The Universe's Mixer

Nothing was adding up.

Enigma wasnt in her cell (according to Edward and Jonathan) and while Bruce didn't really like or trust either of that pairing Bruce was aware that if they had actually known what had happened to her, they wouldn't have been shy about letting the scientist know. It was almost as if Bruce's wife had vanished into thin air and people honestly didn't just do that. Something had happened in that cell, and Bruce could only speculate so far.

It didn't help that Enigma had an array of friends, probably more people in this City than Bruce was actually aware of, but it wasnt like Bruce was without his own share of friends. Maybe he wasnt the best at staying in touch with all of them, but when you had good intentions people seemed to be more willing to help or provide information they would've otherwise withheld.

And so, Bruce came to the conclusion that Enigma really had gone missing. He didn't want to consider the fact that something bad had happened to her. That was too hard to think about, the idea of losing her forever. He loved her, but he also knew how she could be. Bruce had a feeling that if one of her friends had helped her escape that she would've called Bruce by now. Or Timmy at least. He knew she couldn't stay away from them for as long as she'd been missing without some kind of contact.

It wouldn't do to bother Damon of Dinah, even though he'd told Edward and Jonathan that he would ask them. If they had seen Enigma, he felt she would be back safely at the Tower (and up to her antics) but she hadnt come home.

No. It was time to go look for her.

And that was how Bruce ended up in the park.

Perhaps he wasnt the greatest at communicating with his friends, and for that he was truly apologetic but things in his life kept him from venturing out to see those of the people in the city that had managed to touch his heart. Beauty was one of those people. Honour if you knew her by her true name. The kind woman from the cottage that had opened Bruce's eyes to the truth early on. She had been kind enough to give him knowledge that had benefited him a great deal.

And she had also run screaming from the Asylum during the fight Hulk had with Scarebeast. Why she had been there, Bruce wasnt sure. But he would ask her.

He could remember his way to her cottage, having never really forgotten it in the first place. His feet followed the familiar path and somehow it looked different. Maybe it was the fading light of the day. Or maybe it was the fact of the house being void an occupant for so long, unbeknownst to Bruce. Whatever it was, he hoped that it would look again as he'd remembered it looking the first time he'd laid eyes upon it. When he'd stumbled across it tracking building movements in the beginning.

He hoped his friend was home, and above all doing well. Perhaps this would give them a chance to catch up, especially if she knew anything about Enigma or her whereabouts. The fact that they ran in different circles would help. At least someone would know to keep an eye out. And Bruce certainly hoped Beauty would.

He finally reached the door to the cottage and paused, lifting a hand to the wooden door to knock gently upon it. He didn't know quite what to say to her, considering it had been so long, but he hoped she might know something. Anything. He was worried sick about his wife.

9:30 p.m. never carried such weight. It'd taken Beauty nearly all day to convince herself that it was a good idea to return to the bookstore, and the sun had gone down before she'd managed to call the cab. On the ride there, she restlessly smoothed and smoothed midnight silk with her hands. The tremulous jangle of the metal on her wrist mirrored the fluttering in her stomach. Dread. She'd never felt this when knowing she was going to see Errol. As the cab pulled up to the closed bookstore, she nearly asked the driver to take her back to Ted's. But no -- no. She looked at the glass of the front windows, faced the terror of her memory, and set one foot outside. Then the other.

She didn't quite run behind the building, but it was a near thing. Finding the space between the wall and the great trash bin full of cardboard boxes, she all but hid herself, grateful for the shadows. Just in front of her, the back door of the shop where she still technically worked... and before her, then few minutes wait until closing duties were finished.

Shifting her weight nervously, hand on her wrist to keep the bracelets silent, she waited with rising anxiety, lips moving in frank and desperate prayer. Please hurry. Please hurry.

Jo hadn't seen Ted in quite awhile. She was okay with that since they both had busy lives and she was still trying to sort out having Maxine in her life part-time. However, she missed the guy that she'd been seeing and decided it was time to drop in. Especially after reading that the mayor was now gone from the City. She could only imagine what Ted had to deal with at work. Which was why she thought that breakfast might be a nice surprise.

She hadn't really spent much time over at Ted's house-after all, she hadn't even met his roommate-but he hadn't done anything to make her think that she wasn't welcome there. Especially if it was just a quick drop-in. Maybe she should have called, but she wanted to surprise him.

Which was why she arrived at Ted's house with a bag of bagels and cream cheese in one hand and coffee in the other. She thought she arrived early enough to catch him before work, but even as she strolled up the walkway, she started to wonder if maybe she'd already missed him. All the same, she rang the doorbell and hoped for the best.

