10.

"Prue, dear…are you awake? Oh, you look so pale."

The voice sounded familiar, yet she couldn't place it. It sounded worried.

Her eyelids quivered and parted slowly. The light in the room was diffuse. She could make out shapes around her, but they changed and melted away when she tried to focus.

She closed her eyes again. The effort was too much.

"Prue…please, try to stay awake," the voice beckoned. "They don't let me see you for very long."

Hang on…I know this person.

She fought the temptation to go back to sleep. Her head felt so heavy. She blinked once, twice, wresting with the fog in her mind.

"Prue, oh honey."

The face that leaned over her was less obscure now. She faintly recognized it. But that couldn't be her…What was she doing here?

She opened her parched lips.

"Mrs.…Mrs. Morris?"

The old woman nodded vigorously and reached for a small china cup on the nightstand.

Prue groaned. This didn't make sense. She hadn't seen her old client since the last time she visited the woman's apartment, when Bane's henchman had held a gun to her head. The visual still haunted her.

"Here, there's some warm tea for you."

"What are you … why are you here?" Prue struggled to form the words. They felt as thick as glue on her tongue. Her forehead throbbed in pain. She could hardly raise her head.

Actually, she couldn't quite remember where "here" was.

This wasn't her bed. This wasn't her room.

What was happening?

Maybe if I go back to sleep…

"Prue, honey, try to stay awake for me. I don't know these people very well, but they seem to know you. They brought me here…"

But the rest of Mrs. Morris' words were lost, like water swirling down the drain.

Prue's head fell back into the pillow and she was gone.

The next time she woke up, she didn't have to struggle to gather her bearings. Mostly because someone was pinching her cheek.

"Ow…"

"Your immunity system is atrocious, like most Americans'."

Prue opened her eyes. Her head wasn't throbbing anymore.

"You still have the flu, I fear. But you feel better now, don't you?"

Miranda Tate smiled down on her. It was maternal and soft and terrifying. She sat on the edge of the bed.

Prue raised herself on her elbows. Her muscles were sore, but she could stand up at least.

"You collapsed right on my Persian rug," Miranda informed her, brushing invisible lint from her knee. "Poor thing, the virus took its toll."

Prue rubbed her left eye. "No…I…I didn't collapse."

"You can't even remember?" Miranda tutted, as if disappointed with Prue's answer. "This is why nice girls like you shouldn't go down into sewers. You catch all sorts of things."

Prue shook her head convulsively. "That's not what happened."

"You didn't go down into the sewers?" Miranda questioned, raising a delicate eyebrow.

"No, I did, but – then I came here to deliver something. And you – there was…"

"Yes?"

Prue tried to remember. But only one thing came to mind. "Mrs. Morris. She was here to see me."

Miranda's smile broadened. "Ah, yes."

"Why was she here?"

"She's still here. She hasn't left," Miranda rectified, rising from the bed. Prue noticed that she was wearing a beautiful black and orange kimono.

"Why…why did you bring her here?"

Miranda folded her arms lightly. "I thought you could use a friendly face. You are not feeling yourself."

Prue shoved the covers away and tried to place her feet on the ground.

"I'm conscious now. And I think I should take Mrs. Morris home."

"You can't walk or drive in this state," Miranda gently rebuffed her. She stepped closer to Prue.

"I'm fine. Thank you for…taking care of me."

"I'm not done taking care of you. You still need rest."

"I think I know what I need," Prue insisted.

"I don't think you heard me, Prudence."

Prue opened her mouth to protest, but in the next moment, Miranda seized her wrist.

Prue winced and then gasped as the beautiful woman easily pinned her arms to the mattress. She smelled of citrus and vanilla and she was strong for someone so refined and delicate.

The wide kimono sleeves exposed her white wrists for a moment, and Prue could see a spattering of scars. They looked like old scars, but deep.

Miranda smiled coldly in her face and pulled the covers over her body.

