CHAPTER FOURTEEN:

11:13 PM

"I should've said something. I should've done something."

"Finn," Charlene places a gentle hand on his shoulder, "You stood up for Amanda. You tried to stop Maleficent. I - I don't know what has gotten into her."

He remains rooted in his place in the hall, "Where do you think Maleficent took her?"

"They went that way," Philby points down a dim corridor, "Towards the northern side of the manor. I don't know what's back there, perhaps Maleficent's bedroom?"

Finn glances around at the five guests assembled in the hallway. Each wears a look between confusion and exhaustion, but something glows behind every face: fear, like they could be snatched up next. First there were seven young socialites at the dinner. Then, six.

Now, five.

Philby leans against the banister at the top of the stairs, arms folded over his buttoned vest. His eyes flicker between the remaining guests. He is taking measurements, Finn notices, observations of those around him. Not so different from Finn himself.

Willa watches the group, but with different, unfocused eyes. It's almost as though, behind that head of short dark curls, Finn can actually see the wheels turn in her analytical mind. Of course. She's a reporter, Finn remembers. And all of this is making for quite the story.

Maybeck shuffles his weight between his feet, hands awkwardly looped underneath his suspenders. Still damp from the rain outside, yet apparently not caring. He cannot stand still.

Charlene still stands beside Finn, dressing gown tight around her shoulders. It's almost like another girl entirely stands next to him. Without the evening gown and the fancy hair and makeup, the façade of the star has melted away, leaving behind something stronger. A different girl, but with tenderness in her eyes. Tenderness and tenacity.

"Amanda came to me, not long before we met up here," Finn motions to where they are standing. "She was worried, afraid even. Afraid of what Maleficent would do to her, and she said something about people being dangerous when they're angry."

"Maleficent was beyond angry," Charlene agrees.

"You don't think," Willa starts, pauses, then continues, "You don't think Maleficent believes Amanda killed Jess, do you?"

"Amanda?" Maybeck asks, "She seemed so normal."

"No," Finn says firmly. "Amanda is innocent."

"How do you know?" says Philby.

"I do, trust me. I believe her."

"Amanda seemed like a very nice, normal woman," Philby speaks slowly, "But – from a completely analytical perspective – perhaps what Maleficent was saying about Maryland isn't to be ignored. 'Detachment from reality' is dangerous in itself, and if Amanda is a habitual, natural liar, then she may not be trustworthy."

"No, Maleficent is wrong." Finn insists.

"Finn, I think you're letting other things cloud your judgment."

"My judgment is just fine, Mr. Philby!" Finn had not realized how loud his voice had gotten. He gathers himself, "Frankly, I don't trust Maleficent. I don't really think Jess did either, from the way they were interacting at dinner. And I certainly do not trust Maleficent alone with Amanda."

"I didn't think Maleficent even knew about the snake," Charlene says. "She was so removed from everything."

"Yeah, how did she find out?" Willa asks.

"Perhaps it was one of the staff."

"Maybe, but did any of them hear about the snake?"

"I told them."

Everyone looked at Maybeck, who spoke with a guilty voice.

"What?" Finn asks, confused.

"I went to one of the staff, that Jafar fellow," Maybeck says. "He was the first one I saw. Someone had to know that there was a poisonous snake upstairs in the bathroom. I thought someone would come and remove it, from Charlene's room, you know?"

"And how did the blame fall on Amanda?" Finn asks.

"I didn't say anything about her, I swear! But one look under that sink, one look at the hole bored into the wall… anyone could've understood which room the snake had traveled from. Jafar or Maleficent or someone must have made that assumption."

"No, you're right," Willa says, a grim look on her face. "Someone had to know about the snake, it couldn't just stay in that bathroom."

Maybeck lowers his eyes, "I – I had no idea Maleficent would turn like that."

"None of us did," Finn says.

Charlene asks delicately, "What are you going to do, Finn?"

He is aware of four pairs of eyes watching him, waiting. Why are they looking at me for a decision? "I… I'm going to find Amanda, and get her away from Maleficent."

Maybeck raises a brow, "Like a rescue?"

"Hopefully there's nothing we need to rescue her from, but – yes."

"Do we even know where to start looking?"

"Northern side of the manor, that's where you said she went, Philby," Finn answers. "If Maleficent really does want Amanda locked up, she'd keep her someplace hidden and secure. What do we know is on that side of the manor?"

"Maleficent didn't include that on her tour," says Charlene.

"I think I may have reached that side in the tunnels," Willa says. "I can't be certain, but the path I was taking was towards that direction. In fact, I passed Maleficent in a room alone – probably her bedroom – I could hear her voice through the wall. Well, not alone, I guess, she was talking to someone. Perhaps one of the house staff. I didn't recognize the voice."