It had taken Maggie a long time to make her way to the City library. Mostly because, being a product of her time, she was distracted by the internet. It had taken time, but she'd set up her blog: Dandelion Mine, tweaked just the way she wanted it and filled again with her writing. She'd taken to hauling out her laptop and a dog or two out to write in various places around the City, still thrilled by the careless crush of humanity gathering together without fear.

So sue her. It wasn't fear that kept her from the library. She was curious about what Dr. Lecter had told her about finding herself fictionalized. The concept didn't frighten her--one of her Fictionals had written a fairly popular tongue-in-cheek RPF series that included Maggie as a character some time back--but given that the most interesting events of her life had been the past year and a half, which had also been the most traumatic... unless something really, really bad was coming up in the future, she could only imagine that the events of 2040 and 2041 would be covered, and she wasn't at all sure that she wanted to relive them.

Eventually the thought of finding out became like a wound that she couldn't stop picking at. The best thing that she could do, she reasoned, would be to find out what was said and get it over with.

She checked three books out of the library. A week later, she slipped them into the return slot, sat down on the steps, wrapped her arms around herself, and breathed out a shaky breath. She just needed a moment to collect herself, that was all.

They had gals. They had jobs. They had money and lives. It seemed that they were set.

Charlie wondered if they were. If they were truly set.

Rather than keep wondering, the City detective left a message for his housemate join him for some dinner. They hadn't talked much lately, and he wanted to revisit how life was going, where it was going. He wanted to know that Ted was doing well.

Unfortunately, as it was bound to happen, the plans were ruined by a crime. It wasn't a difficult one; Jennifer and Charlie had discovered the truth, solving the case in record time. The butler actually did do it. The case kept Charlie away from one of his longest best friends, and Charlie wished all the other cases that came across the desk he shared with Jennifer were solved as easily and cleanly.

The detective stood in the kitchen and stared into the refrigerator. What did he want for breakfast? Should he see if Ted was around to have the conversation over breakfast instead? Was that milk fresh? What did 42 really mean?

A long, black town car pulled up to Ted's driveway, and two grim men in grimmer suits stepped out. In the night, they nearly faded from existence, but for their faces and their hands.

"Thank you," Beauty said sincerely, squeezing both hands of the beautiful woman who rode in the back seat with her. "I'll never forget what you did for me, Christine."

And then it was the long stretch of driveway, the crunch of gravel under boots, and a strong rapping on the door before her. The bodyguards stayed with her, flanking either side, while Beauty waited. Pale and miserable, she realized that the plastic bracelet was still on her wrist. It said her name in reverse order: BELLAFORTE, HONOUR

She was in the process of tugging at the band when the door swung open.

Wavering upon the unsaddled back of a horse, Beauty returned from that ruin of a place where she'd been captured and held. Arkham Asylum. The stuff of nightmares now.

The drugs forced on her were still running in her system - barbituates, hallucinogens - but by degrees, the terror was fading. She didn't feel safe. But with her face buried in the mane of the horse who carried her, the abstract fear was diminishing. By the time the asphalt led into a City street, Beauty no longer felt the need to scream.

Nothing was right, through her eyes. Buildings wavered. The shield of night obscured her vision for a distance. But the street lights were flickering on, here and there, illuminating the familiar and the safe. She didn't know where she was. She didn't know how to get home. She didn't know if she wanted to be home. Her kidnapper had found her at her bookstore. She wanted nowhere familiar, nowhere unsafe. Was Megan all right? And Errol? It felt to her as if it should be the day, but the night was as deep as midnight. Her mind recalled the long sunset from before her kidnapping... was it related?

Thoughts flickered back and forth, broken in her mind; nothing stayed with her for long. At length, the horse came to a string of restaurants. There, it stopped. Beauty did not have the sense to know to dismount. She simply leaned on the beast's neck and held.

