Yeah ... so there's probably not much chance of me finishing this story by Halloween, but hey – hopefully most of you will keep reading past that ... won't you? *crickets chirping*. Told you I was bad at my own deadlines. But better late than never.

But anyway, this chapter is a good deal shorter than the last one, and not too much happens, but I won't spoil anything for you. Just read on, enjoy, and review.

Chapter Two: Toil and Trouble

Edith was up early the next morning, ready once more to begin working on her spell. Now that she had seen it work, if for a little while, she felt a new drive to improve it. Somehow things didn't seem impossible to her as she prepared for her task, gathering several dozen new books on the library table. She had not given up yesterday and she had found a way to make Anthony a tangible being again. Now the problem to be solved was making the spell last longer than a fleeting moment, which she hoped would be a greal deal easier.

There were several ways to make a spell last longer, and most of them required the witch to drink a potion. That potion would strengthen any spells that were cast by the witch, either to heighten the effect of the spell or make it last longer. The issue was that their were different types of potions depending on the type of spell (if it was a hex, a jinx, a charm, or another of the many categories spells were sorted into). And Edith wasn't quite sure what her new spell was, which meant some experimenting was in order.

Once she had summoned Anthony, she went straight to work, collecting ingredients for the spell-enhancement potions and preparing them in her cauldron. Anthony, as he was now accustomed to doing, would stand motionless as Edith drank the most recent potion she had prepared and recited the spell she had created the night before.

The result was the same as always. Anthony would become corporeal, but faded away within a minute. The potions Edith consumed had neither a good or ill effect. The only thing that changed was Edith's level of motivation to keep trying. She wasn't feeling too frustrated for the first few tries, but her repeated attempts continued to yield nothing different.

By the end of the morning and after six attempts, she was feeling despondent yet again. She couldn't help but think that she had only set herself up for disappointment. She did not want to concede defeat so soon, but she had the feeling that she may very well have to.

"Maybe this is hopeless," she moaned, slumped in her chair. "If I can't get the spell to last longer than a minute, then what's the point?"

Anthony wafted through the table so that he was standing right in front of her. "Chin up, Edith. Nothing is completely hopeless. And you came so far yesterday."

"But I've tried everything I can think of. And I have no idea what to try next," Edith said.

"Then let it rest for now," Anthony advised. "You've done enough for today."

Edith rested her head in her hand, reluctantly shutting her book. "I know I shouldn't obsess over it, but I feel as though I can't stop until it's finished."

"You'll find a way," Anthony said, "eventually." He sighed. "The truth of the matter is, it doesn't matter so much to me. I don't mind at all if I can't feel things."

"But it matters to me," Edith argued. "And don't you want to be corporeal for longer than a minute?"

Anthony stammered, "Well, that would be nice, but—"

"Then I must keep working on it," Edith decided, her words final. "Until I am absolutely certain nothing can be done to improve the spell, I won't give up. I just have to look to other sources – there are plenty of older texts I haven't looked through yet …"

Anthony knew that at this point Edith could not be dissuaded from her mission. She was adamant about finishing the process of making him corporeal – even when he was starting to believe it might not be possible. He liked to watch her work, but not to the point of exhaustion. He wished he was able to at least make her a cup of tea and encourage her to put her feet up.

But how to tell Edith about the thoughts gnawing at the back of his mind, the ones that were swirling in his head for the past week, ever since Edith had begun her task? She had to know them eventually – even though it might break her heart. To keep the truth from her would be dishonest in a way, but to tell her would certainly upset her, and that was the last thing he wanted to do.

Anthony loved Edith with all of his heart, cared for her greatly, but since his fatal accident a year ago he could not help but think that their relationship would suffer because of his demise. He was merely a shade, while Edith was flesh and blood and she had a life ahead of her. Why did she insist on remaining with him, a ghost of his former self, when she could find a young, living man to spend the rest of her life with? Surely it wasn't fair to tie herself down to the ghost of an old man whom she could not even touch.

And even though they were still technically together, Anthony always wondered if he should have put an end to it sooner.

His heart was telling him that it was ridiculous to be thinking such things, that Edith stayed with him because she loved him. After all, would she be working so hard to give him a solid form if she didn't? But was it selfish of Anthony not to let her go and be with someone she could truly have a future with? Like that whole 'if you love someone you let them go' saying?