"Tunnels," Finn mumbles under his breath. "That's how I'll do it. Use the tunnel system, and try to get into Maleficent's room to find Amanda."

"There's no way that'll work," Willa crosses her arms.

Finn raises an eyebrow, "Excuse me?"

"You don't know the tunnels, you haven't even set foot in one."

"What are you saying?"

"I'll go through the tunnels," she explains, "You approach from the open hallways. With two searches, we're more likely to find her."

Philby speaks up, "And what are we supposed to do, idly wait?"

"You can come with me, if you don't mind the tunnels."

"I'll join too," Maybeck volunteers. "Mr. Wayne had all sorts of interesting things to say about this manor. I'd like to learn a bit more about it myself."

"Alright then," Willa nods, "Charlene, are you up to going with Finn?"

"I'm perfectly fine," she reassures Willa, that look of strength in her eyes.

"Then that's a plan," says Finn. He checks his wristwatch, "It's nearly eleven-thirty now. We split up, search the northern wing, and – if we don't find Amanda – we meet up right back here in one hour."

"One hour," Philby repeats, tapping his own pocket watch to show Finn he has one.

"One hour."

…

11:34 PM

Philby holds his lantern high, illuminating the path before him. He keeps a steady pace behind Willa, who leads the trio. Maybeck brings up the rear, his face steely but eyes showing slight fear.

"Does any of this look familiar to you, Willa?" Philby asks, trying to keep the skepticism out of his voice. It didn't help that they began their tunnel trek in Willa's bedroom, which was in the opposite direction from the northern wing. But Willa had insisted in starting there, as that was the path she knew.

"This part of the tunnel looks no different from any other. So, you could say that they all look familiar, or none of them at all."

"Really, a paradox, now?"

"I'm a writer, Mr. Philby, I can't help myself."

"Reporter, correct?"

"Believe it or not, that is a type of writer," Willa rolls her eyes. She calls back to Maybeck, "Not claustrophobic, I hope?"

"Tight spaces aren't my favorite," he answers, "But I can manage. Can we stop for a moment?"

Willa halts, and so does Philby. The tunnel before them extends in a long straight path, then disappears into the darkness. Maybeck digs in his pocket, pulling out a small metal disc. Pressing the button, he pops the lid open, and the light from their lanterns falls up a glass face and painted arrow. A compass.

"Brilliant luck finding a compass in your bedroom, Maybeck," Philby says, watching the arrow adjust itself. The compass is a fine looking trinket, with an engraved brass shell that looks old and even valuable. "I know there is a lot of junk in those little bedrooms, but this is actually useful."

"Perhaps it wasn't luck at all," Maybeck says with a wink. "Look, the arrow points right down this hallway."

"We're heading in the right direction," Willa nods. "Keep that compass handy. We'll need it."

…

11:34 PM

"Finn, maybe we shouldn't go so quickly?"

"Why not?"

"We don't know where we are going, and all we know is that Maleficent's room is in this general direction." Charlene somehow manages to match Finn's brisk pace while wearing small satin slippers.

"No, you're right," Finn slows. "We should be more careful."

Charlene stands beside Finn, wondering what to do when she awkwardly speaks, "She'll be okay, Finn. We will find her."

He nods, "I hope so. If something happens to her - and it's my fault-"

"But it's not," Charlene insists. It is clear to her that Finn holds some feelings towards Amanda, but Charlene doesn't know what kind of feelings or how strong. Finn is relatively easy to read, but not that easy.

Charlene finds herself really looking at Finn: at the way the lamplight falls on his classic features and brings electricity to his emerald-green eyes. His dark hair is combed back neatly, all except one small lick in the front above his forehead. He is handsome, yes, in the kind of way that doesn't demand attention but certainly deserves it.

"Are you from around here, Finn?" Charlene asks, keeping her voice gentle.

He walks more slowly, then answers, "No, I haven't lived in Los Angeles for long at all."

"Then where are you from?"

"East Coast. Florida, actually. Moved here a few months back."

"I grew up in Savannah, Georgia. Traveled down to Florida once or twice," Charlene smiles, recalling the simplicity of her earlier days. "It was so… simple. Slow and easy. Not at all like Los Angeles, don't you think?"

Finn shrugs, "I tend to keep things easy. I'm not one for the big parties or social events."

"Why not? You're certainly likable enough."

Finn isn't quite sure why he blushes at that. "I used to be all for the parties and fun and, well, girls. But I realized that this wasn't the life for me. The people I was with? None of them really cared about me. They were in it for themselves, mostly for the money. And I - changed. I packed up my things, left it behind and moved to California with one suitcase and too much money in my name."

Charlene has followed Finn's rambling, catching his little slip. "It was all about the money. How much money, Finn?"

He sighed, hating himself for remembering the number and the way it burned into his brain. "Twenty-five million dollars."

Charlene actually stops in her tracks. "Twenty-five million dollars? Can one person even hold that much money?"

