"Watch where you're going!" He stepped away to brush off his shirt but he looked up at her and gapped. Before him stood his hero, a heroine who had been dead for nearly two centuries.

The Late Lady Gardenia Schwan.

"Ahiru!" A voice called and she walked away.

"Wait-!" He reached his hand out to her, but it was too late she was already in the door. "It's impossible." He shook his head, stuffing his hands into his pockets, he walked away. He paused. "Is it possible?"

Maybe it was time to visit the coven again.

He pulled out his phone and called a number, one he was forced to memorize, he was told never to save it.

He didn't have to wait long for someone to pick up.

"May I speak with the Elder?" He groaned. "Then let me set up a meeting…February?"

"No, that's too late! Would you listen to me for one second you insufferable-" He rolled his eyes, the nerve of some people. "This is a matter regarding the Lady Gardenia Schwan!" He looked around him, making sure no one heard him say the name. "I saw her, just now, you cannot tell me she is dead!"

He didn't have to wait long, suddenly, as if by magic, a young man stood next to him.

"Herr Autor?"

"That is correct. And who are you?" This young man was new, one Autor hadn't meet before.

"I am Monsieur Femio." He held out his hand. "Right this way, sir."

Autor took hold of his hand and Femio began muttering under his breath, a simple transportation spell, and in a snap, Autor found himself in the hall of the Elders, right before their door.

"Enter." The elder called.

"Bonne chance." Femio told him before turning and walking down the hall.

Autor squared his shoulders and lifted his chin before throwing the door open.

"For what reason have you summoned us so late in the evening?" The elder asked, she rubbed her forehead with her hand, already irritated.

"I have reasons to believe that the Lady Gardenia has returned." His voice strong and clear, this was his destiny, his fate, he knew he would be the one to aid the Lady in her mission, whatever it may be.

The elder sighed. "We know."

Autor staggered. "Wh- What do you mean you know?"

"The Lady's magic has been reborn twice already." The elder leaned forward in his seat, irate. "What is her name this time around?"

"Ahiru Armia." The elder shook her head. "Autor, you are to leave this alone."

Autor started. "If the Lady has returned, than it's obvious she's here for a reason?"

"Do you not know your own history, boy?" The elder slammed his palm onto the arm of his chair. "What happened to the first?"

"She was ripped limb from limb and throw into Drosselmeyer's fires." The elder shook his head. "Her name was Odette Roth. The poor girl"

"And the next didn't suffer a too unfamiliar fate."

"Sylvia Jung." He sniffed. "She disowned her magical gifts and lived a long life, but that still did not save her."

"Sylvia Jung, I recognize that name." Autor said.

"It was the Bookmen, wasn't it? She shook her head. "I would give my magic to get rid of those fools."

"Nuisances, that's what they are."

"I believe we are getting off track."

"The Bookman leader, what is her name? Edel Wiess?"

"Yes, I believe so."

"She took her axe and chopped off her head."

"So, Autor, as you can see, it is best to leave her alone, let her live and die peacefully."

Autor looked to the Elder's, disbelief growing in his heart. How could they ignore the Lady's wishes this way? Everything they had, they owed it all to the Lady.

"Autor? Do you understand."

Autor knelt before them, his head bowed, his hand over his heart. "Yes."

"Good, than I can go back home."

Together, the two elders left their seats, vanishing in a puff of smoke.

"Autor, I realize you may not understand our reasonings, but don't act rashly. Our decision, to leave the Lady alone, was made a long time ago." He rose, less dramatic than the other two, but he could not leave until he said: "The Lady couldn't succeed, Odette died from her efforts, and Clara denied who she was. We will find a way to stop Drosselmeyer, but the Lady is not the answer."

"Sir, may I just ask of you?"

He sighed, "Very well, dear boy, what is it?"

"How exactly is it that she's back? Is she a reincarnation?"

"Of sorts. On her deathbed, the Lady knew she had failed in her efforts to stop her enemy, so she created a spell. The piece of her soul that was dedicated to magic, would live on, living until her… responsibility, was complete. Until Drosselmeyer danced in hell."

