’d come to her in the dead of night, unseen by the judgmental eyes of their peers, begging for the resurrection of a loved one, or perhaps a charming elixir to woo the object of their affection. Some even had the gall to demand elixirs of life to unnaturally extend their worthless existences. She took great delight in presenting each and every one of them with the stacks of paper the Council required for such matters (and usually burning them after they left empty handed).

Her attention was drawn back to matters at hand as the loud caterwauling of players at the gate welcomed her and the few other guests that were attending. A flute, a ragged tambourine, and what might pass for a mandolin in Archmond, she supposed. The voice, while not entirely awful, was still unwelcoming. It echoed from the lips of a woman near her own age, with tanned skin showing she spent a good portion of her day in the sun. Brown, lightly curled locks framed a sun kissed face which sported a sprinkling of freckles from cheek to cheek.

The woman lowered her instrument, though the band continued playing. She doffed her large cap and offered an exaggerated bow, obviously designed to placate the nobility, and welcomed Lieselotte to Castle Dupin. The witch raised a skeptical eyebrow and continued in, entering a large, verdant courtyard.

The Castle was, in her eyes, more a glorified manor. She’d certainly visited bigger, but none that tried so desperately to signal their importance and status. The trees that dotted the area were non-native, as her botanical knowledge informed her, and she could see where the groundskeepers were having difficulties in maintaining them.

„I wouldn’t be surprised if they painted them green.“

„We can check when no one is looking,“ offered an invisible voice.

„Absolutely not. I do not wish to be here a moment longer than necessary.“

„You are terribly boring, you know that?“

Lieselotte ignored her spectral companion’s words and moved to the open wooden doors of the Castle, presenting her invitation to an older gentlemen. He wore a gray mustache, well trimmed and thick enough to hide his mouth. His skin was pocked with age-marks, though she could tell he used some sort of makeup to conceal them. He fumbled with a monocle, scrutinizing every word of the invitation, as if uncertain. Lieselotte sighed inaudibly, waiting for his skepticism to be satisfied and taking some amusement in the shine of the setting sun reflecting off his largely bald head.

„Ah… yes. The, er… shopkeeper. I was … informed about you. Welcome to Castle Dupin.“

„Indeed,“ she snipped and stepped inside. At that moment, a large cacophony of metal, gears, and creaking wood echoed through the courtyard. Lieselotte turned on her heels, eyes darting to the slowly raising drawbridge. „They intend to lock us in?“

„Hardly, Madam,“ the steward replied. „Security of the family demands the bridge be raised when not in use. I assure you, we will gladly lower it when you’re ready to leave.“

Lieselotte ignored the man’s curt tone and made her way inside, waiting until she was alone to comment. „Mustn’t give the rabble a chance to approach them, I suppose.“ She walked in silence for several moments before looking around, waiting for Mr. Grin’s response. Well, she supposed, if he wished to wander off, all the better for her.

It wasn’t long before a familiar attendant approached her, head bowed. „You’re the girl that loathsome guard was assaulting,“ Lieselotte reasoned. She hadn’t gotten a good look at her in the dark, nor did she care to inspect her back at the mill. In all honesty, she had hoped the girl would return home without a word of Lieselotte’s involvement, but, as the witch now stood in the halls of Castle Dupin, this was clearly not the case.

The girl’s head was covered with a brown, silk scarf, obviously expensive and likely soft to the touch, but still lowkey and unassuming. This did little to hide the bright, blonde hair that draped down her back, bundled in a tight braid. As she raised up, her blue eyes and pale skin were visible, her pallor likely indicative of the appearance of her masters. „Many thanks,“ she said, her eyes refusing contact with Lieselotte’s. „Forgive my impudence, but I cannot begin to express my gratitude for your actions.“

„Think nothing of it,“ the witch replied. „Though I am curious what a small thing like you was doing that far from the castle in the dead of night.“

The servant did not acknowledge Lieselotte’s query, but instead gestured toward the hallway before them. „Mistress Dupin is awaiting your arrival.“

Lieselotte grinned and followed behind the servant, taking in the decorations. The stained glass she had seen outside scattered a rainbow of colors onto the floors and walls and, near the dining room that was their final destination hung an incredibly large portrait of an older couple, the man wearing a decorated military uniform and the woman adorned in a fine gown with a large ruby hanging from her neck. Thinking back to the servant’s complexion, she was pleased to see her theory proven correct. The artist likely crushed every oyster shell in the county to produce the proper tint for the couple.

„Who else was so blessed as to receive an invitation?“ Liselotte asked.

„Four others, milady,“ the servant replied. „The Viscounts, here to pay respects.“

„Only four? I would’ve assumed the entire county would be invited.“

„Begging your pardon, but that… that is the entire county.“

Lieselotte arched an eyebrow. She supposed the manor masquerading as a castle made sense now. „Such a tiny place attempting to stand so tall.“ The servant didn’t reply.

A moment later the door to the dining hall was opened and Lieselotte shielded her eyes from the brightness. Candelabrum burned around the room, chandeliers glittered in the light, and nearly anything that could be adorned in gold was. It turned the witch’s stomach.

The room was already filled with conversation and clinking of glasses as the nobility seemed to be at least a few glasses into their evening. She saw at the head of the room what must be the Dupin family. A man in his late twenties, light hair perfectly groomed, wearing a uniform that matched the one from the painting in the hall. Beside him, a slightly younger woman, as pale as the rest of the family, with piercing green eyes, dark hair, and gown that easily required a team of seamstresses to craft and cost enough to feed one of the families in the town below for year. Two empty seats sat, one to either side of the couple, and off to the woman’s left was another exquisitely dressed lady. She looked very similar to the uniformed man, at least in the face, and her hair was pulled up into a tight but regal bun.

The rest of the nobility were seated across from them and Lieselotte quickly decided that she would take the seat furthest away. Unfortunately for her, the servant chose that moment to announce her. She felt like an animal on display as the nobles stared at her and her dark gown. The Viscounts seemed almost amused by her presence, though she could see the woman at the center of the table, whom she assumed must be the Countess-to-be, was more than displeased with her presence. She turned to the man, presumably the Count-to-be, and hurriedly whispered in his ear. He pulled away from her with practiced ease, trying to calm her. She turned and opened her mouth to address Lieselotte but was beaten by the other woman at the table.

„You must be our heroine!“ Lieselotte forced a smile. „Please, I have a seat reserved for you right here,“ she continued, gesturing at the empty chair between herself and the Countess-to-be. She grinned widely as she repeated the insisting gesture. Lieselotte hesitated. She could see she was being made into a tool of irritation, and while she despised being used by anyone, she did find some enjoyment in the idea of annoying the Countess-to-be. With a nod, she approached the table.

Surprisingly, the Viscounts stood to acknowledge her presence, likely following the example of the woman urging her forward.

„It is a pleasure to meet you. I am Charlotte Dupin, Stewardess of Archmond,“ the woman said, giving only the slightest of bows.

„There is no such title,“ came the irked response of the other woman.

„Sariah!“ The uniformed man stepped beside his wife. „Charlotte has acted in good faith as a stewardess of the county.“

Lieselotte paused, hand rested on the back of her chair. Charlotte suppressed a chuckle and gestured toward the other two. „And these are Walter and Sariah Dupin, my brother and his wife.“

„The Count and Countess of Archmond,“ Sariah added.

„In three days,“ Charlotte replied. „My apologies. We never did get your name.“

„What need does a scullery maid have for a name?“ Sariah spat before taking her seat.

Charlotte’s demeanor dropped for a moment, but a brighter smile replaced it.

„Lieselotte,“ the witch replied, taking her seat. She turned to stare directly at the Countess, smiling.

„It’s looking at me, Walther.“

„Now, Sariah, my sister dear,“ Charlotte interrupted, „Lieselotte is a heroine. She prevented the assault on our precious Genevieve.“ Sariah seemed unconcerned with Charlotte’s words, instead turning back to her glass of wine, trying to ignore the witch’s gaze. „You know? Our dear servant whom you sent out? In the middle of the night?“

„I wanted grapes. Grapes, I might add, she failed to acquire.“

„You… sent your servant out for grapes? In the middle of the night?“ Lieselotte’s grin dissolved into a sour expression.

„I don’t believe I was speaking with you,“ the Countess replied.

„Ladies, please!“ Walther slid into his seat, forcing a smile as he glanced out over the dining hall. „I think perhaps it is time we began our meal.“

„Indeed. I’m through waiting for the child,“ Sariah said.

„Marie will join us when she joins us.“ Charlotte took her seat and lifted her glass. „There is little use in worrying, Sariah. It will only give you more wrinkles.“

The Countess drew in her lips, fingers curling against the table cloth. Charlotte’s smile returned at this sight and she signaled Genevieve to begin the meal.

The food was passable, though a bit rich for Lieselotte’s tastes. She longed for the never-ending courses to reach their conclusion so that she might escape the bickering of the family and the boasting of the Viscounts. Halfway through the pheasant a young girl drifted in, no more than 18 by the witch’s estimation. Her dress was fine, though slightly disheveled, as if she gave little care to her appearance. She looked like a miniature Charlotte, though her hair was longer, rolled down her gown, and was speckled with what Lieselotte could only assume were flecks of paint.

She took her seat next to Walther with little ceremony (though the Viscounts did stand). A plate was quickly placed in front of her and she reached out a blue-stained hand to partake.

„Marie, could you not be bothered to wash before dinner?“ Walther asked in a low whisper.

„Oh, brother, I was entranced by the most generous of muses. I could not tear myself from the canvass.“ She paused her to take a hefty bite of the roast meat before her. „In truth, I would still be there if not for the rumbling of my tummy.“

„Disgusting child,“ Sariah remarked.

„Are you an artist?“ Lieselotte asked.

„Yes,“ she replied, „though not a very good one, yet. Hopefully, I shall become as good a Sir Martìn someday.“ Marie’s gaze never left her food, nor did she bother to ask who the strange woman in the black gown sitting at her table was.

„She is a talented child,“ Charlotte added. „Though I wish she’d spend more time worrying about Archmond and her future.“

„Those who desire to waste their future should be left to it,“ came the response from Sariah as she turned her own attention to the food.

„Do you believe art to be a waste, Countess Dupin?“

Sariah curled her lips as though Lieselotte’s words were a foul taste stuck on her lips. She gave the witch only a glance before turning toward her husband. She glared at him, forcing the Count to look about for a distraction before clapping his hands.

„Summon the players. We should like some entertainment with our food.“

„Traveling vagabonds are not proper entertainment,“ she complained. “Especially not the trollop,“ the Countess objected, stressing the final, biting word. Her husband took a deep breath and signaled for the troupe to be summoned once more.

Moments later the hall rang with music. The band wandered the hall, a lilting flute chirping as a deep drum boomed. The ragged tambourine rattled and the freckled woman strummed her mandolin as she serenaded the audience. She sang of a great king and queen cut down in their prime and the evil witch who usurped their throne. The only actual witch in the room stifled a laugh, watching as note by note the Countess grew more and more flustered with the song. Perhaps the evening would not be all bad.