"You are holding me prisoner," Prue spat, wishing she had as much cold blood in her as her jailor.

"Prisoner?" Miranda echoed, amused. "Not so. I will not lock the door when I leave you. You may explore my house and entertain yourself. My guards will not disturb you."

"And if I walk out the front door?"

Miranda shrugged. "Then, I suppose Mrs. Morris will have to suffer the consequences in your stead."

Prue's nostrils flared. She closed her eyes. This was the second time her old friend was being dragged into this.

"So, we're both prisoners."

"You will see matters differently once you have rested. Sleep on it," Miranda advised. And she leaned forward and kissed Prue on the forehead.

It felt like a soft stamp, like Miranda was claiming her.

Prue did not hear her close the door in her wake.

Once Miranda's steps receded down the hallway, Prue threw the covers off and stumbled out of bed. Her chest hurt from the panic boiling underneath.

Her room boasted no windows. The adjacent bathroom had a small awning which was too small to fit even a child through. The air-vent was just as impractical.

Prue sat on the toilet seat, pressing both palms to her temples.

She turned on the tap, watching the water gurgle down the drain.

There was no way out.

Eventually, she mastered her anxiety enough to attempt the door to her room.

Miranda had been true to her word. It was not locked and the corridor which stretched before her was eerily empty. There was no watchdog in sight. Prue padded lightly on the carpeted floor. She walked with her hand resting against the wall, as if preparing for an attack. There were two other doors down the hallway. She approached quietly and listened closely for any sounds within.

"Mrs. Morris?" she called out in a small voice.

No one answered.

She turned the knob on the first door. Locked.

The second door was open, much to her surprise. Prue dove her head, expecting – she did not know what.

But it was just a storage room. At least, that was her first impression. It looked as if one of the children had gone off to college and the room had been refashioned into a place where all the clutter of the house accumulated. There were drawers and cabinets stashed with all sorts of collectibles. There were paintings and canvases wrapped in cellophane. There were bookcases with ratty paperbacks and leather-bound volumes. There were Bohemian china and glass candelabra stashed into cardboard boxes. There were urns and vases and clay ceramics. They looked like bizarre knickknacks more than actual originals. It was an outlandish, idiosyncratic collection. In a strange way, it reminded her of Mrs. Morris. The old woman kept similar treasures in her apartment.

Prue rocked back on her heels. She had to find her friend. She had to make sure she was safe.

But something made her linger in this room. A mysterious sense of foreboding. A sense that she was missing something. Her jailor had told her she was free to "explore". Perhaps she should take this chance. Miranda might lock her up next time.

Prue opened the cabinets and looked through the drawers. Antiquated jewelry, silverware, meters of cloth, crepe de Chine. A selection of colorful fans. It's as if Miranda had traveled the world only to come back with small keepsakes.

Yet something did not feel right about the room. Something was bothering her.

She turned on the spot a few times. What was it? What was missing?

Her eyes fell on one of the bookcases in the corner. She noticed there was a sizable gap between the books, a space where a large tome must have sat. She could tell by the dust marks. She inspected the books. Most of them were bestsellers and manuals on gardening. Prue bent down and touched the empty spot. Whatever book had been taken out, she doubted it was only a gardening manual. And then she saw something glinting in the gap. She reached out warily and her fingers traced the blunt edge of a circular trinket. Prue pulled it out.

She was looking at a bookmark in the shape of a tassel which was knotted at one end with a large bronze seal. The color of the tassels was a bright blue, but the engravings on the seal were strange… They looked like letters, or some kind of alphabet. Was it Sanskrit? She couldn't tell. She wondered if the bookmark had been left behind when the larger book was taken out.

Prue debated with herself. She should put it back where she'd found it. Miranda would certainly check. This door had not been left open by accident. Maybe it was a trick, some kind of test.

And yet, she did not heed her own counsel. She slipped the tassel into her pocket. She did not know why, but she felt she had to take it.