"Is it not then, disgraceful to her name to not carry out her demands?"

"She has failed. If she wanted to defeat Drosselmeyer she would have turned to the coven instead of turning her husband into a dog." He paused, his back to Autor now. "Leave."

Autor dipped his head and when he rose, he was alone.

He stood and fumed. "This is ludicrous. The Lady deserves to rest and find peace. And I will help her."

The door creaked open and Autor looked behind him, in the hall, Femio stood, half his face hidden. "I heard what they said, what you said. I believe you are right." He pushed open the door and stepped inside. "What is your plan, mon amie?"

Autor considered, was Femio a spy? Would he tell the Elders as soon as he had a chance?

"Why should I tell you? How do I know you won't turn on me?"

"The elders will not let me learn magic, they believe I will misuse my natural gift. If I help you, you can teach me, no?"

"You knew the transportation spell."

Femio shook his head, "They will not teach me advanced magic. I desire to learn more."

Autor nodded. "Okay, I'll teach you magic if you help me find this girl."

Femio stepped forward and held out his hand. "Agreed."

"My plan is to find this girl and prepare her for battle. To become powerful enough to kill Drosselmeyer."

Fakir knocked on her door and gave out an unsteady breath. He didn't know what he was even doing here, every aspect of his life had been messed up since she decided to step into his life.

Why, oh why, did she have to see them in that alleyway?

Although, perhaps they were bound to find each other no matter where either of them were that night.

He heard a loud crashing sound come in from her apartment and flinched, she gave out a shriek and she yelled, "Coming!"

The door flew open and Ahiru stood in the doorway panting, behind her, a river of pots and pans flowing out from the kitchen.

"Jesus, what were you trying to do?"

"Um-" Ahiru looked behind her and blushed. "I was looking for a certain one, and it all just kinda fell- what are you doing here, by the way?"

"I came to check on you. So long as that's okay."

Ahiru stared up at him, her lips apart before she smiled. "Yes, of course. Um, I was going to make pancakes, would you like to come in?"

She was inviting him in? "Uh-"

"You can tell me what you think of them." She grabbed his forearm and pulled him in. "I've been working on this recipe since my mom- Oh. I guess you don't know, do you?"

Fakir shook his head, he bent down to pick up the pans spilled on the floor. "No. Know what?"

Ahiru bit her lip before smiling and shaking her head. "Just what happened to my mom."

"Is she alright?"

Ahiru gave out a sharp laugh, it was more crude and he was sure it wasn't because she found what she said funny. "I guess she is now."

Fakir returned the pans to their place but could see in her body language he had made her uncomfortable. "So what's your recipe for pancakes?"

"Oh, I can't tell you! It's a secret recipe!" She held up one finger to her lips and winked.

He blinked, surprised at the emotions stirring in his chest. But then he smirked, "Aren't I helping you make them?"

"No one said that!"

"It would be rude to just sit and watch you make me dinner."

She didn't have an argument for that, instead she opened and closed her mouth a few times. "Fine, I'll just make you close your eyes when I pull out the secret ingredients."

"Did you find that certain skillet?"

"Oh!" Ahiru got down on her knees and rifled through the cabinets again, placing pans that were in the way on the floor. "Here! This was my Oma's cast iron skillet." She held it proudly and beamed up at him.

"My mother's cast iron skillet is still-" He cleared his throat. "It's still back in the old house."

"The Scent?"

Fakir scoffed. "Like I'd let those fat-heads touch my mother's things."

"So where's the old house?" Ahiru tilted her head as she placed the skillet on the stove.

"Oh, uh- It's-" He cleared his throat. "It's not in town."

"Is it where you used to live? You know," Ahiru averted her eyes, pulling out a bowl instead of looking at him. "Before all of this happened?"

"Before I was a werewolf? Yes."

"I suppose-" Ahiru played with the bowl, "She doesn't live there anymore?"

Fakir closed his eyes. "No, she hasn't lived there for a long time, and neither have I."

"Do you go there ever?" Ahiru looked over at him, but she still couldn't meet his eyes.

"The last time I went was when I apologized for killing Raven."