Chapter 3

Dinner ended with only minor complaining from the would-be Countess about the singing. Strangely, Lieselotte found herself enjoying the mandolin player’s voice more now than when she had met her at the gate. Still, it was growing late and the witch was desperate to be free of this social obligation.

„It was certainly an evening, but unless you have further business with me, I believe I should be taking my leave.“

Charlotte took a long sip from her wine glass, her attention still on Sariah and the band. She lazily turned to Lieselotte, gesturing toward their empty plates with her glass. „Was the food not enough for you?“

She quirked her lips to one side. „Oh, believe me, Madame Dupin, it was far more than I desired.“

Charlotte summoned the servant from the gate with a gesture. „Donovan, please lower the drawbridge. I believe the evening has come to an end.“

„I should say not!“ Sariah frowned and stood up. „This is a celebration of my ascension as Countess!“

„Our,“ her husband quietly corrected.

„They’ve left their gifts and toasted your beauty at least five times more than you deserve,“ Charlotte countered, leaving to Sariah to count the evening’s toasts silently on her fingers. „Don’t you think they deserve some measure of benevolence from their new countess?“

„Darling, there will be a festival in the village when we ascend, you can soak up all the admiration you desire then,“ Walther offered.

Sariah crossed her arms and refused to acknowledge either of them. Lieselotte looked across the room. Marie had long since abandoned her food and table to converse personally with the Viscounts, apparently about art. The steward, Donovan, stood at the opposite end of their table, nervously waiting for confirmation. The witch decided that her evening was over. With a forced smile, she bowed to Charlotte and Sariah, the latter of whom ignored her and seemed to take pleasure in her departure.

Her leaving seemed to have stirred the desires of the Viscounts and they soon began to follow suite. With Donovan leading the way, the scattered group began their exodus through the great hallway once more, the very hints of moonlight now shining through the stained glass. With candles lighting their way, Lieselotte stopped, causing a small disruption in the flow of the visitors.

„What is happening?“ she asked. She gestured toward the painting of the previous count and countess, now laid on its side on the floor. Her answer came momentarily as two servant brought in a new, larger portrait of Walther and Sariah. Before Donovan could properly explain, a shriek pierced the hallway.

„What is this?“

Lieselotte turned to see Charlotte, pushing through the players and the Viscounts to point at her parents‘ portrait. The servants carrying the new painting halted in their steps and Donovan seemed at a loss.

„Charlotte, dear, you’re making a scene.“ Sariah stepped through the void in the crowd left by her sister-in-law.

„You’re not countess yet!“

„It’s only a formality, dear,“ she replied, a wicked smirk curling her lips. „In mere days I shall be, and I want you to know, Archmond appreciates the work you’ve done while waiting for us.“

Flames lit in Charlotte’s eyes, and Lieselotte thought she might have attacked the soon-to-be countess if not for the little servant girl, Genevieve, stepping between them.

„Mistress… perhaps I should run your bath.“

Charlotte started between her servant and Sariah. With a great huff, she turned, signaling Genevieve. The servant nodded and followed her mistress down the hall and up a set of stairs, disappearing. This was not quite the end, as each of the Viscounts took a moment to praise the workmanship of the new portrait. Sariah, of course, drank in their adulation, but one person seemed to sour the mood. The minstrel girl with the freckles and mandolin had quietly made her way to the old portrait, kneeling beside it. She stared at the count and countess. Lieselotte could just make out the hint of tears in the corner of the player’s eyes.

„And what do you think you’re doing?“ Sariah asked.

Walther stepped between the two women. „Dear, just… leave her be. She was fond of my parents.“

„I’m sure the little bedswerver was, but -„

„That’s enough!“ Walther’s eyes boiled with rage as he took hold of his wife’s arm. The young bard looked up from the painting, watching as the soon-to-be Count tugged Sariah away from the group. „Donovan, see out guests out.“

Lieselotte watched as the mandolin player’s gaze followed the couple. She might have considered the situation longer, but the opening of the front door was enough of a signal to bring her back to the present. She turned, toward the entrance, the Viscounts now already moving into the outer courtyard, her movements halted only by the soft sound of crying. She looked back one final time and watched as the player wiped a tear from her eye before the the rest of her troupe came to console her.

„What’s the meaning of this?!“

Lieselotte turned her attention back to the exiting Viscounts, all now surrounding the steward in a fervor. She stepped closer in an attempt to decipher the garble of complaints and shouts.

„Please, calm yourselves! We will have it repaired immediately!“ The Stewrad, Donovan, stood with his back pressed against the wall, four Viscounts in an uproar. They shouted about appointments and desires and a host of things that would do little to solve the situation. A situation Lieselotte immediately understood.

„What did you do to the drawbridge?“ she asked away from the crowd.

A thin smile materialized in the air before her. „I’m sure I have no idea what you’re referring to.“

„What is your game, Grin?“

„A game? Ooo… you know, perhaps there is a game to be had in all of this. But not quite yet.“

„Grin! Grin? Don’t you disappear on me!“ It was too late. The witch was alone now, shouting at nothing. Fists balled, she turned to the overwhelmed steward, pushing aside two of the Viscounts. „Lords and ladies, please give me your silence!“

The group turned to the witch, uncertain. Several still muttered, but her sharp tone and piercing eyes took quick control of the situation. „Your complaints are lost on this little man. He has no more power to fix the bridge than to fly. I suggest you hold your peace and allow him to find us lodging for the night until help can be summoned.“ She turned, eying the steward. „I trust that will be acceptable.“

„Y-yes! Of course.“ The steward stepped through the hole parted by Lieselotte. „Allow me to take you to the parlor. I shall have drinks served while I inform the family. Of course we shall see that accommodations are made for your .. er… unplanned stay.“

A general air of consent settled over the group and they fell in line behind Lieselotte as the steward led them back inside. „Mister…?“

„Tuttle, madam. Donovan Tuttle.“

„Yes. Mr. Tuttle, how long do you think it will be before your men have the bridge repaired?“

The group wound through the hallway and began the ascent up the grand staircase, several of the players from the evening’s entertainment watching in confusion. „Oh, we don’t have anyone on staff. We’ll have to send word to the village.“

„And… how will you contact the village? And how shall they repair a drawbridge they can’t cross?“

„I… well, we do have ways of signaling the constabulary. Though I’m not certain how they’ll cross to affect repairs. Perhaps a rope?“

Liesolette rolled her eyes and chose not to pass this information on to the Viscounts behind her. They would clearly be no more help to the situation than Mr. Tuttle was.

After a few moments of travel across the second floor, the group arrived at the parlor where the steward immediately served up several glasses of wine. Lieselotte left her glass untouched as the Viscounts settled in, drinking and discussing the lack of preparation the Dupins were exercising. After a few minutes, the door opened and the scent of lavender and vanilla wafted across the witch’s nostrils. She turned to see Mr. Tuttle speaking with the servant girl, Genevieve.

„Please prepare rooms for all our guests.“

„I’ll have to wait until I’ve finished with the family, sir.“

„Well, be quick about it!“

„Yes, sir!“

She approached the flustered steward, eliciting the slightest of gasps from him as she tapped his shoulder. „Mr. Tuttle, might I inquire as the plans for tonight?“

„Oh, Miss… er…“

„Lieselotte.“

„Yes, well… I have someone preparing rooms, though she is rather slow. It may take a while, so please, help yourself to the wine and brandy.“

„What about the family?“ she asked.

„Well, I must inform them now of what has happened.“

„So… we may not have accommodations? What if the Countess objects?“

Mr. Tuttle hurriedly shushed the witch, checking to see if the Viscounts had heard her. „I’m… I’m sure the Count will understand the situation. If you’ll excuse me I must… speak with them.“ His body tensed as he completed the sentence, as if summoning up courage. Lieselotte nodded and allowed the steward to leave, returning to the Viscounts.

Within minutes Lieselotte was surprised to find herself thoroughly engaged with the nobles. They had been impressed with her seating next to the Countess and even inspired by her ability to take charge of the situation at the drawbridge. Soon they were bombarding her with a barrage of questions, most of which she simply deflected. Still, it was strangely pleasant.

Viscount Conan, a widower, shared his story of meeting the Dupins and did not skimp on the lurid details of their dealings. Viscountess Christie, a younger woman who clearly dressed to impress the other nobles, seemed fascinated by the clerk job that Lieselotte worked. Collecting herbs and processing requests (for what exactly she was purposefully vague) seemed absurdly intriguing to the woman. Lastly, Viscount and Viscountess LeBlanc, a middle-aged couple apparently focused on conceiving an heir, shared a story about the instability within the family, most especially since the marriage of Walther and Sariah.

Liselotte gave only token gestures of attention to their stories, instead worrying about spending the night at Castle Dupin. She supposed that if she could get away from the group she might be able to conjure the appropriate enchantment to extricate her from the grounds, but her disappearance might cause more of a fuss than it was worth. Perhaps she could take another look at the drawbridge when the others went to bed and see if she couldn’t undo whatever the Grinning Man had obviously done to it.

Her train of thought was derailed by a loud scream from above. The gathered guests halted their conversation only momentarily before they began to chuckle. Lieselotte ignored them and tried to focus as the screeching continued. It was certainly the Countess-to-be and she was not holding anything back. Her tirade was dotted with profanities and insults, both at her husband and, apparently, Mr. Tuttle. Just as it seemed to cool, a final exclamation of „trollop“ echoed through the walled, eliciting a larger laugh from the Viscounts.

„Must be the top of the hour,“ Mr. Conan proclaimed. „The woman’s complaints are more regular than any clock I’ve found.“

This brought another round of laughter from the group as they enjoyed their spirits.

„I wonder what they’ll do with the musicians?“ Mrs. LeBlanc asked. „I can’t imagine Sariah would allow them to stay in the manor.“

„She has no choice, dear. There’s nowhere for them to go,“ her husband answered.

„That would hardly stop her,“ Ms. Christie added. „She’s just as likely to throw them from the drawbridge.“

„Mmm,“ Conan interjected, sipping his brandy. „At the very least, Ingrid.“

„Who is Ingrid?“ Lieselotte asked, returning to the circle of Viscounts.

„Oh, dear Lord, woman. You are in for a wonderful story,“ Conan replied.

„Oh! May I?“ Christie asked. The Viscount merely nodded and took another sip. „The players from this evening, they’ve been with House Dupin for years. In fact, most of them are the children of the original players.“

„Fascinating, but what does this have to do with Ingrid?“ Lieselotte asked.

„I’m getting there, dear. You see, Ingrid grew up playing in this very manor. Alongside a certain soon-to-be Count.“

„She was friends with Walther?“

„More than friends,“ Mr. LeBlanc added, „if the rumors are to believed.“

„Mmm, yes, and now young Ingrid is the leader of that merry troupe,“ Christie finished.