Bruce had finally had enough of seeing his wife-to-be being the playtoy of the criminals of this city. First it had been Joker, and now Jonathan Crane? Weren't the villians supposed to stick together, like the super heros tended to? Maybe Bruce had assumed that criminals flocked in the same patterns as the hero types. That wasn't a very safe assumption, but it had been the one that had made sense, though it was probably the idea furthest from the truth. Eddie didn't seem to be part of that group of elite criminals, or at least it seemed that way to Bruce considering he had been the second victim in the plot against the Nigmas. Both of the Nigma clan had been held against their will in the depths of Arkham Asylum by Jonathan Crane and Joker, something that was unforgiavble in Bruce's eyes. He had always been wary of Crane, the man just gave him a strange feeling every time he was around and he didn't like Enigma hanging around him. Especially now that Bruce knew how little Jonathan cared about her. The man was supposed to be her "step-father" after all, he should know better than to treat Enigma so poorly. Well, it didn't seem like Eddie had been treated any better and he was supposed to be Crane's partner. At least, that's what Bruce understood. How could something like this happen?

It seemed to Bruce that if someone didn't do something, Enigma was destined for a full body cast at some point in her life, and with their up-coming wedding he had a good idea that she would want to look like a noraml woman in her dress when she stood at the altar, and not wrapped from head to toe in plaster and bandages. Nor did he want her addicted to pain killers. She was already suffering enough from the broken elbow which she had some how managed to earn from Crane, another thing that made Bruce sick. He never wanted another man laying hands on the woman he loved, especially not with ill intent. Jonathan seemed to have crossed too many boundaries, and it was time someone stood up for the Nigmas, especially the littlest one.

Setting his feud with Eddie aside, Bruce agreed to go to Arkham to confront Crane about the kidnapping. He wasn't afraid of the skinny, dark-haired man in the slightest. Bruce wasn't one to jump head first into a fight, either, as it didn't fare well for his green beast, but something had to be done, and despite the last heated encounter with Dr. Crane, Bruce hoped they could set their differences aside and just talk like normal people. Hope being the key word.

Bruce wasn't interested in any scheme that Eddie might be formulating for Crane, having no idea what exactly was going on between them, only that it wasn't good. The elder Nigma was secretly trying to pit the Hulk against the beast inside his ex, and using Bruce as bait to draw out the Scare Beast was perfect. Too perfect. There wasn't anyone else immune to fear toxin, so that made Bruce the prime contender for the slot. When this was all over, perhaps Jonathan will learn something valuable. Not to mess with the people you love, and to know where your true allies were. Eddie had powerful allies, he didn't need Jack to back him up when he had a green monster at the disposal of his daughter. Enigma could get Bruce to do about anything for her, and this was a prime example.

So, with the idea of confronting Jonathan in mind, Bruce headed to Arkham to find the man responsible for holding his fiancee hostage.

He arrived via bicycle, leaving the contraption outside in the rack designed for such things, and headed inside, unaware of what direction exactly this was headed but he would find out soon enough.

He moved through the doors that lead into the lobby, and approached the desk for reception, asking the woman politely where he could find Dr. Crane, being pointed in the direction of the office he'd been at only once before. With a soft thanks, Bruce moved away from the desk and slipped down the hallway, approaching the too familiar door. It was closed, as usual, which didn't suprise Bruce in the slightest. Part of him hoped Crane wasn't there, or that he was with a patient. It wasn't out of fear, this building made Bruce uncomfortable to be in, and that wasn't good for his inner beast. Being uncomfortable was a doorway that lead to a world full of terrible things, a door that Bruce never wanted to open for any reason.

He approached the door, slowly, pausing once outside, lifting a hand to knock gently at the door, waiting patiently despite the discomfort he was feeling. This had to end now.

(Backdated to before the kidnapping of Edward and Enigma, and right after Edward kidnaps Beauty)

Eddie had done a terrible thing by capturing such a lovely woman, but he was tired of hearing Jonathan basically swooning over her, so to get it out of his system Edward did the only thing he knew how to do, and that was push the obsession into over drive by allowing his partner to consume himself in the matter. Hopefully he would get tired of her and forget about the whole thing. Eddie hated competition when it came to his man so it was worth the risk of kidnapping her in broad daylight, in front of her own store, to get this matter resolved.

Edward had Marcus pull the car around to the back of the Asylum once they had located the building and approached it. The car settled in the back where the patients were usually brought in, considering it wasn't classy to just simply walk them through the front door. There was a loading area with a service entrance and a place where the local crazies were processed and then put into their cells or rooms to serve their sentances and recieve treatment for their disorders. "We're here, lovely!" Eddie said with a giggle, the car ceasing to move and to run in a few moments after they had reached the back of the facility. Marcus opened the door on Beauty's side, pulling the woman gently from the car. For being a large man, Marcus could be very gentle and he hated the fact that Eddie was doing such a thing to her. But Edward didn't have time for Marcus's opinion on his diabolical matters.