"Why did you kill him? Did you just want to be alpha really badly?"

Fakir scoffed. "No, although the others seem like me as the alpha. I killed him because-" Fakir sighed, how did he explain this? "There were lots of reasons."

"Do you think you could kill again? If you needed to."

"I would only kill if it was necessary, if the crime was heinous and truly worthy of death."

Ahiru's eyes flashed to his but she soon looked away.

Damnit. Did he go to far? Was she afraid of him again?

She smiled up at him instead. "Could you help me get everything I need?"

Fakir nodded and started rooting around her kitchen for milk and flour. "I'm glad you took my advice."

"What advice?"

"You bought yourself some food."

She stuck her tongue out at him. "It's hard living by yourself."

You could live with us. He almost said, almost, but he knew better than to just blurt out words.

"I can understand, after my father died, my mother and I couldn't support ourselves for very long, and we had to move in with a family friend." He was telling her a lot more than he wanted to. What was with this girl making him so loose lipped? He seemed to pour his heart out to her each time he stepped into her presence.

"Could you pour me out two cups of flour?" She handed him a measuring cup and he obliged. "Where did you live before?"

"Stadt Echie. My father owned an antique shop there, and my mother took care of it while he was away, but when he died, my mother couldn't take care of it by herself and I couldn't help because I was too young."

She poured the flour into her bowl. "Close your eyes."

Fakir rolled his eyes but close them and placed his hands over his face for extra protection.

"I need to get right in front of you." She placed her hands on his chest and pushed back. It sent his heart racing, her slim hands pressing against him.

He was a fool, well and truly a fool.

She moved around a bit more, touching his arm, his shoulder, the small of his back to let him know she was walking past.

Cinnamon. Nutmeg. Vanilla. Almond extract. Walnuts.

"Aren't you going to ask if I'm allergic to nuts?"

She gasped. "Fakir!" She whined. "You're peeking!"

He chuckled. "I have a heightened sense of smell."

He moved his hand and looked at her, she pouted, her arms crossed.

"Next time I'm gonna make you pinch your nose."

"Perhaps I should have this time. You must forgive me, it was not in your instructions."

She waved her hand. "It's too late now. Just promise you won't tell anyone what it is."

"I pro-"

"No!" She held out her pinky. "Pinky promise!"

Dear God, she was going to be the death of him.

Fakir locked his pinky to hers. "I pinky swear I'll tell no one."

She smiled. "Good. You aren't allergic to nuts, are you?"

He smirked, "No."

She danced on her toes and placed the first, large pancake onto the pan.

"You sure you want to make them that big?"

"Of course! The larger the better."

He leaned on the corner with one hand, the other on his waist; she stood so close.

"I used to hate pancakes." She said softly.

"How does anyone hate pancakes?"

"And spaghetti, too."

He tilted his head, curiosity getting the better of him. "Why?"

"Going up, after my oma died and it was just my mom and I, we could only afford things like pancakes and spaghetti. It was cheap and easy to make so, five out of seven times, we'd be eating this for dinner."

"I understand that. I still hate hot dogs and potatoes."

"Right, you would have been growing up in the thirties, huh?" She bit her lip as the top of the pancake started to bubble.

"It's very large, are you sure you won't mess up?"

She elbowed him in the ribs before reaching over his arm to grab a spatula from it's holder. "Shh, I'll be able to do it." She stuck her spatula under it. She pulled. She flipped.

And, the pancake ripped in two.

She moaned. "Fakir, you ruined it!"

He chuckled. "What did I do? I was just standing here?"

"You were watching me and that made me mess up." She took the pan to the trashcan and poured the broken pancake in.

"Here, let me do it."

She placed the pan back on the stove and relinquished her grip on the spatula. He stood right in front of the stove and she behind him, peering over his shoulder, nearly touching him. Fakir poured a much smaller amount of batter onto the pan and turned to her.

"Does that normally work for you?"

She pouted. "Normally it does."

He smiled and shook his head. "Well, most people make pancakes about this size and it works out much better for them."

"Don't be mean! I'm great at making pancakes."