„Ah, the freckled mandolin player? Intriguing. I suppose this is why the Countess is so,,, -„

„Loathsome toward her?“ Mrs. LeBlanc asked. „Most certainly. It’s a well known secret that young Walther and Ingrid were lovers. But Sariah’s family has strong connections and the Dupins‘ power has been waning.“

„Fascinating.“

The door opened once more and a disheveled Mr. Tuttle appeared. He began to speak, but was quickly drawn away by an unseen figure. As the Viscounts continued their conversation, Liselotte drew closer to see the players standing in the hallway.

„I don’t know! The Countess is beside herself. If not for Master Walther, she would have you sleeping outside the gates.“

„It’s fine, Donovan,“ the young troupe leader replied. She brushed back her curly brown hair and sighed. „We’ll sleep in the hall downstairs. It wouldn’t be the first time.“

„Are you sure you’ll be okay, Miss Ingrid?“

„We’ll be fine.“

The players turned and proceeded to the stairwell. Mr. Tuttle returned to the doorway, startled by Lieselotte’s presence.

„Is everything okay?“

„Of course! Everything is fine. I’ve just come to let everyone know that your rooms are being prepared. Can I do anything to make the wait more pleasant?“

„More of this brandy!“ Mr. Conan called out, lifting a now empty bottle.

„Of course, sir.“

The steward quickly scurried to a cabinet in the room and selected two large bottles. He moved from raised glass to raised glass, refilling each and offering a practiced smile to each Viscount.

Another half hour and two bottles of brandy passed, Lieselotte growing more and more weary of her noble companions. They seemed to take great delight in ordering Mr. Tuttle about, not that she cared; she found both the servant and the masters contemptible. She was quite certain that the steward’s graciousness toward her only extended to her proximity to the Viscounts. As for the Viscounts themselves, she saw little difference between them and the dysfunctional Dupins a floor above her.

It was as Viscountess Christie complained about the delay in their rooms for what had to be the fourth or fifth time that Lieselotte finally broke. A public show of witchcraft was now a perfectly acceptable risk to escape the doldrums and inanity of the Viscounts. She opened the door to the parlor, intent on either forcing the gate down or perhaps summoning some creature that could rescue her from this torture, but as the door parted, a high pitched shriek pierced the entire room. She looked up to the ceiling, then to the Viscounts. Their confusion seemed to confirm that this voice was not the Countess nor an expected interruption of their conversation. The wailing resumed once more and a concerned Lieselotte stepped out into the hall, closely followed by Mr. Tuttle.

„What is that?“ she asked.

„I’ve no idea. Please pardon me, I must check on the family!“

The steward pushed past the witch unceremoniously, rushing up the stairs. She gave a single glance to the room of confused viscounts and hurried behind him. She flew up the stairs, gaining ground on the elderly Tuttle. She found him scanning the hallway, pausing at a cracked door. He threw it open and rushed inside, Lieselotte close behind. There on the floor knelt the servant, Genevieve, her pale face even whiter now than before. It didn’t take the witch long to see what had shaken her, for beside her, slumped onto the floor was the unmoving body of Countess Sariah Dupin.

Chapter 4

It took Lieselotte only a moment to confirm the woman was dead. Death was a familiar companion to the witch, a visitor who’s arrival she was always prepared for. As such, she remained calm, stepping closer to the body as the servant girl wailed. Beside the servant stood the new widower, Walther. He was in his night clothes and leaning against a vanity, barely standing in the light that was cast in from the hallway.

Within moments the cluster of viscounts arrived, peeking past Tuttle and Lieselotte. The witch knew the situation was certain to get complicated the more bodies ended up in the room.

„Please, I need everyone in the hallway. There’s been a -“ Murder? Incident?

„She’s dead!“ cried the servant girl, weeping and hugging her knees to her chest.

„Dear lord!“ cried Viscount LeBlanc. „What happened?“

„We’re trying to figure that out,“ the witch cried, her commanding voice halting the curious viscounts. „Tuttle, I need more light.“

The count stepped closer, looking down at the body of his wife. „I don’t know what-„

„What did you do?“ cried out one of the viscounts.

The count vehemently denied any connection to his wife’s death, quickly turning to Genevieve. „Her! I was fast asleep! It was the servant!“

A sleepy Marie Dupin arrived at that moment, peeking in past the crowd.

„What is going on?“

Lieselotte clenched her fists. There was too much going on. Too many people. She needed order. She moved to the Viscounts, taking a moment to actually study each of them as they argued amongst themselves and with the newly arrived Marie. Her eyes settled on Viscount Conan’s breast where lay a string of colored bars and medals.

„Sir Conan?“ The older gentleman turned from the fracas, almost surprised by the witch’s proximity. „A grave crime has been committed this night and without order justice will surely fail. We need someone to take command of this situation.“

The Viscount took a moment to digest her words, nodding slightly. „Indeed, madam.“ As Tuttle returned with a lit candle, Conan grabbed the steward. „Light the room, but do not let anyone leave.“

„Sir?“

„Do as I say! Now! Sir LeBlanc, I think you should remain here with me to secure the scene. Ladies, please return to the parlor.“

Lieselotte smiled as the puppets danced. She took the opportunity to turn back to the room. The Count moved to the door but was barred by Viscounts LeBlanc and Conan. As they began a shouting match, the witch knelt beside the body.

„More fun than you expected?“ came a familiar voice.

„Grin, is this your doing?“

„Do you think you can solve it?“

„Why would I? I’m simply going to ask the Countess who murdered her,“ she replied, reaching out to lay her hand on the woman’s face.

„Oh! But what about all that forensic study? That deduction? You’re always going on about how you never have a chance to use it.“

„It’s not a parlor trick, Grin. A woman has been murdered. A disgusting woman, but a woman nonetheless.“

„I could make it interesting…“

Lieselotte hesitated. „How?“

„One question.“

„Three.“

„One. And you get to prove how smart you really are.“

Before the witch could decide, a great thud shook the room. Viscount LeBlanc and Walther were wrestling, the latter now shoved into the wall. As the Count cried out his innocence, Viscount Conan quickly seized some of the bedding and used it to bind the Count’s arms.

„Good show, gentlemen,“ the witch said, rising. „We should restrain the Count until we’ve concluded our investigation.“

„So you’re doing it?“ the voice whispered.

„I’m innocent!“ the Count cried once more.

„Then stop fighting, man!“ Viscount LeBlanc retorted.

„Indeed. None of us are going anywhere until the constabulary can repair the bridge. There’s nowhere to run, good sir,“ Lieselotte reminded them. „Sir LeBlanc, perhaps it would be best if we separated our potential suspects.“ The witch moved to the hallway, looking at the concerned Marie. „Madam, would you be so kind as to return to your room for the time being?“

„What happened to Sariah?“

„That’s what we’re going to find out.“

„What in blazes is happening?“

The group turned to see Charlotte at the end of the hall near the stairs. She looked over the group before pushing her way inside, only to be restrained by Viscount Conan. After a brief argument, Lieselotte pulled her aside.

„Sariah’s dead?“

„Yes. And we have some questions for you, Ms. Dupin.“

„You can’t possibly-„

„Please, we just need to figure out what happened.“ Lieselotte turned to include the younger Dupin. „If you would both return to your rooms, we need to secure the area.“

„That’s for the constable!“ Charlotte argued.

„And there will be no constable until the bridge is fixed, by which time our murderer may have destroyed all the evidence. Now, please. Return to your rooms.“

The Dupin sisters seemed unsatisfied, but acquiesced, Marie moving to the end of the hall and disappearing into her room while Charlotte entered the door immediately opposite Walther and Sariah’s.

„Are we missing anyone else?“ LeBlanc asked as he stepped out from the room.

„The servant… the Count… the two sisters… I believe that’s everyone that was unaccounted for,“ Conan replied.

A soft voice destroyed this assumption.

„What – what happened?“

It was the troupe leader, Ingrid, hat in hand. She stood at the end of the hallway, peeking around the corner. Lieselotte approached, passing Marie’s room and entering guest wing. She surveyed the new hall: only a row of doors. Tuttle approached behind her as she turned back to Ingrid.

„How did you get here?“

„I… I was just…“ The troupe leader squeezed her hat, eyes shifting along the hallway. Lieselotte could see the stains of tears along her cheekbones.

„Mr. Tuttle, is there another stairwell to the third floor?“

„No, ma’am, only the one.“

Ingrid peered down the Dupin’s hallway, eyes wide. „What happened?“

„Mr. Tuttle, see if we can find a room to keep Ms. Ingrid in until we can question her.“

The steward, looked about for a minute, but quickly gave into the witch’s order. He took the player’s hand and led her back down the guest wing.

Moments later Lieselotte arrived in Walther and Sariah’s chambers again. Genevieve was sitting on a plush chair, Viscount LeBlanc attempting to coax information out of her. The Count himself sat at the edge of his bed, arms bound tightly behind him and Viscount Conan knelt beside the body of Sariah. With more light in the room, he appeared to be inspecting the corpse.

„Ah, you’ve returned.“

„Yes,“ Lieselotte replied. „And it seems we have one more person to account for. But it seems you’ve already begun your investigation, Viscount.“

„Ah, yes, my dear. And it seems rather cut and dry.“

„He’s lying!“ Walther shouted.

The room seemed to ignore the Count, remaining focused on their tasks. Conan gestured for Lieselotte to join him.

„I suspect you’ve not dealt with many dead bodies.“

Lieselotte tried not to roll her eyes. „I’m sure you have more experience than I, dear Viscount.“

„Well, if you look here,“ he gestured to her neck, „you can see the marks where she was strangled.“

Lieselotte looked closer to see a set of bruises wrapping around the woman’s throat, even and uniform. The candlelight flicked over her pale face, illuminating a swollen tongue and red spots in her eyes.

„It seems the Count finally had enough,“ Conan continued.

„And you believe it was indeed Mister Dupin?“

„Our other suspects are women, my dear. None of them would have had the strength to accomplish the task.“

Lieselotte looked over the body, nodding as Viscount Conan explained his findings. The bruising around the neck was firm and even, and from what she’d seen of the Dupins, she doubted either of the women could manage that with their bare hands. She tilted the Countess‘ head, seeing the swelling in her face. She could smell what had to have been the woman’s vomit, forced up, but unable to escape, instead pooling in her lungs. Her hair was a mess, splayed out against the hard floor. There were flakes of what appeared to be wood underneath her. The witch turned to examine the chair by the vanity. Solid oak or something similar.

„Miss?“

„Hmm? Oh, Viscount. Perhaps we should find someplace downstairs to keep the Count until the constable arrives.“

„Agreed. What about you?“

Lieselotte turned to the still crying Genevieve, the servant taking no solace from Viscount LeBlanc’s words. „Perhaps it would be better if I comforted the women. You understand, we can be quite emotional at times like this.“

„Oh, yes, of course,“ Conan agreed. „Though you do seem to be made of sterner stuff, madam. LeBlanc? Let us escort the Count to his chambers for the night.“

„What are you doing? I’ll have your titles for this!“ Walther cried.