He'd had those same thoughts when he was alive and first dating Edith, that it would be better if she was with a man closer to her age. But that was the logic in his head talking, not his heart, and his heart said to hold onto Edith and never let go.

What was his heart saying now?

She was the reason he remained in this world as a ghost, and he was glad that he was able to still look after her and talk to her, but he dreaded the thought that she could let an opportunity to be equally happy with a living man slip through her fingers. Edith deserved a proper relationship, with a proper partner. She deserved to be happy.

But she always said she was perfectly happy with Anthony. And Anthony knew she wouldn't accept him breaking up with her.

While Anthony fought the knots tightening in his invisible stomach, Edith pulled a few more books from the shelves. "Maybe I should ask Mama to send some books from the library at Downton," she mused. "There's a much better selection there."

"Would you ask your parents for help on this too?" Anthony inquired. "Perhaps they can give you some advice."

"No. I don't want them to know about this until it's complete." Edith paused. "They … they may think it's dangerous."

"Dangerous?" Anthony gulped. Edith hadn't mentioned any danger to the process before. "How so?"

Seeing Anthony's alarm, Edith was quick to explain. "Well … I only mean that they might think I'm trying to resurrect you, which I'm not. That would require me to go to your grave and dig up your body and—"

"I'd prefer it if you didn't explain the rest," Anthony softly interrupted.

"It's illegal anyway, to raise the dead," Edith added. "It's classified as dark magic and highly dangerous as well, and it doesn't really properly bring the dead back to life. Where do you think the idea for zombie movies came from?"

From her insinuation, Anthony could easily fathom a guess to that. "Being a ghost is leagues better than being a zombie, I suppose."

Edith set the new books down on the table. "I realize I can't change anything about you being dead. But I know I can give you a corporeal form. Surely it must be possible to make it last, because we now know it is possible for at least a minute." She sat down again, flipping open two books at once. She was going to research if a talisman or amulet might do the trick.

But she didn't get a chance to read a single word. Something else grabbed her attention.

A chill, the same that Anthony had felt the previous night, spread through his body out of nowhere. It was much colder than the last, feeling like an icy wind blowing through every part of him.

He let out a gasp, and Edith looked up from the page. "What is it?"

Before he could say, Anthony let out another shudder that caused his form to fade in and out of existence. Edith stood up quickly. "Anthony? What's wrong?"

"I don't know … I felt a horrible chill all of a sudden." Anthony shivered again, his form rippling like a reflection in water. "I feel cold all over."

Edith looked Anthony up and down with immense concern. "Does it hurt at all?"

"Only a little. It stings," Anthony answered. "It feels like wind on your face in the winter."

He would have grown more frightened of the sudden chill had it lasted longer, but he could feel it fading quickly, the cold being replaced with numbness. "It's fading," he told Edith. "It's alright."

"It's not alright," Edith insisted. She rummaged through the pile of books for one on ghosts and quickly opened up to a chapter. "I don't remember ever reading anything about ghosts being able to feel cold. And this room is hardly freezing anyway. Something's going on." She turned to another chapter, skimming over a short paragraph. "You haven't felt this before, have you?"

"Well …" Anthony winced, knowing what he was about to confess would upset her. "Last night, when we were going up to bed, I felt just a little twinge of cold."

Edith's face fell. "Why didn't you tell me?" she demanded.

"Because I didn't think it was important enough to tell," Anthony said weakly, dreadfully ashamed of himself for keeping in from her. "It only lasted a couple of seconds, and I hardly thought that begged for medical attention."

"You ought to have said something," Edith scolded gently. "It can't be normal if you haven't felt it before. Oh, I should know what's going on."

She paced around the table, wringing her hands and muttering to herself, "Think Edith, what could it be?"

Anthony couldn't help feeling quite useless.

Suddenly, Edith stopped dead. "Oh no … what if it's a side effect of the spell?"

Anthony's eyes widened. "Your spell? You think the spell had something to do with it?"

"You've only been feeling these cold twinges since I did the spell last night. It could very well be a side effect."