"This way, Marcus." Eddie said, once he was out of the car, motioning to the processing entrance. He had access to the building that would get them in and get her settled, having picked out a nice room for her before he had left to retrieve her. With another maniacal giggle, Eddie moved forwards, leading the way with Marcus and the young woman behind him. He knew full well that Beauty could scream and fight at any moment, but that wouldn't do her any good, nobody would hear her, nor would they care.

"I've got the best room in the house already all made up for you, dear. I think you're going to enjoy your stay here with us."

Tuesdays at Bookmark Books were Beauty's favorite days. Hardly any customers came on Tuesdays, too busy with day-to-day life to bother with used books. It was the day that she and her coworker usually spent tidying up the store, stocking and verifying what was on the shelves, and sometimes, sometimes, the best of times, sitting together in the front and reading from the same book.

This morning, Beauty had gone from the back, where she and Errol were categorizing the newest arrivals for later shelving, to the front. The coffee machine had just gone off, and it was her turn to make cups for each of them.

To her surprise, there was a man standing just outside the front door, looking for all the world that he was waiting for the store to open. He'd cupped his hand to his eyes and was looking straight at her as she walked into the front. Any person that eager for books deserved to wait in the comfort of the store itself, she thought! With a smile, she held up her hand for his patience. Bypassing the coffee, then, Beauty grabbed the store keys from the front counter and headed to the door. When she'd turned the key in the lock, she pulled the door open.

"Hello! We're not quite ready for customers yet," she said, "But would you like to come in and wait? We have comfortable chairs in the front, and there's coffee..."

The long stretch of night drew heavily over her, silvered her eyelids, cocooned her with warm lethargy, wrapped in the scent of the lavender just over her porch rail. High overhead, above the eternal springtime boughs, the moon began its slow descent. It was, Beauty thought wryly, well past her bedtime. Her thoughts were meandering in only the way a very tired mind would allow. Half-formed ideas pressed into others; patchwork.

She'd dressed carefully, selecting a dress that caught the moonlight and jewelry that glowed under it. Beauty hadn't wanted him to miss her accidentally. Every half hour after the sun set, she repeated the same ritual: she stood from the small sitting area she'd created - just two chairs and a tiny end table from the living room - and walked to the steps leading into her garden. "Lestat," she said quietly, very aware that her roommate was sleeping. And then, perhaps more importantly, she all but yelled his name silently in her head.

If the gifts that'd been arriving at her cottage were any indication, Lestat came often. She'd never been awake to find him hovering over her bed or creeping through her hallways. Tonight, she swore, it would be different. Tonight, she'd have her answers from him.

She waited on the steps, her dark eyes surveying the park as it stretched out before her. She could see nothing - no one. But she knew that it didn't mean he wasn't there. Lestat. So many talents, he had. And because of her foolishness, she'd hurt this gifted man.

"Lestat," she said again.

The petite vampire sat across the road from the hideous monstrosity that had once been her business, or partly hers. Now, she was sharing it with a blond who was tasty and wouldn't mind killing her. Of course, she was sharing it with a blond who wouldn't mind sharing his bed with his wife and her, but that was something and someone else entirely. She hadn't gone in unless she really had to, and even then she spent as little time as possible inside.

Pam sat perfectly straight, her ankles crossed and tucked under the bench. Her gloved hands folded neatly on her lap. She looked like a Stepford wife, a very young Stepford wife. With a hint of Alice of Wonderland fame thrown in. Her hair was pulled into a bun with a bow that matched her pink of ensemble. Her dress' skirt was full, but she managed to sit there without an apparent worry that it would fly up to reveal those things it shouldn't; she'd worn one of these skirts before. He waist was cinched with a cute little black belt that matched her kitten heels. She looked as if she'd stepped right off a 50's Harper's Bazaar. The petite thing could dress rather nicely.

She stared at the door leading into the establishment. She probably been sitting there for quite some time, and it was possible if no one noticed her she would continue to sit there until the sun demanded she go to ground. It wasn't that she was wallowing, but rather she was examining the problem and trying to determine the best solution. Eric wished to co-exist with the hunters, at least for now, but she did not see a profitable end to it. It was an unpleasant bit of surviving as far as she was concerned.

The roses - her favorite - had surprised her when she woke. There they were, splendid and beautiful, sitting in a outrageously expensive-looking vase on the nightstand by her bed. First it had been delightful, waking to the scent of fresh roses... but the delight turned to dread when she realized that the scent was from roses she never brought into her room herself.