The Viscounts ignored his pleas and dragged him into the hallway. „I’ll be back shortly to … tend to the body,“ Conan said before he disappeared.

This was Lieselotte’s chance. Not counting the Count, who her new friends would tend to, she had four suspects to account for. The handmaiden crying just feet away, Genevieve, the former „stewardess“ of Archmond, Charlotte, her little sister and artist, Marie, and the troupe leader and apparent former lover of the Count, Ingrid. Turning her gaze to the weeping servant, she supposed there was no reason not to start here.

„You can relax,“ Lieselotte said, placing a calming hand on the woman’s shoulder. „The nobles are gone. Just us peasants.“

Genevieve wiped tears from her face and nodded. „I don’t know what happened.“ She wrapped her arms around her knees. „I… I came to check on her.“

„Check on her? Is that part of your duties?“

The servant nodded. „I have to check on all the members of the house before I can retire for the night.“

„Seems a bit late to check on them. They must’ve retired an hour ago.“

„Yes, but I had to prepare the rooms. For the guests.“

Lieselotte nodded as she parsed the woman’s words. Tears still stained her cheeks as she looked over at the body of her former mistress once more. „So you prepared the guest rooms… then came directly here?“

The servant hesitated. „Well… first to the… to the other members of the house hold. Their rooms are on the way.“

„So Sariah was your last stop for the night? Then where?“

„Back to my own room.“

Lieselotte stood up and moved to the open door, peering into the hallway. To her left was the stairwell. In front of her, Charlotte’s room. Down the hall, Marie’s. Past that, the hall curved to the guest rooms. „I assume you checked with Marie Dupin, first?“

The servant nodded.

„How was she? Did anything seem strange?“

„Strange? No, not for Marie.“

„Explain.“

„She… well, she likes to paint. So it’s important that I remind her to get some sleep.“ Genevieve turned herself away from the body of Sariah, forcing herself to her feet. „I.. I’ve found her passed out at the easel before. Paint all over her.“

„An intriguing girl. And then to Charlotte’s room, I presume?“

Genevieve’s eyes widened. „Y-yes.“

„Is there something wrong?“

„I just…er… what’s going to happen now? Miss Charlotte’s been running things in the county until now.“

Lieselotte turned, drawing closer to the servant. „I heard something of that nature from the Viscounts. Are you afraid she might be accused?“

„N-no! I just meant.. she’s not … she didn’t do this!“

Lieselotte studied the panicked look on the servant girl. „Then who did?“

Genevieve pointed at the hallway. „Sir Walther! Th-the Viscounts said-„

„I’m aware of what they said. What makes you so certain it was Walther? You served him for years, didn’t you?“

„Y-yes…“

„Then why so quick to accuse him? Tell me, Genevieve, what happened when you came in here to check on Miss Sariah?“

„Y-you… you think… I…“

Lieselotte turned her back to the servant, looking over the still body of Sariah Dupin. „It’s not what I think, Genevieve. Those Viscounts, they love a good mystery. I’m certain they’ll want to explore every avenue. If you don’t have a good alibi, I’m afraid I don’t know what conclusions they might leap to. After all, a noble killing his wife? It would bring shame on the whole house. But if it were a servant…“

„It wasn’t me!“ Genevieve cried.

„Tell me what happened then.“

„I… I finished my work with the rooms.“

„Yes. Then checked with Marie and Charlotte?“

The servant visibly shuddered, cradling her arms across her chest. „Y-yes. And then here.“

„Why Saria last?“

„I… Just habit, I suppose.“

„What happened?“

„I… I knocked… but there was no answer.“

„And yet you still entered?“ Lieselotte asked.

„It’s my duty!“

„And what did you see?“

„It was dark. I used the light from the hall to guide me inside.“

„If it was dark, why bother? They were clearly asleep.“

„Miss Sariah has chastised me for not checking on her, even when she has fallen asleep. I… I didn’t want to be…“

„I see… go on.“

„As I moved inside I ran into something… I nearly tripped.“

„The Countess‘ body?“

„Y-yes…“ Tears welled up in the servant’s eyes once more. „I knelt down to see what it was. When I turned her over and the light hit her… I… I screamed.“

„And that’s when we found you. Tell me, did you see the Count anywhere?“

„No ma’am. Not until I screamed.“

„Where was he?“

„In bed,“ she said, pointing to the large four poster bed. „I… I think he was in bed. He came toward me, but he stopped… he just stared at her.“

Lieselotte turned to the door as two loud voices echoed in the hallway, the Viscounts LeBlanc and Conan appearing moments later. „Ah, I see you have managed to calm her,“ Conan observed.

„Yes,“ the witch replied, „I suppose you’re here for the body?“

„Indeed. We can’t leave her.“

„Wouldn’t the Constable want to see her where she lays?“

„I can’t imagine why,“ LeBlanc added. „We have the murderer.“

„Perhaps. But the Constable won’t be here until morning at best. I just presumed that — oh never mind.“ Lieselotte turned her gaze from the men, waving the thought away.

„What is it?“ Conan insisted.

„Well.. you seemed so… intelligent in the parlor. So dutiful. It was my misapprehension that you’d want to tie up the loose ends for the Constable, make sure everything was ready for him when he arrived so this whole debacle could be put behind us.“

„It will be quite the scandal when word spreads,“ LeBlanc noted. „She may be right.“

„Of course she is,“ Conan noted with a smile. „She’s quite the bright one. For a woman. We will leave the body for now. Allow the Constable to see that our conclusion is valid.“

„And the others?“ LeBlanc asked.

„Hmm…“

„Obviously the good Viscount is considering interrogating them all,“ Lieselotte suggested. „Again, to save the Constable time and show your obvious dedication to the county. It’s quite clever, actually. I’m sure the Duke will take notice of your actions tonight.“

Viscount LeBlanc turned silently to his companion, as if verifying the witch’s words. Conan, parsing her speech, smiled. With a nod he clapped LeBlanc on the back. „My good man, with all the chaos erupting in this house, don’t you think it would be wise to position yourself? If, God forbid, the house should temporarily lose control of the county, viscounts will be asked to step up.“

A sly grin crept across LeBlanc’s face and he turned to the witch. „Yes, yes. I see. Then we should begin the interrogations at once!“

„Indeed, gentlemen. I suspect you’ll want to interrogate the would-be Count before he has time to concoct his lies.“

„Quite so!“ Conan replied. „We leave the young servant in your capable hands.“

With grins and inflated egos, the viscounts disappeared into the hall and down the stairs. Lieslotte turned once more to the servant, presenting a soft smile.

„I think it’s best if we take you to your room for now. The Viscounts are going to be combing every inch of this place.“

„But… you told them-„

„Come dear,“ the witch said, pulling the servant’s hand into her own. „It must be such a task tending to this whole family alone.“

„Well…er… there’s Mr. Tuttle,“ Genevieve replied as the pair began down the stairwell.

„Yes, but he seems to delegate more than anything. You… you get your hands dirty.“ Lieselotte paused as they stepped onto the second floor landing, examining the servant’s nearly immaculate hands. „So to speak.“ There wasn’t a speck of dirt on them and they smelled quite nice. „Such a lovely fragrance, dear.“

The servant girl blushed and hid her gaze, so Lieselotte continued their short march, Genevieve pointing out her room. Her chambers were small and located very near the stairwell, likely, Lieselotte concluded, to allow her to service the family at night with relative haste. The same scent that clung to the servant’s hands seemed to be in the air within her room. She released the girl’s hand and examined the room.

„Such lovely little quarters.“

„Miss Dupin is kind to me.“

„I suspect they all are, no?“

„Well… of course,“ she fumbled. Lieselotte noted the flustered servant’s momentarily screwed face and turned her attention back to the room.

„So… I don’t believe I heard for certain but after Marie, you checked on Miss Charlotte?“

Genevieve wrung her hands, stealing glances at the open door. „Well… Y-yes.“

„And how was she?“

„Lovely as ever.“

„I was inquiring as to her physical state; was she asleep, dear?“

„Oh! Yes, of course.“

„So you doubtless peeked in and then left?“

„Well… more or less, yes.“

„I see.“ Lieselotte, wearing a large grin, dropped onto the servant’s bed. The scent of lavender and vanilla erupted into the air around her and she ran her hands over the smooth, silk sheets. „Your mistress is kind.“

„I… Is there anything else you need, madam?“ the servant asked.

„Well,“ Lieselotte sighed as she pushed off from the bed, “I suppose one question: does Miss Charlotte wear corsets?” The maidservant grew quite flustered, but Lieselotte stopped her before she could answer. “I only ask because of those poor hands of yours.”

“My… my hands?”

“The draw cords on her corset have left such marks across your fingers.”

The servant stared down at her palms, a faint line drawn across them. She searched the room as though an answer might present itself, but none came. Lieselotte simply bowed and closed the door behind herself as she stepped out onto the second floor landing. She waited a second, listening for the servant’s paranoid movements, but the only sound audible was the Viscounts on the first floor, still interrogating Walther. Their shouts, both from the accused and the accuser, foiled any attempt she might have of listening for signs of Genevieve’s guilt. It mattered little, however.

„Having second thoughts?“

The witch started up the stairs again without so much as a flinch. „About what, Grin?“

„About the mystery.“

„It’s barely begun, you can’t possibly think I’m stumped yet.“

“Yes, but I can already see that it’s proving a more difficult task than you expected.”

“Your attempt to antagonize me isn’t going to work, Grin,” the witch replied as she stepped up to the third floor corridor. “Now, who’s next?”

“The stewardess? Her room’s right here.”

“No. Charlotte brought me in only to antagonize her sister-in-law. She holds no respect for me. I’ll wait until the Viscounts are done threatening Walther.” She continued down the hallway, pausing briefly at Marie’s door before continuing down the curve to the right. “I want to see why that mop haired musician was up here.”

“That’s right! Show the peasant girl where she belongs,” Grin laughed and drifted in the air behind her.

“Joke all you want, but I don’t give a damn about any of them, Grin, the nobles or the nobodies.”

“Not even that servant girl you saved?”

“Do not mistake disdain for vile creatures like that guard for love of his victims. She’s a pawn, nothing more. I have little sympathy for those who allow themselves to be controlled as such.”

“Yes, it would be a shame if you were forced into work you hated, controlled by the whims of your superiors, doing the most menial, degrading work without any agency of your own.”

Lieselotte spun on her heels, teeth bared and fists clenched, but her spectral companion was gone. She scanned the walls and ceiling, trying to calm her breath. With a frustrated grumble, she turned, pounding on the musician’s door, perhaps harder than she intended.

Moments later the door cracked, the reddened eyes of Ingrid peeking out. “Yes?”