Prue heard a sudden snap behind her, like the creaking of a step. She froze, afraid she'd been caught red-handed. She turned around slowly, but there was no one behind her. The door was open and the hallway was still empty.

She walked a few steps to the corner and saw the winding staircase which led downstairs. She approached the banister. On the lower level a man with nondescript features was posted, arms crossed in front of him. He did not look up at her. He seemed immobile, almost made of stone.

Prue knew that to run past him would be unwise. She did not recognize him as one of Bane's.

Will he come here? Will he visit Miranda? she wondered with a half-formed hope. Perhaps if he was here, she could entreat him to speak to Miranda on her behalf.

Listen to yourself. You think Bane will protect you.

He had kept her safe to serve his purposes, but he had not gone out of his way to shield her from danger. On the contrary. He had sent her on this errand to Miranda in the first place. So he must want her here.

Prue clenched her fingers on the banister. She was so tired of being someone else's pawn, but was there another choice?

She awoke with a start in the middle of the night. The sheets were soaked in her sweat. Prue held a feverish hand to her head. She had dreamed that she was in the sewers again, she had dreamed of Bruce Wayne.

She checked under the mattress. The tassel bookmark was still there.

Prue got out of bed quietly and went to her door. She turned the knob slowly.

The hallway was dark and empty, but an icy chill made her shiver down to her bones. It was a draught coming from the stairs.

Prue tiptoed to the banister. There were sounds coming from downstairs, a murmur of voices. She strained to understand what was happening. There was no man on the stairs this time. Would it be prudent to climb down?

Prue issued forward before her courage left her entirely. She sprinted quietly to the first landing and then almost seized up when she saw a figure at the bottom of the stairs. Of course, Miranda wouldn't be so negligent. Prue crouched low, afraid the man would turn around and see her. She could hear the voices more clearly now. They were coming from somewhere in the house. The first's was Miranda's, melodious yet thin like a needle. The second one sounded like many voices at once, but she recognized the mechanic warble, the artificial echo, the monotone intonation.

Bane.

He was here.

What would happen if she called out his name?

No. Calling his name had never done her much good in the past. In fact, it had led to all of this.

Prue hung to the banister and listened. It sounded as if they were arguing. Though Miranda's voice was weaker, she seemed to be commanding the argument. She interrupted Bane every time he tried to speak. Prue wondered if maybe they were talking about her. If they were deciding her fate.

The argument came to an end when Miranda suddenly adopted a different tone. Even though she couldn't make out the words, Prue discerned the change. She was no longer opposing him. She was trying to please him. Her voice was mellifluous and insinuating. Prue remembered she had been seduced in the same way in the hothouse.

And then Miranda gave a short laugh, a crystalline titter. And much to her shock, Prue heard Bane chuckle too, though it sounded more like a hackling cough.

She sank lower to the floor. They must be laughing at her. Or maybe they were just laughing together, because they were one mind, one will.

Bane had led her here and Miranda was keeping her for him. Prue could count on no one but herself to get her out of here.

She snuck quietly back upstairs, choking down her disappointment.

The next day she was allowed to see Mrs. Morris.

Miranda "invited" them both to tea in the parlor. Prue was led into the small ornate room by the man on the stairs.

Mrs. Morris was sitting hunched in a sedan chair with a tea cup in her lap.

Prue rushed to her and knelt by her side. She placed a hand over hers. The tea cup rattled in the woman's hold.

"Mrs. Morris. Are you all right? I'm so sorry! It's all my fault they're keeping you here."

The old woman smiled a tremulous smile. "I'm glad to see you're awake, dear."

"Have they hurt you?"

"N-no."

"You can be honest –"

"Oh, please, don't be so dramatic, Prudence," Miranda spoke up behind her. "Do stand up and sit by me. The tea is getting cold."

Her captor was wearing a formal ensemble of a dark silk shirt and grey trousers. She looked as if she was about to conduct a business meeting.

Prue stiffened. "I'll sit by my friend, thank you."