His smile turned into a smirk and flipped the pancake over in what he considered a flawless, fluid motion. Perfectly cooked.

He made the rest of the batter and divided up the pancakes in half, though he doubted she'd be able to eat all that he gave her.

She was quiet for a moment, prodding the pancake first with her fork, already doused in syrup and smothered in butter, before she sat up straighter and cut into them.

He wondered, staring at her as did now, if he should tell her. If she would find value in his story, or comfort, or some kind of comradery. It seemed as if they were the same, both losing their mothers too quickly.

The emotional turmoil to give her everything but the part of him that still wanted to hide from the world was crushing him. He didn't want her pity. But…

He wanted to…

He took a deep breath, he wanted nothing to do with her and once Drosselmeyer was dead, he could forget about her and live out the rest of his life.

"Fakir?" Ahiru called

He jumped, his gaze shot up to her face, a look of contemplation overtaking her features.

He swallowed. "Yes?"

"I'm really sorry I can't do what you want me to do."

Fakir closed his eyes and shook his head. "No, Ahiru, don't be, I never should have asked you in the first place."

"You were just following orders, it's okay." She poked at her pancake, embedding her fork into it and letting it stay there, erect and in the air. "It's just, for nine years, I had to watch my mom-"

"Ahiru, you don't have to explain yourself to me."

"Don't I?" She took a shaky breathe and grinned at him. "It's okay, I want to."

He placed down his fork, wiped his mouth and gave her his full attention.

"When I was nine, my mom contracted cancer. At first, the doctor's said she'd be fine, that she could go through chemo for six months and then she'd be fine, she'd be cured. And she was. But it came back." Ahiru sniffed, she rubbed her nose. "Sorry, I've never-"

Fakir nodded. "It's alright." He reached over and placed his hand on top of hers.

Her gaze meet his and she smiled, a great big smile and she turned her hand to hold his.

"It kept coming back, they performed surgeries, they gave her medicine. She was in chemo over and over again. During my senior year of high school, she got a part as Odette in Swan Lake, she was so happy, she'd always wanted to be a ballerina. I sat in the third row and I watched her. She smiled and she danced with so much grace, but then-"

Fakir stood and sat down next to her, she chose to grasp onto him, interlacing her fingers with his.

"I saw her grow pale, during the last scene, right before she throws herself off the cliff. She got so pale, I could see through the make up, and I wanted to tell her to stop, but she kept going. She didn't want to stop. She was supposed to throw herself off the cliff, it was supposed to be graceful, Odette's last act before death, but my mom fell. She stopped, her feet flat, she staggered. I watched the smile slip from her face, her eyes closed as she toppled over, falling instead of flying."

She was far away, but Fakir rubbed the top of her hand with his thumb. Ahiru looked down before smiling at him, sadness filled her face, and even her sweetest smile couldn't escape from it.

"I didn't wait for the curtain to close, I jumped up and I went over to her, she opened her eyes and she looked so scared and confused, but when she found me she smiled and she raised her hand to me face." She sniffled, taking a deep breath before she continued. "She was rushed to the hospital, were the doctor told us- well, told me." Ahiru bit her lip. "She had stopped going to appointments so she could go to rehearsal instead and so, the cancer came back, but it was too large. Before, it was manageable, just stage two, maybe three, but since my mom had stopped going to chemo, it was at stage four."

Their pancakes had gotten cold, but Fakir had lost his appetite a long time ago.

She rubbed her eyes with her free hand. "She was hospitalized and she died a month later."

"Ahiru, I lost my mother too young, as well."

"So you understand. I can't kill anybody, it's not fair." Her eyes searched his desperately, willing him to understand.

He couldn't argue with her, not when she was like this. He wasn't sure he wanted to. "I lost my mother the night I was turned."

"O- oh. Oh, Fakir."

"She was attacked by Raven, and then he attacked me. The only difference was that I was turned and she had to die." He peered over at her. "I won't ask you to kill Drosselmeyer, but-" Stop. He couldn't, it wasn't his secret to tell. "I have someone I need to protect."

"Who?"

Damn, she was dangerous if she could get him to spill his secrets so easily. "Besides you? A son. I think you should meet him."