The witch forced the door open the rest of the way, eliciting a small squeak of surprise from the band leader. “We need to talk.”

Chapter 5

“Do you think any of them will believe that? You’re a convenient scapegoat for this whole affair, you realize that don’t you?”

“I don’t know what else to tell you!”

The troupe leader sat on the edge of the bed, her scruffy clothes and tanned skin standing in stark contrast to the light and clean linens that surrounded her. Tears threatened to stream down her cheeks as Lieselotte continued her interrogation.

“I want to know why you thought it was a good idea to be up here in the middle of the night. A woman has been murdered!”

“I would never do anything to Miss Dupin!”

“Then why were you here?”

Ingrid crumpled her floppy hat in her hands. “I… I wanted to see her picture. Just once more.”

“Her picture?”

“Countess Dupin. The real Countess Dupin.”

Lieselotte weighed the woman’s words for several silent moments. “What affection do you have for the former countess?”

“She… she took me in. When no one else would, she gave me and my family a place to live and work. I was always so grateful to her.” Ingrid wiped her eyes along her dirty sleeve. “I know the other nobles didn’t think highly of it, but she didn’t care!”

“So you wanted to see the painting that Sariah had removed?”

“Yes. Wait, no. Not like that.”

“You were mad at Sariah for usurping the former Countess‘ place.”

“No! Well… I mean…”

“Or were you just mad at her for taking… Walther?”

Ingrid froze, her eyes opening wide. The tears halted, now slowly replaced with a cold sweat. When the musician didn’t respond, the witch continued. “Everyone knows about you and Walther.”

“We… we grew up together.”

“Oh yes, I’m quite certain. And grew close.”

“No, he-”

“Loved you.” Ingrid froze once more. “And he still does. Tell me, did it hurt to watch Sariah take him? To watch her treat him so poorly.”

“I… I don’t know.”

“You do! And you’re going to be on the hook for murder if you don’t have a decent alibi. Now why shouldn’t I believe that you killed Sariah Dupin?”

“I would never kill anyone!”

“Even for love?”

“I…”

“Oh… that’s it, isn’t it? How romantic. The plight of your lover driving you to commit a heinous act-”

“I didn’t do it!”

“Then tell me what happened. Every step.”

Ingrid shook with frustration, fear, and sadness. She wiped the tears from her eyes once more. “Once everyone went to bed… I snuck up.”

“How?”

“The stairwell.”

“There’s only the one stairwell. You know it goes right past Sariah’s room.”

“I know! But I didn’t go there… I… I kept going.”

“Where?”

“This hallway… there’s a door that leads up to the attic.”

Lieselotte turned and leaned out the door, scanning the hallway. “Where?”

Ingrid sniffled and pushed off the bed. She slid in front of the witch and pointed at the last door in the hallway. “There.”

The witch moved across the hall and tested the doorknob. It opened, revealing a wooden staircase, cast in shadows. “And the painting is up there?”

“Yes. I… I just wanted to see her again. I knew that Sariah would never let it be seen downstairs anymore.”

“And how did that make you feel?” the witch asked, turning back to the guest room. “Mad?”

“Y-yes.”

“Mad enough to kill?”

“No!”

“So far you have a sad little story, but no alibi. Did anyone else go with you?” Ingrid shook her head. “Did you tell anyone else where you were going? Your band mates?” Again she shook her head. “No alibi. Multiple reasons to hate Sariah. It doesn’t look good for you.”

“How do you know it was me?” she cried, turning back to the bed.

“I don’t. I just know that the Viscounts will be checking with you soon, and they aren’t going to like the loose ends. Maybe you know something? Something that might incriminate someone else?”

The musician thought for several moments, trying desperately to come up with anything that might shift the blame. “Well, er… no.”

“Did you see anyone else on your way up here?”

“No.”

“You have motivation and opportunity.”

“Wait! How was she killed?”

“Don’t you know?” Lieselotte asked.

“No! And… and I don’t have any weapons or anything. I couldn’t possibly kill her with my bare hands!”

“Maybe, maybe not,” the witch pondered, taking a seat beside her on the bed.

“So… without a murder weapon, there’s no way to blame me, right?” The witch looked down at the young woman’s hands, studying them for several moment before Ingrid followed her gaze. “What are you looking at?”

“Your hands,” she said, lifting the musician’s right hand up. “I suppose you get these marks across your fingers from playing, yes?”

“Y-yes…”

“And, you wouldn’t happen to have extra string for your mandolin?”

Ingrid pulled her hand free, trying to hold back another wave of tears. “Not on me,” she muttered.

“Well, at least you have that going for you. Good luck with the Viscounts,” Lieselotte said, stepping away from the bed and into the hall.

She made her way down the guest wing, contemplating the musician’s words.

“You were quite mean to that little mandolin player,” Mr. Grin observed.

“It’s none of your concern how I conduct my investigation. Just be ready to answer my question when I solve the murder.”

“Oh, so confident. I like that about you.”

“Thank you, Grin, you know I just live for your compliments,” she muttered as she paused outside Marie’s door.

“Sassy. I wonder if-”

The specter’s words were cut short as two loud voices boomed up the staircase. Lieselotte cursed silently; she had wanted to save Charlotte for last, but it seemed like there was no other choice. Ignoring her incorporeal companion, she marched down the hall, wearing a lovely smile just for the two men. “Gentlemen, I trust your interrogation of the Count was productive.”

“Quite,” Conan replied as they paused outside Charlotte’s door. “He hasn’t confessed yet, but I trust by morning he shall.”

“We figured a little break would give him time to wallow in his guilt. Perhaps he’ll decide to do what’s best for his soul,” LeBlanc added.

“Oh, I do hope as well. Perhaps we should check in on Miss Charlotte in the meantime?”

“No, I think we’ll start with that musician girl,” Conan replied. “Work our way backward. It’s more organized.”

“Oh, well, I suppose I should defer to your judgement, Sir. I just assumed you’d want to talk with Charlotte’s before she passed out again. It might take ages to awaken her.”

LeBlanc raised an eyebrow. “Whatever would cause you to draw such a conclusion?”

“Oh, I just noted that she seems to be an extraordinarily deep sleeper,” she replied.

“How would you know that, my dear?” Conan asked.

“Well, despite the shrieking we all heard from the servant girl, Charlotte was the very last person to arrive,” Lieselotte said, drawing their attention to Sariah and Walther’s door, “even though her door is directly across from theirs.”

The Viscounts looked between the two doors, clearly having not considered this before. They turned to one another, silently conferring. “Yes,” Conan decided, “it seems it would be prudent to visit with Miss Charlotte next.

Lieselotte smiled. With just a few well-placed words her puppets moved once more, knocking on Charlotte’s door. She stepped back, waiting for the potential Countess of Archmond answer the door and spew her frustrations and anger on the Viscounts. After a moment or two of arguments, the pair stepped inside and Lieselotte slipped in behind.

Charlotte’s room was massive, easily as big as Sariah and Walther’s, though without a second person to share it with. The young heiress, draped in her robe, took a seat in a lavish, red chair, covered with what appeared to Lieselotte to be velvet. The Viscounts began their interrogation clumsily, their questions being more or less deflected by Charlotte. Where were you? In bed. Did anyone see you? Genevieve. These were pointless questions that didn’t served to further the case, so Lieselotte allowed the Viscounts to ask them while she examined the room closer.

Near the door was a vanity not too dissimilar from the one in Sariah’s room. It had a large mirror and plush chair that matched the design. Brushes, oils, powders, and jewelry adorned the rather large surface of the vanity, but one caught the witch’s attention above the rest: a fine necklace, with beads and pearls that seemed to decorate the chains like rain drops, all accented by a large, red ruby. She immediately recognized the necklace as the same one that the now deceased Countess wore in the painting outside the dining hall.

Looking closer she noticed that, while all the things on the vanity seemed to be nicely placed and intricately organized, the necklace lay crooked on its display. She reached toward the item to correct this, but was halted by the screeching of Charlotte.

“Do not touch my necklace!” She pushed past the Viscounts, inserting herself between Lieselotte and the necklace. She grumbled as she adjusted the chains on the display until it sat perfectly. “Look at the mess you’ve made!”

“A thousand pardons, your ladyship,” Lieselotte replied, snickering to herself. “I didn’t mean to disturb the necklace, only to admire it.”

“Well you can admire without touching it,” Charlotte commented.

“Of course, of course. I must ask, is this the same necklace your mother wore? The one from the painting?”

The lady of the house frowned, turning away from the display. “As a matter of fact, it is.”

“I’m pleased to see it in your possession,” the witch replied.

“Oh?”

“Yes, after everything that was going on, I was afraid Sariah had claimed it as hers.” This seemed to light a fire in the would-be Countess‘ eyes.

“Don’t think she hasn’t tried before,” Charlotte replied.

“She’s stolen the necklace?” Conan asked.

“She claimed it was her right. But I always made sure it returned to where it belonged.” Charlotte returned to her chair, slumping back with arms folded. “Now, if your interrogation is complete, I’m quite ready for sleep.”

“Well,” Conan recalled, “we’ve checked your alibi… you say Genevieve can verify you were here, right?”

“Yes.”

Lieselotte lifted her nose, taking a brief sniff of the air. Still lingering from Charlotte’s time next to her was the aroma of honey and vanilla. She smiled. “Oh, I can guarantee Genevieve was with Miss Charlotte, gentlemen. I spoke with her myself.” Charlotte eyed the witch curiously. “She’s practically covered in that lovely oil,” Lieselotte continued, turning her attention to the vanity once more. Without hesitation or permission, she pulled the stopper from one of the bottles of oil, the air now filling with that same scent that covered both servant and mistress.

“Well,” Charlotte replied, “she does spend considerable time in my service. It’s only to be expected that I’d want her to smell… tolerable.”

“Oh, this scent is far more than tolerable,” Lieselotte said, wafting the nearby air toward herself. “It’s downright intoxicating.”

“Quite so,” LeBlanc observed. “I don’t think I would share something this lovely with my servants.”

“I suppose I treat mine servants with more class,” Charlotte offered. “Now, if you’ve nothing more-”

“Of course not,” Lieselotte replied, “we know how deep a sleeper you must be.”

“What in blazes are you talking about?” Charlotte asked. The Viscounts turned to one another, conferring silently once more, a gesture that only served to upset the heiress again. “And what are you two going on about?”

“Well, Miss Charlotte, it just seems curious that, despite your close proximity to the murder scene, you were the last person to arrive.”

“I.. well…” Charlotte’s demeanor shrunk, the countess-to-be quickly considering her words. “I suppose I am a heavy sleeper. One must be if they sleep next door to a shrew like Sariah.”

“You didn’t get along with her?” Lieselotte asked.

“No one did, don’t act surprised. You were an observer to her charms earlier today. It’s a wonder Walther didn’t throttle her sooner.”

“You knew she was throttled?” Lieselotte asked.

“No,” she responded. “Did I guess right?”