"Apparently they can. Do you want it?" Finn asks tiredly, only half joking.

"I work in Hollywood and live in Beverly Hills, Finn. There are rich people, and then there are rich people. And you are-"

"Yeah, I know. They tell me I'm the seventh richest person in Los Angeles. The lucky six before me must be absolute messes."

Finn and Charlene approach the end of a short, dark hallway. A pair of wide double doors leers at them from the wall, carvings in the wood creating terrifying shadow patterns. The handles are intricately sculpted into tiny bat-like faces, like small gargoyles guarding the door.

"I'd bet everything I'm worth that this is Maleficent's room," says Finn.

"From what you've told me, I don't think I would take the money. But I'll take your bet."

Finn grabs the cold handle and twists and pulls. Nothing happens, of course. He shakes the door with growing intensity, and finds himself kicking the base of the door.

"Locked, goddammit. Amanda! Are you in there? Can you hear me?" He yells into the wood. "Amanda!"

"Finn…" Charlene tries to get his attention.

"Amanda!" He cries, then pulls back his arm and thrusts his elbow into the door. He bounces back from the force, but the door holds firm.

"Finn!" Charlene pulls him upright and turns him around, so that Finn faces back down the hallway. He sees a maid standing at the other end. Black hair pulled into a tight bun, and a face that might have looked beautiful if it wasn't so cruel. Grimhilde.

"Get away from that door before you break it down," she calls out in an icy voice.

"Amanda, the last dinner guest. Where is she?"

"How should I know?" Grimhilde crosses her arms. "I'm only a maid."

Finn advances towards her. "Somehow I don't believe you. Where is she?"

"Maleficent doesn't tell me anything. I'm nothing more than a servant." But there is a flicker of something in her eyes.

"Amanda isn't guilty of anything," Charlene protests. "Maleficent has no right to just-"

"To what?" Grimhilde cries. "This is Maleficent's manor, she has every right to lock that little bitch away if she deems fit to do so. And really, her bedroom? Isn't that a little bit obvious?"

Grimhilde has just time to release a cackle-like laugh before Finn flies at her. He pins her body up against the wall, one hand clutching her right arm while his forearm holds her under the chin. Finn pushes his right arm into her throat, and Grimhilde gasps.

"Don't you dare speak about Amanda like that!" Finn growls into the maid's face. "Now I know you were lying before, and I wouldn't lie now if I were you. So tell me: where – is – Amanda?"

"Finn!" Charlene stands paralyzed behind him, watching with a hand drawn tight over her mouth. It was like the blink of an eye; one minute Finn was beside her, the next he was choking Grimhilde against the wall.

Grimhilde's pinned arms shake, fingers reaching for something, anything to save her. She coughs, then chokes out, "It's no use. Don't make an enemy out of Maleficent."

"Tell me!"

"The attic," she wheezes, her voice coming out in raspy gulps. "The bitch is in the attic."

Finn grits his teeth at hearing that term again. "Where is the attic? How do we get there?"

"Third floor - west wing- there's a door with a crooked handle-"

Finn nods, then seems to shift. From an onlooker, it's as though Finn finally realizes where he is and what he is doing. His eyes widen.

"Finn, let her go!" Charlene calls, still standing a distance away out of caution.

Finn pulls away, shaking slightly from his rush of rage. Grimhilde gasps greedily for air like a fish. He leaves her doubled-over by the wall and leads the way out of the hallway. Not knowing if Charlene is following him – would she even follow him now? – and not really caring.

He needs to get away.

…

Seven Hours Ago…

Amanda had been sitting at the sewing machine when the old gentleman entered Mrs. Nash's sweatshop – err, tailoring shop. She hadn't bothered to look up at the new customer, since she had just jabbed her finger with another pin and was checking for any broken skin. Amanda hadn't even known the old man had asked for her by name until Mrs. Nash beckoned her with a bewildered face.

Now Amanda stands outside the front door, facing the old man. His face is wrinkled and weathered, yet his blue eyes are startlingly full of life.

"Is there something I can help you with, sir?"

"Oh please, Miss Lockhart, I don't deserve any formalities. Call me Wayne." His smile was like a treasure. "But, in fact, there is something you can help me with."

"Alright then, Mr. Wayne, what is it?"

"Are you a quick learner, Miss Lockhart?"

Amanda shrugs, not sure how to answer that question. "I suppose so. It all depends on what I am learning."

"And a good actress?"

Amanda's blood runs cold. So much of her life hangs on her acting skills. Could he be from Maryland, from the facility? Have they found me? "Los Angeles is full of actors. I'm sure there must be better actresses that me."

"Oh no, but you're the important part. It has to be you."

"What has to be me?"

"There is a dinner party happening tonight, among some of Los Angeles's young elite. I need you to be in attendance tonight."