There was a note with them. Lestat, Beauty thought to herself, rubbing her eyes wearily. She lived in a way that brought her few regrets, but the way that she and Lestat had ruined their perfectly-good friendship was quickly making a distinguished entry high on her short list of things she would have done differently. Once she read the note, she stuffed it deep into the roses, only to yelp when thorns caught at her hand. Lots of thorns. Extracting her scratched self from the dire roses, she sucked on the cut that ran over the top of her hand and stared at the window.

It was locked from the inside. How did Lestat manage to get into her bedroom? Was it last night? She couldn't recall them being there when she went to sleep. No... No, they hadn't been there before. A coldness settled in her chest. She stared at the vase and tried to think of the best way of disposing of these cursed flowers.

Thirty minutes later, Beauty had dropped the entire thing, roses, note, and vase, into a shallow grave she'd dug at the edge of the land she called her own, just a few feet away from one of the park's wending cement paths. But it wasn't enough to just bury the "gift" in the dirt where Lestat couldn't find it. She wanted to destroy it completely. It took a few minutes to find a good, big rock. It took less than that to start smashing the vase.

Beauty had no idea she had an onlooker to the destruction.

There was something oddly appealing about putting on fancy clothes and going to large, decadent events, Errol thought. He would have thought that it was just the pleasure he got from breaking the taboos of his old life, but it seemed to be shared by enough of those that he'd met to decide that it was something commonly shared. He found that common bond of humanity pleasing.

But the events were also occasionally overwhelming, and he was glad to drop back into his ordinary routine and comfortable clothes, letting himself in to Bookmark Books with a bag of breakfast pastries. Back into Bookmark where things would not be quite the same--not since the opera. And accompanying Beauty to the wedding reception. Things were different now. Not bad, but--different. He'd given that a lot of thought, lately.

He made a point of setting the bag of pastries down noisily, announcing himself, a new habit. Near-silence had its time and place, but he felt guilty when he made Beauty jump in surprise.

Fred smiled to herself as she walked along. She had reconnected with someone who could be a friend, even if it was awkward. Maybe it wouldn't always be awkward, which she hoped was the case. It had been awkward for a little while with Dinah, and Fred knew it was all in her head; yet, they were friends now. She did need to check on her friend soon. They weren't close like before; at least, their buildings weren't anymore. The City was back to normal after all. She'd also made a new friend, who was going willing to let her be his guide to the new and exotic-y future. She had friends. She wasn't alone anymore; they weren't living in the same building as she was, but they weren't too far off. And, Lorne seemed to be hugging her these days, which helped. They also knew how to use the smartphones; well, most of them did anyway. Things were good.

Things were so good, she thought she'd take a risk and get a new tablet. It wasn't like the one she'd left behind in the not-German German place for her other self; this one wouldn't be made by someone she cared about for her specifically. There were some days she regretted it, but it was all she had that she could leave behind to help. She couldn't not leave it. So, she was going to find a replacement, even if it was probably inferior. Of course, she could go to Annie to see about getting upgrades, and she could make adjustments of her own. This could be very good.

The brainy female paused in front of the store, her usual go to City citizen-owned tech store. Right beside it stood a very nice consignment shop, nothing too expensive but all very nice just the same. There was a jacket in there that looked like it would have pockets, or could have pockets, on the inside. She looked at the two stores then nodded; she'd get the tablet then hope that the jacket was still there. It seemed like a very good plan for a somewhat quiet day.

Jack had gone to bed with Zatanna and woken up alone for the first time in months. It wasn't a good feeling. It was worse when he'd searched everywhere in the City and found no sign of her. He'd spent days looking for any sign of her and had finally been forced to conclude that she was gone. Alice had disappeared awhile back and that had hurt too, but not like this. Truly, not like this.

After burying himself in work all week, Jack found himself on a Saturday morning with nothing left to distract himself. Sure, there was always something to do but his secretary had all but shoved him out of the office and maybe he did need to clear his head.

A walk in the park seemed like a fine idea. It was a lovely sunshiney day, as most days in the City were. Somehow that seemed a little extra cruel lately, but it was what it was. When all was said and done, this had become his City and he would still continue to do what he could for the people here, no matter what or who he'd lost along the way.

Opening night for Verdi's La Traviata ran as smoothly as the City Opera House manager designed it. He allotted a certain number of complimentary tickets to be distributed by high-performing members of his production. Those lucky enough to receive these tickets were placed on a special guest list and personally escorted by the house staff to their box seats. The manager himself claimed a seat in Box 5, which was otherwise empty.