"Whose son?"

They stood, and she pestered him, not leaving him alone as he cleaned the dishes, grabbed her coat and left. Down on the street, grey clouds covering the sky, not yet dark, but still not light enough to see without aid. He knelt before her with his back to her.

"Get on."

"You aren't going to scale buildings again, are you?"

He looked back and smirked at the sickly look she adapted. "No, we'll stick to the streets this time."

She nodded. "Okay." She wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms on his neck. Fakir wrapped his hands around her thighs, hitched her up a little higher - which resulted in a small squeal - before he took off like a shot.

Ahiru buried her face into his shoulder, the wind whipping past them and her grip grew tighter.

"Alright, you can get off."

They stood in the cobblestone alley behind the Scent and Fakir moved to go inside, but Ahiru didn't follow him, her eyes trained on the alley floor instead.

"Ahiru."

"This is supposed to be a garden." She muttered before following.

Fakir looked to the cobblestones as she passed him.

Mitch, Micheal, Marcus, Malcom, and Rick sat at the table in the center of the kitchen. Retzel stood at the stove.

"Ahiru!" They all shouted and rose to get her, hugging her or kissing her hand.

"Hello, Ahiru, welcome back." Retzel smiled at her.

Fakir came up to her. "Hey."

"Hello, Fakir, how have you been this evening?"

"I wanted to introduce Ahiru to him." Fakir leaned against the counter, his arms crossed as he watched the five brothers pamper Ahiru. "But you're his mother and I want your permission first."

"Of course you can! He loves meeting new people, and a human too, not just a wolf, he'll be ecstatic." Retzel watched his gaze turn into a glare and followed his line of sight. She covered her laughter with her hand. "Best to go save her from the wolves."

Fakir pushed off the counter and made his way through the brothers. "Alright, alright, that's enough. Aren't you supposed to be working?"

"Aw, c'mon, boss." Michael started.

"We're just taking a small break, fifteen minutes." Mitch said.

"We deserve a break every now and then." Marcus said.

"Yeah, only fifteen minutes." Malcolm nodded.

"Yeah, fifteen minutes." Rick smirked. "Times five."

The brothers broke out into laughter.

"Right." Fakir glared, he crossed his arms. "And who's watching the bar while you take your break?"

The brothers smiled wickedly. "Oh you know, Dylan."

They broke into a fit of laughter.

Fakir groaned. "Get back out there, and don't let Dylan man the bar by himself, he'll get killed."

"Yes, sir!"

"Right, boss."

"Whatever you say!"

"Copy that."

"Later, Ahiru."

The five left the kitchen and Fakir shook his head.

But, Ahiru smiled, "They're fun, aren't they?"

"Sure." He placed his hand on the small of her back to guide her out of the kitchen. "This way."

"Oh, right! So, who am I meeting?"

They started up the stairs. "You'll see soon enough."

The old Schwan house had four floors, the basement, the first floor which had been remodeled into the club, the second floor where the wolves resided, and the attic. At the very top of the house sat a small attic and Fakir forced Ahiru to walk up all six sets of flights until they reached a small door.

"I would have brought some water if you told me we'd be exercising." Ahiru panted, leaning on her legs.

He rolled his eyes, "It was only a couple flights of stairs."

"They're steep!"

He laughed but turned to open the door. "Ahiru-"

"Yes?"

"This is the most well guarded secret of the wolves, you have to promise me you won't tell anyone. Not Rue, not Mytho, not even Freya."

Ahiru looked up at him, completely serious, she nodded her head. "I promise, I won't."

"Okay." He opened the door, and just as he was expecting, the little boy ran straight into him, wrapping his arms around Fakir's legs.

"Onkel Fakir! What are you doing here! I thought you couldn't play today!"

"I couldn't, but now I can, is that okay?"

"Um, yes!"

Fakir bent down to pick him up and place him on his hip.

"Onkel Fakir, who's this?" He pointed at Ahiru, he leaned forward and sniffed the air around her, in a stage whisper, he told Fakir. "She smells like you, too."

"This is Ahiru. Ahiru, this is Karon."