"But I don't feel out of sorts at all," Anthony said. "Apart from feeling cold for only a moment, I'm alright."

Panic was causing Edith's voice to rise. "And what if you aren't? What if something is terribly wrong? It would be my fault."

"Edith, my sweet, how could you say that? How can you know it's your fault?"

"Because it is! What if I've done something horrible to you without realizing it?"

Anthony did have the suspicion that something may be amiss, but he didn't want to distress Edith anymore. "But I feel perfectly alright now. I'm back to normal again."

"How can you be so sure?" Edith looked up at Anthony worriedly. "Because I have a terrible feeling about this. You're not a human being feeling random pains. You're not supposed to feel anything."

Anthony wished so much he could pull Edith close and give her a comforting embrace. He wanted to stroke her hair as her cheek nestled against his shoulder, whisper words of solace to her while he felt her heart beat against his chest. But of course, he could only offer her a reassuring expression.

"Why do you believe something's the matter? Surely it can't be as bad as all that."

Edith hugged herself, as though she were the one suffering a chill. "I don't know exactly. I just have the feeling that this might lead to something dreadful. And I don't want anything to happen to you."

Oh God, how each one wished they could kiss the other at this moment!

"You mustn't worry about me so," Anthony told her.

"But I do," Edith said with a weak smile. "I really do. And I will figure this out, no matter what it takes."

She knew she had to; if something was threatening Anthony, then it was up to her to stop the danger. And nothing Anthony could say would deter her.

She returned to the books lying on the table. "I'll start here, check if there are references to ghosts who regained their sense of touch …"

Anthony let out a heavy sigh. Another day of grinding away at his problem.

"Up late, were we?" Sybil smirked as Mary trudged into the kitchen.

Mary let out a tired noise in response. She took her mug from the shelf and poured hot water from the kettle into it. She was still in her pyjamas and her hair was rather tousled. Sybil on the other hand was dressed for work at the hospital, sipping the last of her coffee. It appeared to be a morning of opposites, as it was often Mary who was the first one dressed in the morning and Sybil liked to have breakfast in her pyjamas.

"You're not usually asleep past eleven," Sybil remarked.

"I'm not usually up until three in the morning either," Mary muttered sleepily. She tried, unsuccessfully, to stifle a yawn.

"What were you and Matthew doing at three in the morning, if I may ask?" Sybil asked, with a teasing note to her voice.

Mary glowered at her through half-closed eyelids. "Nothing you need to know the details of, thank you."

"Oh come on," Sybil taunted. "How did your date night go?"

"It actually didn't last very long," Mary admitted, sitting down at the table. "We went to the usual bar, and we were planning on seeing a movie. Average date night. But we came home early."

"Why, what happened?"

Mary sighed. "Matthew was … he wasn't doing well around the other people."

"What?" Sybil frowned in confusion. "But he's never had a problem with humans before."

"I know," Mary groaned, shaking her head. "But the blood substitute didn't seem to work as well as it usually does. I caught him staring at a couple of throats. He … well, if I hadn't gotten him out of there, he might have bitten someone eventually."

"Gosh," Sybil murmured. "Do you think he's developing a resistance to the blood substitute?"

"I don't know. He says that he's felt it getting less effective in the past few weeks. If the blood substitute isn't working anymore, he will have to drink actual blood – and he's not going to like that."

Neither Sybil nor Mary could blame Matthew for not wanting to drink human blood after the last episode, but if the blood substitute continued to fail then he wouldn't have much choice. Vampires could become savage, mindless monsters if deprived of blood for too long. There were several old tales of vampires starving themselves and turning into deformed, skeletal, bat-like creatures that had no conscience. Mary felt sick at the thought of Matthew becoming one of those … things.

"You should check to see if there's something can be done if the blood substitute becomes less effective," Sybil told Mary. "Surely there must be a footnote or something about it somewhere."

"I'll check. Though I'm sure I would have noticed something important about it," Mary said. "I honestly don't remember anything about the potion becoming less effective with time."

"Maybe it's because he takes it every day?" Sybil suggested.

"Could be," Mary murmured, taking a sip of tea. "I'm hoping there's a way to make it effective again. Because if there isn't, Matthew's not going to have a lot of other options."