Lieselotte studied the woman’s eyes, her lips, looking for signs of dishonesty. Did she truly guess or was this a slip up? That smile, that confidence despite three people interrogating her. She gave away nothing.

“Indeed, madam,” Viscount Conan answered. “It seems likely your brother throttled her.”

“Then why are you questioning me?” she asked, holding up her pristine, delicate hands. “I’ve no more ability to throttle that woman than toss her from the ramparts. Though, believe me, I wish had. I take solace only in the fact that someone with the Dupin name ended her despicable life.”

“No, we don’t imagine you could, Miss Charlotte,” LeBlanc agreed.

“Of course not,” Lieselotte chimed in, turning her attention back to the necklace. Her fingers gently graced the dangling ruby. “You’d need something quite sturdy to act as a garrote.”

Charlotte’s eyes narrowed as she watched the witch play with her necklace, the Viscounts now drawn to the display. As LeBlanc moved closer to inspect the necklace, she stood once more from her chair. “This entire affair is pointless. If you have an accusation to make, I suggest you do so. If not, leave my chambers and bother me no more!”

“Our apologies, madam,” Viscount Conan offered. “This was merely a formality, a chance to see if you could strengthen our case against your brother. We’ll leave at once.”

Lieselotte frowned as the Viscounts turned away from the vanity. She had hoped she’d get a better chance to examine the necklace, but without the Viscounts‘ support, this interrogation was over. She had to act quickly if she was going to get any more information out of Charlotte. “I suppose this would be as good a time as any to speak with Genevieve now that she’s calmed down.”

“Yes, a good idea,” LeBlanc replied. “She was so distraught before, I couldn’t understand a word she was saying.”

“You will do no such thing!” Charlotte protested. The Viscounts turned, halting in the door to face the heiress.

“Is there a problem, Miss Charlotte?”

Charlotte hesitated.

“Of course not,” Lieselotte answered. “I’m a fool. Miss Charlotte knows her servant, she can vouch for her. Wherever Charlotte told her to go, I’m sure she went.” The Viscounts weighed the witch’s words, glancing across the hall to Sariah’s door.

“Could you tell us about your servant’s whereabouts tonight?” Conan asked.

Charlotte’s eyes hid a building anger and frustration that seemed to delight Lieselotte. The witch remained silent, eager to hear Charlotte’s testimony. “Genevieve had to prepare the guest rooms. For you. After that she checked on the family members and that’s when she found Sariah.”

“Sounds reasonable,” LeBlanc commented.

Lieselotte could see the Viscounts losing interest. Perhaps it was time for a gamble.

“Ah, of course. That explains why you were late. She hadn’t had time to come check on you like she had everyone else, so you were still asleep.”

Charlotte eyed the witch cautiously. “Yes, of course. Genevieve always attends to me last.”

The Viscounts, satisfied by this explanation, nodded and moved into the hallway. “We apologize for taking up your time, Miss Charlotte,” Conan said.

“Just make sure you find the killer,” she replied.

“We shall endeavor to do so,” LeBlanc answered.

The pair exited the room and Lieselotte turned, intending to follow, but Charlotte halted her exodus with a hand on her shoulder.

“Did you need something, Madam?” the witch asked with a coy grin.

“I can see what you’re doing, witch. Do not confuse me for the simpletons that inhabit this mansion.” She turned Lieselotte around to look her in the eyes. “I am not a fool like the rest of them.”

“No,” the witch replied, “I don’t suppose that you are. You are an entirely different kind of fool.”

With a grin, Lieselotte pulled herself free and exited into the hall.

Chapter 6

Lieselotte stared back and forth between the blue and the red. Which one pulled at her more? She was overthinking it. She closed her eyes and jabbed the brush at the palette, mixing the two before dashing them violently against the canvas.

“Impressive,” the younger Dupin said, turning from her own work. She stepped closer to inspect the witch’s work, flecks of paint dotting her face like freckles. “This is what you keep inside you, isn’t it?”

Lieselotte stared at the canvas. In all honesty she had no idea what she was doing, but there was a visceral pleasure in unleashing her hatred and frustration at the canvas. Perhaps she might take this up after this entire affair was over. No. Probably not.

She studied the harsh swathes of color that cut across the scene. If anyone else had painted it, she would’ve rolled her eyes, scoffed, and called it a waste of pigment. It didn’t look like anything. It didn’t represent an inner torment or hope. And yet there was still something to it, something that made her feel just a little more whole inside.

“I can’t truly say,” the witch finally answered, setting her palette down. “I’ve never indulged in this kind of thing before.”

“You seem to have a talent for it,” Marie noted, stepping in front of the witch. “I see frustration. Desires that will never be met, all yearning to explode out into the world.”

“I see purple,” the witch replied.

“Yes,” Marie smiled. “I see purple, too.”

Lieselotte moved to a large set of brushes the youngest noble kept, dropping her tool off and inspecting the rest. She wasn’t versed in art or painting, so the names of the individual brushes eluded her, but still, it seemed important to understand them. A fan brush. A thick, bristly brush. She reached out to take up a large brush with a thick handle. It had clearly seen much use in it’s time. The dried flecks of paint dotted the entire handle and it seemed to be worn along one side, almost carved out.

“I take it you’re the only one who paints,” Lieselotte asked, inspecting the brush handle closer.

“Yes. My sister isn’t much for artistic endeavors.”

“What about Sariah? Did she indulge?”

“No. In fact I’m quite convinced she hated art,” Marie replied, dragging dazzling lines of yellow out from the center of her work. “She hated that poor musician girl. Hated my paintings, too.”

“You didn’t get along, did you?”

“I ignored her, to be honest. And, thankfully, she paid me the same respect. Charlotte is the one that took great joy in agitating her.”

“Why is that?” the witch asked, turning back to her companion.

“Because she usurped Charlotte’s throne.”

“Throne?”

“Figuratively speaking,” Marie explained. “Father groomed her to take over as Countess, but never officially named her as his heir. She was constantly at his side, studying the ins and outs of running the county. She attended meetings with nobles, officiated ceremonies, ah… it was all so boring.”

“And Sariah took that away from her?”

“I suppose.”

“What about you? Weren’t you in line, too?” Lieselotte asked.

“Heavens no. The whole family would have to die before the burden fell on me.” Marie sat her brush down, staring at the red swirl in the center of her piece. Silently she reached out with her bare hand, smearing it outward. “They were all more than welcome to that responsibility.”

“You prefer your art?”

“I prefer my life. Art. Music. Drink. Friends without titles.”

“You engage with the peasantry?”

“I’m indulging you, aren’t I?” she replied with a sly grin.

“Fair enough. What do you think will happen to your brother now?”

“Oh, I’d hate to speculate. If he’s freed from charges, maybe he’ll still become Count. Likely the stress will get to him and he’ll just hand it to Charlotte, though.”

“Really? Why do you think that?”

“He never wanted the job, it was Sariah that pressured him. I suspect he assumed Charlotte would take over just like everyone else. But because he’s the eldest child…” She trailed off her, swirling her brush in the air. With a renewed vigor she dashed a jagged stroke of white across the edges.

“Have you worked out what you’re going to tell the Viscounts?”

“Are they coming to question me?”

“Quite likely. They’re questioning everyone.”

“Including you?”

“Fortunately, no. I was with them when the murder occurred.”

“I see. Then I’m afraid I don’t know what I’ll tell them.”

Lieselotte cocked her head, taken aback by the answer. “I don’t understand. Why not just tell them you were painting?”

“Was I? I’m afraid I lose all track of time and space when I dive into my work. Perhaps I was painting. But then again, perhaps I wasn’t. I suppose it would be best to let them decide.”

“You’re going to let your accusers decide your guilt or innocence?

“Why not? They know what they’re doing. I find I’m dreadfully bad at making important decisions, so it’s best to let others handle things.”

“So you’re saying you don’t remember what you were doing when the murder happened?” Lieselotte asked.

Marie paused, staring at her canvas, then glancing toward the witch. Without breaking eye contact, she dropped her brush and picked up a new tool, a palette knife with a long, sharp edge. In one quick motion she turned, pressing the edge of the blade against the canvas and dragging it along, turning this way and that, forcing the colors to press and merge as they created a strange, unnatural gradient across the piece. She lifted the knife, inspecting the strange hue of combined paints that rested on the edge, smiling.

“I was… painting. Is that right?”

Lieselotte looked over Marie’s canvas. Two figures, vaguely human, Colors streamed through them and around them. Bright pigments exploded around the exterior while dull and dark hues seemed to bleed from within the figures. Over it all was a haze, a cloud created by the use of the palette knife, giving the piece an otherworldly feeling.

“I suppose that’s for someone else to decide,” Lieselotte replied.

****

While the Viscounts were no doubt grilling Marie by now, Lieselotte sat on the last step of the stairs, gazing out into the first floor halls. The moonlight danced through the stained glass as wisps of clouds passed by. Down the hallways opposite the dining room she could hear the quiet stirrings of the musical troupe, apparently camped out in the main hall. There presence didn’t upset her, however. What gave the witch pause was the soft, faint crying that echoed from the dining room.

“Are you done? Giving up?” Mr Grin asked, drifting through the air like one of the clouds outside.

“No. Just waiting.”

“For what?”

“For him to stop crying,” she replied, forcing herself to her feet. “It’s very unbecoming of a man, especially one of his status, to weep like this.”

“Is it wrong for men to cry? I’ve witnessed it many times.”

“Men cry in terror before you, Mr. Grin. It is not the same.”

The ghostly figure laughed as he drifted closer to the witch. “I hold much knowledge; believe me when I say that men weep, too.”

Lieselotte ignored the specter and moved down the hall, her heels clacking against the marble floors with each step, echoing through the empty halls. She paused outside the dining hall where she had started this whole affair hours ago. The doors were wide open, a strange tactic from the Viscounts, allowing her to peer inside. The hall was dark, with only a few, small candles to light the room.

Her gaze was drawn to the large table where the Dupins had hosted the dinner earlier. On the floor, bound both hands and feet, rested Walther. Though his weeping was quiet, it was continuous. The Viscounts seemed to have taken cords and sashes from the draperies to replace the heir-apparent’s bindings. She questioned the strength of such bonds, but quickly surmised that bonds were barely required. The morose Walther seemed unlikely to go anywhere even if he were freed.

Without a word the witch strode through the hall. Her entrance was noted by Walther, who tried to compose himself. He asked who was approaching, but she gave no answer, save but to sit beside him. In the low, flickering candlelight, she could see the tear stains on his face. They reminded her of Ingrid. The pair wept like one another; perhaps they did deserve to be together.

“You… you’re the shop keeper,” Walther managed.

“Are you all right? Did the Viscounts hurt you?” she asked.

“I… I am fine. But you should leave before they find you here. They’re likely to think you’re a co-conspirator.”

“The Viscounts will be busy harassing the rest of your family for some time, I’m not worried.” Lieselotte watched the defeated man hang his head. He held back his tears, but the pain was clearly still there.