Ahiru smiled and stuck out her hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

Karon looked at her hand with a small ounce of cation, before he slapped his hand to hers and shook it with vigor.

He started squirming and Fakir put him down. Karon grabbed Ahiru's hand and pulled her into his room.

Fakir smiled and followed behind them.

He leaned in the doorway and watched as Karon lead Ahiru around his room.

"And this is my stuffie, Mr Cat, mom says I've had him since I was a baby, so he's a little worn down."

"That just means he's been loved a lot."

Ahiru looked back over her shoulder, her face shone with affection and love for Karon, but her face fell.

"- And this is my favorite game, mostly because mama, daddy, onkel Fakir and I can all play it together." He looked over at Fakir, motioned for her to lean closer and whispered into her ear loudly. "Although, Onkel Fakir doesn't always have time to play. Could you play with me?"

Ahiru looked over to Fakir, as if seeking permission, he nodded. "I'd love to play with you, but only if your Onkel plays too."

"Please?" Karon ran to Fakir, his hands folded in front of him, his bottom up out. "You have to play with us."

"Of course I will."

One game turned to two, and Karon begged to play again.

"Rock, paper, scissors! Best two out of three?" His smile so innocent, as if he wasn't just about to heckle his uncle into playing another game.

"Fine."

"Rock. Paper. Scissors!" Karon grinned and started bouncing in his seat when his paper beat Fakir's rock. "Okay. Rock. Paper. Scissors!"

"Rock beats scissors." Fakir tapped his fist on top of Karon's fingers.

"Alright. It comes down to this. One last time. Rock. Paper. Scissors! Ha!"

Fakir chuckled, "Alright, one last game, and then you have to get ready for bed."

One last game, they let Karon win, as they had done the previous games, and Fakir told him to start getting ready.

"Ah- Ahere!" He pouted, "I'm sorry, I can't say your name." Karon stuck out his bottom lip as far as it could go.

"That's alright, why don't you come up with a nickname for me? Something you can pronounce. You know what my mom called me when I was young?"

"What?"

"She'd call me Duck, her little Duck. If you'd like you can call me that, too."

"Mama calls me heller stern." He thought for a second. "You can call me that too if you'd like, Ducky."

Ahiru smiled and she was roped into his nighttime rituals.

Retzel tucked him into bed, kissed his head and Hans followed suit.

"Good night, Karon." Fakir told him, smiling.

"Night night."

Retzel sat on the edge of his bed.

"Mama, can Duck read to me?"

"Who?"

"Me." Ahiru raised her hand.

Retzel smiled. "Only if you'd like to, dear."

"I'd love to." Ahiru smiled and expected a children's book, fillined with pictures and talking animals, but instead Retzel handed her Pride and Prejudice. "Oh wow, this is a big book."

Retzel grinned from ear to ear. "He loves hearing stories like these."

Ahiru took Retzel's seat and opened the book to where they last read.

"Just a chapter will do." Retzel pet his hair and stood to leave the room with Hans behind her. Fakir stood in the door as he had before, watching the two enjoy their night time stories.

"Fakir?"

Fakir turned to Retzel, who beckoned him out into the hall, she closed the door behind him.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Retzel placed her hands on her hips and he knew he was about to be scolded. "You were using my son as some kind of tool to get her to agree to killing Drosselmeyer."

"Retzel, I'm not trying to make her do anything."

"I know better than that, Fakir, don't think I am so foolish to not see what's going on."

Fakir sighed. "Fine, I wanted her to see every reason I want to see Drosselmeyer dead, she needs to know the gravity of it all."

"That's not the way; making her feel guilty because she can't save Karon."

Fakir sighed, he looked back at the door, if he tried hard enough he could just hear their voices, Ahiru reading and Karon asking questions every few lines.

"She will never kill Drosselmeyer, I know that now."

"So than why-"

"I- I can't hide anything from her."

Retzel studied him, "Fakir, do you-?"

"No." Fakir took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, I should have asked you first. Before we came."

"It's alright, I wanted to introduce her to him for a long time."

Fakir nodded, he turned and walked back to open the door.