"Very well." Miranda beckoned behind her and the matronly maid she had met on her first day in the house entered the room bearing tray filled with scones and jam.

Miranda started pouring Prue a cup of tea from the brass teapot on the rosewood table in front of her.

It all felt weirdly domestic and absurd.

Miranda's sleeves fell back as she poured the tea. Prue couldn't help noticing once more the deep scars on her wrists. They looked odd, as if someone had taken the blade and cut her at random.

Prue shuddered at the violent image. She cleared her throat. "Did you – did you inflict those on yourself?"

Miranda blinked slowly. She looked down at her hand. "How observant of you."

The remark did not answer her question. Prue swallowed thickly. She wished she had the power to compel the woman to speak.

She slipped her hand inside her pocket where she had put the tassel bookmark. She stole a glance at Mrs. Morris. The poor woman was stirring the spoon inside her cup dejectedly.

Miranda was talking quietly with the matronly maid.

Prue seized her chance. She turned to her friend and signaled for her to look down.

Prue showed her the tassel inside her pocket. Mrs. Morris might know what it was, seeing as she had traveled far and wide.

"Have you seen something like this before?" she whispered. "Do you recognize it?"

Mrs. Morris frowned, staring intently at the tassel and the seal.

"What are you two gossiping about?" Miranda asked airily.

Prue turned around quickly. The bookmark fell out of her pocket and landed on the carpet with a soft thud.

Prue leaned forward and grabbed her tea cup. "Only wondering when you'd let us go."

Miranda smiled mysteriously. "It is rude to leave so soon, don't you think?"

"I think we overstayed our welcome, actually," Prue replied, trying to place her foot over the tassel.

"Nonsense. I am lonely in this big house by myself."

"You have quite a few men at your disposal."

"Ah, they are not very talkative," Miranda complained. "But you two, you must tell me how you met."

Mrs. Morris was looking down at Prue's foot.

"I used to deliver food to Mrs. Morris on a regular basis," Prue stammered, feeling a cold sweat on the back of her neck. "One day she asked me to stay and eat with her. And we discovered we liked each other."

"How quaint."

"I'm sorry it's not more exciting than that."

"Oh, but there must be some exciting part you are concealing." Miranda's eyes gleamed.

Prue pressed her heel down on the tassel. "Not really."

At that moment, one of the henchmen appeared in the doorway. Miranda signaled for him to approach. He started whispering in her ear.

Prue shuffled the tassel between her feet. She braved a glance at Mrs. Morris.

The old woman whispered something through clenched teeth. Prue shook her head. Mrs. Morris said it again.

Tibetan lotus.

Prue blinked. Tibetan lotus. The engraving on the seal. It didn't tell her much.

But then, as she stared down into her tea cup, Prue made sense of it.

She had read that Bruce Wayne had served a short sentence in Bhutan. But he had not stayed there. No, Tibet was right around the corner.

Was that the League's main hub? Had he spent time there?

Miranda suddenly clapped her hands, startling Prue from her thoughts.

"You ought to finish your tea while we wait for the book."

"The book?" Prue asked warily.

"Yes. We require it for the next step."

"The next step," Prue repeated dumbly. She had a sudden suspicion the book in question was the missing tome from the shelf upstairs.

"You cannot have a proper initiation otherwise."

"I don't understand."

Miranda leaned forward. Her smile was inviting, as everything about her was. "How else will you join the League of Shadows?"

A/N: dun dun dun! What is Miranda up to? We'll find out next time. Also there'll be a lot of Bane next chapter to make you happy. Thank you for your reviews and I particularly want to thank the last few Guests for their lovely comments, I'm very lucky to have you as readers. Mrs. Morris was introduced in chapter 3, if you need a refresher, and Bruce Wayne's stint in Bhutan was uncovered last chapter by Prue. I hope you enjoyed this chapter! (I apologize if there are any mistakes/typos, I am updating this at the crack of dawn, of course)