“I didn’t kill her,” he whispered.

“I believe you.”

Walther looked up at the witch, uncertain. “I wish you could convince the Viscounts.”

“I’m afraid they’re too stubborn for someone like me to convince of anything. But don’t give up. Maybe they’ll stumble onto the truth during their investigation.”

“Unlikely. I’ve known those two for years. Once they’ve set themselves on something, there’s no changing their minds. Well… Father could. But I’m afraid I’m not my father.”

“None of us are. We can only be who we are. And you… you didn’t want any of this, did you?”

Walther hesitated. He weighed his words for several moments before speaking. “I… didn’t. I just wanted…”

“Ingrid?”

His eyes shot open. “I… I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I already spoke with her. The poor thing is in as bad a shape as you.”

“Is she okay? Did they hurt her?” he cried.

“She’s fine. Just very shaken.”

“Of course she is… she thinks I’m a murderer,” Walther sighed, his head falling back limply.

“Actually, she doesn’t.” The would-be Count turned his gaze back to the witch. “I mean it. She’s worried.” The witch leaned closer. “About you.”

“Ingrid…”

“I tried to comfort the dear, but I didn’t have the words. I didn’t know what to tell her.”

“Tell her I’m innocent!”

“She believes that! It’s the details. She wanted to know what you did, where you were, how it all happened. I… I just didn’t know. Walther… what happened?”

Walther stared down at the floor. A hazy, dreamlike moon reflected off the posh surface, casting just enough light to illuminate the man’s eyes. Shadows from the candles danced against his auburn hair as he took a long, deep breath.

“It wasn’t me. I know Sariah and I didn’t get on well most of the time, but I would never have harmed her. The last time I saw her alive we… we fought. Again. Somehow she had convinced Charlotte to relinquish mother’s necklace. I was done, exhausted from the night and only wanted to sleep. I begged her to put the necklace away and come to bed, but she would have none of it. I was ready to surrender there and go to bed without her, but then Mr. Tuttle arrived.”

“To ask about the players?”

“Yes. She didn’t want them in the house. Well.. she didn’t want her in the house.” Walther sighed, holding back another wave of tears. “I put my foot down. She exploded. I told her to quiet herself or the whole house would hear her. So she threw open the door. She berated poor Tuttle and then turned it on me. But… I had had enough.”

“Had enough? Are you saying-?”

“No! I mean… I just meant that I surrendered. I went to bed. Between the night’s affairs and my wife’s words, I was exhausted. I was out the moment my head hit the pillow.”

“And she was still alive when you went to bed?” Lieselotte asked.

“Of course! She was in front of that damned mirror, playing with mother’s necklace.”

“I see. And what did you do when you awoke? I assume it was Genevieve’s screaming that stirred you.”

Walther shifted in his bonds. “You assume correctly. The room was dark, I had no idea what was going on. Then I saw the light on Sariah’s face. And Charlotte’s servant.”

“Charlotte’s servant?”

“Genevieve. I… I don’t know what happened.”

“Didn’t you claim it was her that murdered your wife?” the witch asked.

“I don’t know. But I wouldn’t doubt it.”

“Did Genevieve have a grudge against Sariah?”

“Not as such, but Charlotte… they hated each other. She sent Genevieve out that night in the hopes that she’d be hurt, you know? Charlotte was furious. I wouldn’t put it past her to order the girl to kill Sariah.”

“Genevieve would do that?”

“Without hesitation. She would do anything Charlotte asked.”

Lieselotte nodded slowly, absorbing the man’s words. There was a certain truth to Walther’s words, and yet it still wasn’t adding up. “It obviously wasn’t Ingrid, but what about your other sister?”

“Marie? Good lord, no. The girl barely understands what room she’s in most nights. Mark my words, this was a plot from Charlotte.”

“You seem eager to accuse your sister.”

“Hardly. I know her, though. However she did it, she masterminded a cunning plan to murder my wife.”

“And frame her brother?”

“I… I don’t know.” Walther shifted, looking the witch in the eyes. “I suppose she felt betrayed when I married Sariah, when it was announced I would be ascending.”

“She assumed she would become Countess?”

“Yes. I was in favor of it. But our parents decided that a marriage between Sariah and myself would … well… it would be beneficial. That changed everything.”

Lieselotte stood, bending slightly to address Walther. “Thank you, Sir Dupin. I think I can calm Ingrid’s fears with this information. Be strong.” She placed a gentle hand on his cheek. “For her.”

Walther nodded silently and the witch took her leave, stepping out into the hallway and making for the staircase. She could hear that the Viscounts were apparently done with their interrogations upstairs. The parlor would be her next destination, someplace she could sit, contemplate the evidence, and feed what she wanted to her little puppets.

“That was unexpectedly kind of you, my dear,” Grin noted, walking beside her.

“I got what I needed and, best of all, it silenced his unbearable sobbing.”

“Are you saying that all that was an act? Every word?”

“Just be ready to answer my question when the time comes, Grin.” Lieselotte opened the door to the parlor and disappeared inside.

“I most certainly shall, my dear,” the ghoulish man said, disappearing into the night.

Chapter 7

“Well, I think it was the little troupe leader,” Viscountess Christie announced. “It’s clear she had something to hide, and most importantly, a personal grudge for Sariah taking away her lover.”

“No, Madame,” Viscount LeBlanc countered, “it is Marie.”

“The little one?”

“But of course! It’s such a clever, twisted plot. She clearly engineered the entire affair down to the smallest detail. She set everything up to force Charlotte into killing Sariah, thus putting her in the clear.”

“There is no evidence for that,” Viscount Conan interjected. “We saw the marks on her neck, clearly it took some strength to throttle her.”

“Perhaps a poison,” his wife added. “and the strangulation happened afterward to throw us off the trail.”

Lieselotte sat quietly at the opposite end of the room, enjoying the last of the Dupin’s brandy that Tuttle offered. She ignored the Viscounts‘ vapid prattling, putting the pieces together in her head. There were clues, she just needed to bring the right ones together, then somehow let it slip in front of her little puppets.

“I think I need some air,” she announced before stepping outside the parlor. Free from their ceaseless chatter, she pondered the night’s affairs. Her gown rustled with each step as she considered each interrogation. Had Grin not provoked her she would’ve been happy to simply ask Sariah who killed her, but this, this challenge, was simultaneously invigorating and frustrating. Invigorating in that she could finally put her skills to a reasonable challenge, but frustrating that Mr. Grin was behind it.

Let’s start from the beginning, she thought. Genevieve. Potential. No motive on her own but clearly ready to do anything asked by Miss Charlotte. Although nearly being raped and murdered for Sariah’s grapes may tilt her toward revenge. Clearly not strong enough to throttle the woman, but if a garrote of some sort were used, perhaps. The necklace? An obvious choice. And the marks on her palms didn’t help.

Charlotte? Clear motivation from the usurpation of power. Would she frame her brother, though? And what was going on between her and the servant girl? Clearly more than either would be willing to admit. Seeing as how the necklace was Charlotte’s, it seemed only natural as the weapon for either her or her servant.

Marie? The youngest Dupin was a bit of mystery. She was clearly hiding something. Was her dreamy, distant character just a facade? Was it all a performance to deceive the rest of the family or was she truly uncaring and unmoved by the world outside her bedroom door? What opportunity would she have to commit the murder?

And what of Walther? True, he would be quite capable of throttling her without the need for any tools, but is that what happened? Had she finally broken him? He seemed insistent that he was innocent, enough to immediately implicate the servant girl. Perhaps it was just a crime of passion committed in the heat of the moment. She knew she would’ve been tempted to throttle that woman in Walther’s position.

And lastly, Ingrid. That messy, freckle-faced musician. Sneaking up to admire the painting of the Countess one last time? Lieselotte was familiar with nobility and there was rarely anything worth admiring in them. She was somewhere she shouldn’t be. She certainly had access to wire that would do the job.

She briefly considered the idea that perhaps all the suspects were in on the murder together, each playing a small part in bringing an end to a despicable person that plagued each of their lives, but this was obviously rubbish. No, there was a single murderer tonight and she only needed to weigh the evidence to decipher who.

“I see you’re still up and about. Have you told your little Viscounts who to blame for the murder, yet?”

Lieselotte smiled ever so slightly as she turned to face Charlotte. The Stewardess of Archmond was still in her evening attire, but had apparently decided that waiting for morning was not an option for her. The witch bowed her head respectfully.

“I’m still trying to decide, actually. There’s a lot to consider.”

“Well consider this,” Charlotte replied. “When the Constable arrives in the morning, it will be much more difficult for you to leave this place without manacles once the Viscounts know you’re a witch.”

“A witch, Miss Dupin?”

“Do not insult either of our intelligences. I’m aware of what you do and what you sell in that little mill. Genevieve had quite the look around while you dealt with that guard.”

“Mmm… I knew I shouldn’t have let that girl in,” Lieselotte replied, her smile only growing wider. “Nothing but trouble comes from helping others.”

“Help yourself tonight. Let the Viscounts believe my brother is the murderer.”

“Is he?”

“I’ve no idea, nor do I care. I’ve no quarrel with any of the other suspects.”

“Indeed. In fact, you’re rather close to some of them, aren’t you?” Lieselotte replied.

Charlotte’s eyes narrowed. “Watch what you say, witch.”

“You know, I wasn’t certain when I stepped out of the lounge, but I think I just evolved a hypothesis. Would you care to hear it?” Charlotte remained silent. “Sariah Dupin, soon-to-be-Countess of Archmond, managed to acquire your mother’s necklace. The ‚how‘ isn’t important, only that she did. I’m guessing it was without your consent. And I’m guessing that all her arguing with Walther drew your attention. You peeked through the open door. There she was, sitting in your mother’s place, wearing your mother’s necklace, preparing to take your rightful place.”

Lieselotte’s heels clacked against the hardwood of the second floor hallway as she circled the stewing Dupin. “So you ordered Genevieve to go in. She could check on her without Sariah getting suspicious. Maybe even help her adjust that necklace.” Lieselotte mimed twisting her hands across one another. “She strangled Sariah with your mother’s necklace. Then, when she was done, she returned it to your room. You, of course, needed to be hidden away during all of this so the suspicion wouldn’t fall on you. A quick check in with your servant and she was back up to trigger the whole setup. Your brother takes the fall for betraying your trust and you take your rightful seat at the head of Archmond.”

“A fanciful lie, witch, but it couldn’t be further from the truth.”

“Which is?”

“That if that’s what you intend to sell to those buffoons in there, you won’t be leaving this hallway.”

Lieselotte openly laughed, shaking her head. A faint voice trailed past her ear. “No, it’s fine.” she whispered.

“What’s that?” Charlotte asked, her demeanor growing more and more agitated.

“I said it’s fine. You can do as you please, you are, after all, the heir to the seat of Archmond. I just shudder to think what will happen to Genevieve when this story gets out.”