"You know I'm able to get blood donations from the hospital," Sybil said. Training to be a nurse did have its perks.

Mary nodded. "I appreciate that, but I don't know if Matthew would be willing to drink from those either. So unless he decides he can stand biting people, which I doubt will happen, I'm going to have to force-feed him."

Matthew shared a few qualities with Mary: stubborness was one of those qualities. Mary hoped that the blood substitute would start working again or else she'd have to tackle the matter of getting Matthew to drink human blood. And she would rather not force-feed him.

"Have a shift today?" Mary asked, glancing at Sybil's nurse uniform.

"No, I'm wearing this on a date with Tom," Sybil joked. "Yes, I have a shift today. I'll be out all day." She stood up and put her empty coffee mug in the sink. "There's still some eggs in the pan if you want them."

Mary eagerly stood up and spooned some scrambled eggs onto a plate. "Where is Tom?"

Sybil leaned against the sink. "He left hours ago. Had to go to work early."

"Transformation go alright?"

"Perfectly calm, as always," Sybil said. "Thanks to my flawless potion making skills."

Mary snorted. "You nearly botched it the first time you made it," she said. "You almost forget the hairs. If I wasn't there to remind you, the potion would have failed."

"Oh come on, Mary. Let me have my triumph."

Mary rolled her eyes. "Fine. You are a very talented potion-maker."

Sybil beamed, cheeks a rosy hue. But a few seconds later she frowned, squinting at Mary's neck. "Is that—?"

Mary quickly pulled the collar of her pyjama top up to her neck. "It's nothing," she said, quite unconvincingly. "Really, it's just …" She trailed off when she couldn't think of a plausible reason she had a noticeable mark on her throat.

Sybil giggled. "What? Is Matthew getting … bitey?" she teased with a wicked smile.

Grudgingly, Mary pulled back her collar. On the side of her throat, there was a sizeable purple bruise, at the center of which were two circular indents. The skin wasn't broken, but it was nevertheless clear what had made those marks – a pair of sharp teeth.

"Oh my," Sybil gasped. "Did that hurt?"

"He's got fangs!" Mary exclaimed. "Of course it hurt – but only a little. I could tell he was trying to be gentle. This was the first time he actually made marks."

Sybil leaned in closer, inspecting the bruise and teeth marks. "He didn't puncture the skin. It should heal in a day or so."

"Good." Mary rubbed the bruise, wincing slightly. "I suppose it's fitting, considering he's a vampire."

"Was he not bitey when he was human?" Sybil teased again. "Because I recall you having love bites before—"

Mary shot her a glare. "Shouldn't you be at work?"

With a smirk, Sybil sauntered out of the kitchen. "Have a good day!" she called over her shoulder.

Mary groaned as she dug into her eggs. Sybil was always poking fun at her sisters' sex lives, and while it was all in good fun, it drove Mary up the pole. Naturally Sybil found it funny that Matthew was going for her neck now.

She recalled what had happened the past night – or rather, very early in the morning. After a couple of movies and glasses of wine, Matthew had carried her up the stairs and set her down on the bed. Their lovemaking was intially quite vanilla, but nevertheless romantic … until Matthew bent his head down into the crook of her neck and began to kiss it rather passionately.

That alone had been enough to excite Mary, but when she felt the points of his fangs on her skin … well, needless to say she was lucky she had not woken anyone else with the moan that escaped her lips.

When things finally settled down, Matthew appeared flustered when he saw what he had done to Mary's throat, even though Mary assured him that it was alright. It was another manifestation of his vampiric urges; even in bed there was no escaping them.

Mary expected that Matthew still didn't fully accept what he was now. Three months since he was attacked and transformed – how long would it take for him to accept his new reality? Why did he have to be so stubborn, Mary wondered. Surely he had to know he should not be ashamed of his curse, and he could not be afraid of himself. He'd have to let go of his fear of drinking human blood if the blood substitute failed. Sooner or later, he had to give in.

Matthew was asleep when Mary went back to the bedroom to get dressed, though he stirred when she turned on the light. The curtains kept the sunlight from streaming into the room. Mary sat on the edge of the bed, brushing his hair off his forehead. Even with his deathly pale skin, sunken eyes, and sharp teeth, he was still the most beautiful man to her. Vampire or not, he was still the same Matthew she had fallen for and loved. She wouldn't let his curse change things between them.