Ahiru sat on the bed but she had stopped reading a long time ago, the book abandoned on the nightstand.

Fakir came to stand by her and placed his hand on her shoulder. "Is he asleep?"

She nodded. "Yes." Ahiru stood slowly, so as not to disturb him and turned around, leaving out of the room. "Fakir?" She asked, the door shut securely behind them. "Who is he?"

"Retzel and Hans' son."

"So then, what is he?"

Fakir and Ahiru stood face to face, his eyes never leaving hers. "He is a werewolf. Born into this life, rather than turned."

"How- how is that possible?"

"It took a long time, Retzel lost- she had a lot of miscarriages."

"When was he born?"

"Six years ago, he ages normally, as far as we've seen, we don't know if that would ever stop, or if he'd grow old and die."

"I had no idea he was even here."

"No one does, we've kept this secret because Retzel fears what would happen to him if the vampires or Bookmen would find out."

"Has he ever been outside?" Ahiru wrapped her arms around herself.

"We only take him out when we leave Kinkan, he hasn't stepped foot into the streets of his hometown."

"If I killed Drosselmeyer, he'd be safe."

Fakir shook his head. "No, no Drosselmeyer isn't the only threat, killing Drosselmeyer wouldn't do anything. The vampires, the bookmen, they would still be around."

"Fakir?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry, I-"

"Don't. I don't want you to be sorry. Just- we'll think of another way."

"Okay." Ahiru nodded. "Can you take me home?"

Fakir gave her a curt nod and walked her home, content to let her talk about whatever she wanted.

Rue sat in the front seat of Mytho's car, her hands brushing against the fraying fabric of her old dress, over a century old and it still looked good.

"It's so strange seeing you in that dress."

Rue smiled, she knew Mytho didn't like the dress, he pitied her, she knew it, pitied the fact that she had been alive for such an unnatural time, not a minute aged since she was twenty-two.

"I don't like seeing them in modern clothing, it feels wrong."

"I know." Mytho parked his car outside a low brick wall, covering with vines and moss. "I'll be waiting for you here."

She leaned across the center console and kissed his cheek. "I'll be fast."

Rue made her way to two unmarked graves, two bodies under dead rose bushes, untended to but by nature. She placed two white roses on top of the soil, knowing where her mother lied and where her father rested.

"Mother, father." She bit her lip. "I was finally able to buy back everything I sold, all the paintings, the piano, all of it, it's all back. I'm sorry I ever sold it, but it's yours again.

"I don't know who I am anymore."

A sudden breeze caressed her hair and the warmth of her mother embraced her. Well, at least she was forgiven by one.

"It's the anniversary of your deaths, so I thought I would visit and now I've visited.." She hitched up the front of her skirt and turned away, but stopped. "Mother, it appears that I have run into a problem. Drosselmeyer has come up with this plan. He believes if Ahiru will fall in love with Mytho, then she'll play into our hands, but I am filled with an incredible jealousy, and thoughts of him falling in love with her taunt me. What if he leaves me? What will I do then?" She wiped at tears. "I know you can't hear me, but I just wanted to tell you. I'm not sure if you've ever had problems like this before."

Rue sighed before taking a step away when a sharp wind blew past her, the whispers of past pet names playing over and over in her ear.

Rue paused, she let her grip on her dress fall, and she glanced over her shoulder, the grave of her father undisturbed.

"Papa?" She whispered, but she shook her head. No, no that was impossible.

Another step and she paused again as a strong wind blew.

"Kraehe, my daughter." The gruff, low voice she knew to be her father's tickled at the edges of her ears, as if he stood next to her.

"No. That's-" She turned around, looking for anyone who may have decided to sneak up on her. "That is not possible."

Her hair was rustled, a dark feeling grew in her heart and a horrible plot grew in her mind.

"Papa, no."

The wind came and with it, his voice.

"Papa, I - I can't do that!

"I can't make him something he's not!"

The next wind came, nearly toppling her to the side with it's force, she was filled with fear, but she understood.

"If that is the only way to make him mine." Rue looked to the car, she could hear the car running, a light stream of music past that. "Then I will make him mine."