Tonight, the crowd glittered and shone brightly under the warm glow of the opera house. Attending the opera was as much about high art as it was about being seen. With every playbill this night came an invitation to the opening night celebration following after the performance. There, all would get their fill of the glamor brought out by opening night.

When the lights in the auditorium dimmed, so too did the chatter. Then began the orchestra, casting its spell with rich, full-bodied music. The pianist, one Hannibal Lecter, would be remembered by musical types for his mastery. But there was limelight enough for others, as well. The production's Violetta, Ms. Christine Daeé, sang soprano with a curious and heady combination of seduction and fresh youth, while the Flora of the opera, Ms. Enigma, carried the darker mezzo-soprano with an expert's touch. And when the lights came up, it was to the roar of an audience recognizing the triumph it just witnessed.

Once the curtain calls were done, the crowd began filtering down the staircase and into the Grand Foyer, where the night was just beginning. The wine flowed; the violins hummed -- a triumph indeed.

The entire day felt like a weight. Once the books were properly shelved, the rest of her hours at work stretched impossibly long. Errol was up in front, researching something... a topic too familiar for her tastes. Honour retreated to the rare books room - which was as far away from the front of the store as she could get - and spent the rest of the day pacing or restlessly changing positions in one of the bookstore's upholstered chairs. There'd been only one chime from the door, and she'd avoided coming out for that. She tried reading, but ended up going over the same two paragraphs again and again. Nothing was sticking, and she couldn't get her thoughts straight.

Something gnawed at her ruthlessly, and she was doing her best to hide it -- or at least hide away until she mastered it. When it came time for the end of her shift, Honour uncharacteristically rushed through closing duties and hurried out the door with hardly a word to her colleague. It shouldn't have been so difficult to be around him, she reflected, but she'd stopped meeting his eyes when they happened on her.

The warm early evening felt like a blanket around her. She hurried home and went to the room that felt the most comforting - her new library. Again, nothing seemed to take her mind off things; nothing helped at all. It was useless, all these attempts to distract herself. But maybe...

30 minutes later, Honour knocked on the beautiful doors of a friend. Over one arm she carried a basket filled to the brim with apples and carrots. When she dropped her hand to her side again, she tried plastering on a smile, but it felt so awful that she let it slide almost immediately.

An army of guests couldn't eat the produce in Beauty's cart before it spoiled, and Beauty realized this just as she set three large tomatoes beside the avocados she'd painstakingly selected. With a frown, she poked through the carrots and apples (those were for Horse, so they didn't count), checked under the carton of blueberries for the late summer strawberries, then pushed at the sacks of celery, broccoli, cauliflower, cucumber, zucchini...

The rest of the basket was full of bread, all sorts of bread -- baguettes, croissants, sourdough, rye, marbled rye, hard rolls. Then there were the bottles of juice. (Bottled juice, even after 4 years, was still a joy.) And the crackers. And she had the makings of five different cheese plates in the back of the cart, too.

Beauty raked a hand through her hair. It was still disconcerting to find that her hair terminated at her shoulders, so she dropped her hand again and stared dolefully at her shopping cart.

Clearly, she was distracted.

She started paring down the vegetables.

With things more calm, and Sam Winchester (or Sam Winchester(s)) at least reasonably assured that they were not, in fact, still in a box in Hell with Satan, Lestat considered his good deeds done for the week. He only was capable of so many, after all. And everybody knew that.

Those who'd been missing were returned, and he longed to poke at their brains. He intended to, and had, just a bit. They'd been some other place, and he got a reasonable picture of that place, but he still wanted to know more. He was certain it was where Sam had come from, second Sam.

Lestat decided on finding someone he knew had been gone, and getting to the bottom of this. Honour. Honour'd been missing, and he could easily find her, and she would be quite open about her experiences--at least, he knew she was comfortable enough with him to tell him how it'd been there, and perhaps the logistics of how she'd ended up there. He could fill in the blanks from others who'd been gone, too.

He set out for her cottage immediately once the sun was low enough, which, now that he had Eric's blood, was just a little earlier, a few minutes, than it'd been before, with the added bonus of no longer going 'dead' during the day.

He made sure he had something to offer her, and at least the pretense of a real, honest visit. It was not that he did not wish to see her, just that Lestat's motives were never without selfishness. He'd found a very nicely bound copy of Shakespeare's complete works for her, and tucked it in one pale hand, close to his non-beating heart.

At the cottage door, he knocked. And waited as the sun continued its slow decent toward the horizon.