She only wished Matthew would stop hating himself for what he was.

Mary gave Matthew a soft kiss on the forehead, whispering, "I'll see you later, darling." Though she knew he probably could not hear her, she nevertheless felt better for saying it. She didn't want to leave him now, when he hadn't given her a kiss in return, but she knew he'd likely be deep in sleep until sunset.

She got dressed for the day, making a mental list of errands she needed to run. Grocery shopping, for one, and also to the magical apothecary for some potion ingredients – Sybil had taken the last of the powdered birch root for the potion she made for Tom on the full moon – and some ointment for her neck as well.

Her errand to the grocery store was without any great crisis, apart from the price of milk going up slightly in the past week. But it was her stop at the apothecary that gave her a nasty shock.

The apothecary, hidden in plain sight, was a small little shop stocked from floor to ceiling with potion ingredients. To ordinary folk, it would look like some sort of New Age health shop, for those who preferred 'organic herbs' to 'dangerous chemicals,' and was appropriately avoided by most sensible passerby. Witches and warlocks went to the apothecary as often as one would go to the supermarket or a bank, and the Crawley sisters were all frequent customers.

She entered the shop, the tiny bell on the door ringing. The stout witch behind the counter greeted her. "Afternoon, Miss Mary. What can I get you?"

Mary rattled off a list of potion ingredients, and the shopkeeper shuffled about the store, gathering the ingredients in a wicker basket.

As the shopkeeper rang the purchases up, the bell on the door jingled again. When the shopkeeper looked up, her cheery expression turned to one of dismay. "Ah. Good afternoon, Sir Richard."

Mary's head snapped around. It couldn't be—

Oh no – that was him. Sir Richard Carlisle, powerful warlock and newspaper magnate – and one-time suitor of Mary Crawley.

Their eyes locked together.

This is bloody brilliant, Mary thought sarcastically. She couldn't care a fig about what Sir Richard Carlisle was doing in a dumpy little potions shop; she just wished he hadn't immediately noticed her. Sir Richard seemed just as shocked as she was.

"Lady Mary Crawley," he greeted slowly. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

"Certainly," Mary replied bluntly. She was most definitely not in the mood to be chatting with an ex of hers – especially one she had not gotten along well with. "Excuse me, I must be going."

She slapped a few notes onto the counter and picked up the basked of potion ingredients. Pushing past Sir Richard and out the door, she hastened her pace …

And Sir Richard had followed her out.

"Lady Mary, I'd just like to—"

She called over her shoulder. "I'm sorry, but I really have to be somewhere else—"

Sir Richard caught up to her, yanking her arm and halting her. Same old Richard Carlisle, Mary thought. Never did appreciate being brushed off so easily.

"Please, can't I just talk to you for a moment?" he asked. His eyes were pleading with her to grant him just a moment of her time.

Mary sighed, wresting her arm from Sir Richard's grip. "What is it?"

"I only wanted to personally congratulate you on your engagement," Sir Richard said. "I'll admit I was surprised you decided to settle down with a human. But if he can be trusted to keep our existence from the public, I don't see much of a problem with it."

Mary blinked. "Thank you." She decided it would be wise to refrain from correcting him and tell him that Matthew was in fact not a human anymore.

"And," Sir Richard added, "if there is any animosity at all still between us, I hope that can be alleviated."

"There isn't any," Mary answered. "We've left each other alone, and that's good enough for me."

Sir Richard's mouth was set in a thin line. "As long as you're happy," he muttered. The bitterness could be sensed from half a mile away.

"I hope you've found someone more deserving of you?" Mary asked, if only to direct the conversation away from her engagement.

"Not currently," Sir Richard answered. "Though this past spring when I was back in Edinburgh, I was with another young woman. Things … did not work out between us either."

Mary could easily think of a dozen reasons why a relationship with Sir Richard wouldn't work out. "I'm sorry to hear that," she said anyway.

Sir Richard shrugged lightly. "Anyhow, I'll let you carry on with your day. I'm pleased to see you're well."

"Yes, thank you," Mary said quickly, glad that she finally had an opportunity to get away. She turned on her heel and, without looking back at Sir Richard, set off down the street back home.