“Leave her out of this!” Charlotte shouted, tackling the witch.

The pair wrestled and fought, slamming against the door to the parlor. Charlotte awkwardly slammed her fist against Lieselotte, but the necromancer had little difficulty blocking. Gripping her wrists, Lieselotte held back the woman’s attacks long enough for the door to open and Viscounts Conan and LeBlanc to pry the Lady Dupin away.

“What in blazes is going on?” demanded Conan.

“Miss Charlotte? Why would you attack Miss Lieselotte?” LeBlanc added.

“Oh, I was right,” Viscountess Conan remarked, peeking out the door and seeing Charlotte restrained.

Viscounts Conan and LeBlanc forced a measure of space between the two women, Lieselotte never losing her smile. The elder Viscount repeated his question, demanding an answer. “Now, Miss Charlotte, this doesn’t look good on you, not while we’re deliberating.”

“That’s the point!” Charlotte screamed. “She’s trying to frame me! She’s orchestrated this entire mess!”

“Nonsense,” Conan replied, “she’s been with us nearly the entire time.”

“And you were the one who invited her, were you not?” LeBlanc added.

“She lost control,” Lieselotte said, turning her head and feigning fear. “I just… well, I had spoken with Walther on the way here and he said that the former Countess Dupin’s necklace was in Sariah’s possession that night.”

“Yes, I think I recall something to that nature between his incessant shouting,” Conan replied.

“Well, when you gentlemen interrogated Charlotte, the necklace was there, do you remember? I was just curious as to how it moved.”

LeBlanc and Conan eyed each other for several moments, the cogs turning in their heads. They nodded subtly to one another. Charlotte backed away as they approached. “No! Don’t you dare!”

“Miss Charlotte, there are some inconsistencies between your story and the others,” Conan said.

“You can’t possibly think that I – that woman is a -!”

“Genevieve.” The name alone silenced Charlotte. Lieselotte stepped closer, parting the two Viscounts. “Apologies, dear Viscounts, I was just recalling how dedicated the servant is to her mistress.” Lieselotte leaned closer, whispering. “And how bad taboo like this could affect her if it went public.”

“She’d had enough of Sariah’s dealings,” Conan deduced. “The necklace was both the breaking point and the murder weapon.”

Charlotte was stunned. She looked back and forth between Lieselotte and the Viscounts as they drew their narrative. “Yes,” LeBlanc added, “but I suspect she used the servant to hide her involvement. A garrote, even that necklace, would leave a mark on the perpetrator’s hand. I think we should examine the servant one more-”

“No!” Charlotte cried out. She slumped against the wall of the hallway and slid to the floor. Tears slowly trickled from the corners of her proud eyes and she quickly wiped them away. “No. It was me. Genevieve… I forced her to help. Leave her out of this.”

Conan knelt by the lady’s side, placing a hand on her shoulder. She didn’t flinch, didn’t acknowledge him in any way, but simply continued staring at the floor. “LeBlanc, would you kindly find something to bind Miss Charlotte’s hands? Perhaps we can relieve Walther of his.”

The younger Viscount nodded and stepped past them, heading for the stairwell. Charlotte, hair disheveled, cheeks red, looked up to Lieselotte. Her voice was cracked and hollow. “Are you happy?”

“I’ll be happy when I leave this place.”

Chapter 8

When morning came, the constabulary arrived, using long planks to cross the chasm. It took some doing, but after a while they managed to release the drawbridge, allowing the Constable to cross and speak with the Viscounts. After a long tour through the house with Viscounts LeBlanc and Conan detailing the murder in the most dramatic of fashions, the Constable thanked them for their work and took Charlotte into custody.

As proper manacles were placed on her, she stared across the room at Lieselotte. The witch watched silently. Genevieve wept in the corner, pleading for them to release her mistress. “Genevieve!,” the Lady Dupin spoke, “do not weep. Be strong. Take care of the house. And take care of yourself. That is my final order.”

Lieselotte turned to see the servant nod, obedient to her mistress‘ command. She almost felt a tinge of guilt but she knew Charlotte’s hands were far from clean. No noble’s were.

It would still be a bit before Lieselotte was allowed to leave. At the moment the Constable had just moved to the foot of the stairwell where Ingrid sat beside Walther. The Constable asked if he planned on continuing the ascension ceremony in two days, but vehemently declined. Apparently the entire affair was more than he could handle and he decided to step down, allowing Marie to inherit the title of Countess. It actually made Lieselotte a little sick to her stomach, watching him and Ingrid steal awkward glances at one another. You’re free now, she thought. Just do it if you’re going to do it! She moved past the pair, ascending the stairs and heading to the third floor. Knowing what she knew about the youngest Dupin, she thought it might be entertaining to tell her about her brother’s decision.

Lieselotte made her way through the third floor hall, stepping aside as two of the constable’s men left Sariah’s bedroom. She continued past arriving at Marie’s door. She knocked firmly. No answer.

“You were quite cruel to Charlotte,” the Grinning Man said, appearing near her shoulder.

“Not now, Grin,” Lieselotte said, waving him off. She peeked around the room, seeing no trace of the youngest Dupin. She stopped in front of the painting she had been working on.

“Do you really believe she’s guilty?”

Lieselotte ran her fingers over the canvas, the paint now dry. Turning, she made her way to the hallway.

“Are you trying to ignore me?” Grin asked.

“I’ve tried for several years. It hasn’t worked yet,” she replied, stopping at the last door in the guest wing. Opening it she stepped inside, hesitating at the bottom of the old wooden staircase. Dust dancing and drifted through shafts of sunlight and the floor groaned with each step as she made her way up. There it was, just as Ingrid had said, the portrait of Count and Countess Dupin. Lieselotte moved closer, inspecting the painting. She had only glanced at it in the hallway, but here, next to it, she could see the intricate lines, the harsh strokes, and the vivid pigments. She ran her hand over the canvas lightly.

“So I assume our game is over then. You’ve decided on Charlotte?” Mr. Grin asked.

“Oh, heavens no, Mr. Grin, it wasn’t Charlotte,” she replied, stepping back from the painting. “She couldn’t have done it because when Sariah was murdered, Charlotte was waiting in Genevieve’s bed. No. I’m convinced the person that did it was the same person that painted this portrait.” The stairs creaked and groaned once more and Lieselotte turned to face the new arrival. “Good morning. Marie.”

The young girl stood at the top of the stairs, her hair draped down on either side of her face and her shoulders slumped. “I just heard the news,” she said, her voice less dreamy than dark.

“You’re in charge now,” Lieselotte replied. “Just like you planned.”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re referring to.”

“Please, Marie, this act didn’t work for your sister, it won’t work for you.”

“You think I planned Sariah’s murder?”

“Not for very long. I suspect it all fell into place like a muse singing inspiration to you. You’ve resented being left behind. With two siblings ahead of you, there was nothing to inherit. You said it yourself, the rest of the family would have to die for you to take power.”

“Walther isn’t dead.”

“Then I suppose it’s a pleasant coincidence. After all, you knew something like this would finally break the poor man.”

“And so I masterminded everything? Including your presence?”

“Hardly. It was just a lovely coincidence for you. Sinful serendipity, if you will. You hated Sariah. You resented your older siblings. You were furiously painting when Sariah screamed out, loud enough that everyone but your distracted sister heard. You stepped outside, brush in hand, to see what happened. That’s when you saw her, Sariah, wearing your mother’s necklace. The same necklace you painted into your parent’s portrait, a portrait Sariah had removed.

“It was the last straw, wasn’t it? You stepped inside. Maybe she saw you, maybe she didn’t. But you said she had no quarrel with you. She might have even welcomed you in, asked you how it looked. You stepped up behind her. You jammed the brush through the necklace and twisted, over and over again. It hardly took any strength with a lever like that. All you had to do was hold it until she stopped moving. Then it was just a matter of snuffing the lights, closing the door, and returning the necklace to your sister’s empty chambers. Your brother falls apart, and, so long as anyone with half a brain looked at the case, your sister takes the fall.”

Marie stepped closer, eyes locked on the floor. A tiny smile etched across her lips. “You’re quite the clever one, aren’t you? It took some creativity to make those leaps in logic, but here we are.”

“Indeed. Now what happens next, Marie? Will you rule kindly over your people?”

“I haven’t decided. But I know this; I can’t risk you ruining it for me. Witch.” There was a glint of metal as the artist’s palette knife slid from her sleeve. Lieselotte didn’t even flinch as Marie lunged at her, the blade aimed for her throat. But before she could pierce flesh, her hand halted in mid-air. Slowly, a white glove materialized around her wrist. “Dear God!“

“Oh, no god will hear your pleas today, Marie. Today you’ll only be heard by the Devil.”

With these words the razor-toothed smile of the Grinning Man flashed into existence and the room filled with his laughter. He seized the girl’s throat and pulled her closer, Lieselotte not even bothering to look as she descended the staircase and exited into the hallway.

****

Lieselotte stretched her arms and back as she stepped out of the mill, the moonlight beaming down around her. She secured her beloved hat and turned to the door. “Well, are you coming?” she asked happily. A large, white dog lumbered out from the mill nuzzling up against her leg. She dropped to her knees and wrapped her arms around him. “Yes! That’s my good boy! I missed you so much when I was with those stuffy nobles. Did you take good care of the shop?”

A raven perched on the top of the open door, eyeing the pair. It crowed a petty crow before flying off. Lieselotte dismissed the bird with a wave of her hand. All was right with the world once more. Or at least, it was better than being at Castle Dupin. Sure, she was still stuck selling herbs and potions to people who had no right using them, but it didn’t matter. She had a prize to collect.

“Grin?” she almost sang. “Where are you, dear?”

“You seem in quite the chipper mood,” he replied, materializing in the moonlight.

“Of course I am. It’s time to collect my reward.”

“Your reward?”

“That was the deal. I solved the murder without the use of my magic. You owe me one answer.”

The specter rolled his head then gave a small laugh, nodding. “I suppose I do. Though I must say, you surprised me. Was it really necessary to bring down that entire noble house? You could’ve implicated Marie at any time.”

“No, I suppose it wasn’t necessary, but it was certainly a delightful addition. Now, you owe me an answer.”

“Very well. But make it quick, I have a client to see tonight. He’s not the kind to wait around long. Now, what is your question?”

“A client?” Lieselotte paused, pondering. Grin had gone to meet a client when they first arrived in Archmond, hadn’t he? And he disappeared when the gate malfunctioned. She knew his dealings were often secretive and usually didn’t care to know what he was doing but now? “Grin? Did – did you use me to bring down a noble house for your client?”

The Grinning Man smiled brightly. “Yes. Have a lovely night, my dear.” With this, he bowed and drifted into the city.

Lieselotte’s eyes widened with realization and she gave chase to the demon man.“Wait! No! Grin that didn’t count! That wasn’t my question! Grin? Grin!”

The End