Just her luck to run into an ex. Who was she going to run into next? Henry Talbot? Tony Gillingham? Now that would just make her afternoon.

She stopped in her tracks, looking behind her – but Sir Richard had already gone back into the shop. So why did she get the feeling she was still being watched?

There was hardly anyone else on the little street, and those who were were walking right past her, engrossed in their own business. And even as she walked home she still couldn't shake that feeling, although there was no one following her.

"This is ridiculous," she muttered to herself as she put away the potion ingredients. "You're being silly, there's no one watching you."

But she was not aware of the creature watching her through a looking glass, the magical stone buried in the front plot allowing him to see inside the house.

"Hello again, Lady Mary," it snarled. It stroked a finger across the glass, down Mary's cheek. "Oh, I can't wait to see you again."

Suddenly, someone screamed. It was coming from the library.

Mary and a rudely awakened Matthew burst through the library door. Edith was on the floor with her back to a bookshelf, trembling and breathing heavily. "What is it?" Mary cried.

Poor Edith could hardly stammer out an answer. "There w-was a … a w-white l-light … came out of nowhere, filled the w-whole r-room up. I d-don't know what I d-did—"

"Are you hurt at all?" Mary asked. Edith shook her head.

"What were you doing? And where's Anthony—?" Mary's jaw dropped.

Anthony was standing on the other side of the library, no longer see-through. He had a solid form, pale and grey, but as solid as stone.

"Oh my God," Mary breathed. "What's going on with him? You didn't try and—?"

"No!" Edith said quickly. She jumped to her feet. "He's still dead, I promise! He's just corporeal now. It's worked!"

"What?" Mary hissed. "How – what's worked?"

Edith pointed to an open spellbook. "There – the spell I was working on. I changed some words, and when I spoke them aloud … there was suddenly a burst of light and it knocked me over!"

Mary inspected the page the book was open to. In Edith's handwriting was the spell:

I speak to thee, wandering spirit

Be of the mortal realm once again

Retain the form of flesh you covet

And walk amongst those still living men

"You were trying to make him solid again?" Mary gaped at Edith. "You thought you could give a ghost a solid form? Edith that's …"

Edith cringed, fearing that Mary was going to spew out some rant about irresponsibility or recklessness or messing around with the laws of nature.

" … that's amazing," Mary finished. "Is this what you've been working on all week?"

Edith nodded. "Actually, I managed to do it last night, but the spell didn't last very long. So I changed the spell a bit to see if I could make it last a little while longer." She looked back at Anthony. "But I don't know yet if it's actually worked. It could still only last a minute."

So they waited for a minute, then five, then ten. Anthony remained solid. Nothing seemed to indicate there was anything out of the ordinary, apart from the grey hue of Anthony's form. And he was able to hold Edith's hand, touch her face … kiss her lips.

An hour passed. Then another. Evening came, then night. Nothing about Anthony changed. He retained his corporeal form, and it did not waver or ripple or anything else that might indicate he would fade away. The spell had succeeded.

Anthony's skin was icy, colder than Matthew's even, but Edith did not care. She would have had him as soon as she could. She couldn't believe her luck – a simple revision of her spell was all it took.

"Wait until Sybil gets home, she'll be thrilled," Matthew said. Mary nodded in agreement. "Oh, she better get home soon, because I'm breaking out the champagne!"

Everyone laughed, with Edith smiling abashedly. "No Mary, you don't have to."

"Of course I do," Mary responded. "You've done something that I think no one's ever done before. It's something worth celebrating. And," she added, "I'm proud of you. I mean that."

Edith could not help but throw her arms around Mary in an impromtu embrace. And when Sybil came home just a few minutes later, she similarly threw herself at Edith (and nearly knocked the both of them to the floor). Nothing seemed capable of shattering the happy atmosphere in the house that night.

Through the looking glass, the creature observed with dark amusement. It watched the celebratory supper in the dining room, where all – including Anthony – raised a glass to Edith and her accomplishment.

"To Edith," they toasted, while Edith blushed furiously.

"What a fool," the creature snickered. "She hasn't saved him. She's doomed him."

*ominous scary music* uh oh ...