Amanda pauses, waiting for Wayne to reveal his grand joke. He never does. "Wait, you cannot be serious? I'm a tailor, Mr. Wayne, a laborer and barely a good one at that. I'm not an actress and I'm certainly not some elite."

"Miss Lockhart, some very large events are set to happen tonight. You need to be there, that is of the greatest importance."

"This is ridiculous, sir. There is no reason-"

"How much do you remember about your parents, Amanda?"

The question catches her off guard. "Excuse me?"

"You're parents, Michael and Cassandra Lockhart. How much do you remember about them before you left?"

Amanda forgets who she is speaking to for a moment. "They sent me away. They decided I was crazy and too dangerous to be around, so they had me locked away in that facility in Maryland to rot. They didn't write, didn't call, didn't even visit once. I was seven years old, only seven."

"What if I told you there was more to that story than you could have ever known?"

Amanda can't breathe. "I would ask how you could possibly know so much."

"The Overtaker Manor is a house full of secrets, Miss Lockhart. And, if we succeed, several of them might just come to light this evening."

"The Overtaker Manor, what is that?"

"You will see, Amanda. You will see."

…

11:34 PM

Amanda tugs on the hatch in the floor again, only to be stopped from the outside. She slumps, frustrated, then kicks the small door when her shoe. She pounds at it with her heel, sending dust flying and only stops when her delicate shoe threatens to break.

Amanda paws at the shoes, ripping them off and flinging them down. What does she really need them for? They're too fancy, those strappy little slippers made of silver and tiny gems. They didn't even belong to her, stolen from Mrs. Nash's along with the evening gown she is wearing. All alteration projects, pieces that fit Amanda enough to complete her costume.

Her costume. Just another reminder that she was fake. Amanda runs her hands through her hair, insides flaming. Fake, all fake. She had no right to be here, at this party. No real reason beyond a mysterious invitation from an old groundskeeper.

And where is he now? Where is Mr. Wayne when Amanda needed him? It is his fault that Amanda is here in the first place, and now, when she is locked away in the attic of an unfamiliar manor, he is gone.

She wants to scream.

Amanda's hands tremble. She can feel the power boiling up inside her, something wild and terrifying. It's been years since she's tried to use it.

Perhaps, she tells herself, perhaps if I can use it to get free….

No. It's too unpredictable. There's no telling if it will work or not.

But if there is a chance.

Amanda cries out, battling the voices in her head. This is the curse that got her locked up in a mental institution. The very "gift" that frightened away everyone in her life that she ever could care about.

The power that forced her to run.

…

11:51 PM

Finn ascends the staircase two at a time, taking long strides. Charlene keeps up with Finn, remaining only a step behind. He listens for heavy breathing, but she is stronger than she looks.

The stairs coil in a spiral, and Finn only moves faster to reach the third floor. In his haste, his foot catches the edge of a step and slips off. He loses his balance and stumbles.

"Careful," Charlene catches him, her hand placed low on his back to break his fall. Her fingertips burn through his dress shirt.

"Thanks," he mutters, turning his head but not making eye contact. Her hand lingers.

"I'm not suggesting we should slow down, since you don't seem likely to do so," she says frankly. "But I'm afraid that you're acting without really thinking."

"I'm thinking alright."

"Finn, you almost strangled the life out of a maid back there."

"She was taunting us."

"You were frightening," her honesty brings him pause. "I agreed to do this with you, please don't make me regret it."

He finally brings himself to look at her in the eyes. Somehow, they look even bigger and bluer in the dark.

"You're right. I – I'm sorry for how I acted. I let my emotions get to me, and I should have slowed down to really think."

Charlene smirks, "You were too busy being heroic."

"It's a weakness of mine, I suppose," Finn shrugs.

"It's hardly a bad weakness to have. It makes you a good person." She stands close to Finn, closer than he could have expected.

"You would know all about that," he teases, "Haven't you played a good person in one of your films at some point?"

Her face shifts. "Very funny. Heroic, but not quite the gentleman I thought."

Finn forces himself to laugh a little, moving up onto the last step. He walks out onto the third floor of the west wing, even darker and more ominous that the corridors before. They can barely see what was right in front of them, let alone the ceiling or the other end of the hall. The wallpaper looks more sinister, and strange batlike statues throw grotesque statues on the wall.

"Keep your eyes open," he advises Charlene. "Find the door with the crooked handle."

…

11:51 PM

"Admit it, Willa. We're lost."

"You're one to talk, Mr. Maybeck," Willa yells over her shoulder. "You have the compass. I thought you would be directing us."

"It's a little hard to direct from the rear. I can't even see the forks in the tunnel until after you've decided which way to go."

"If you had-"

"Please shut it, you two!" Philby breaks through their bickering. "Your arguing isn't helping us out in the least, and if you won't stop then I'm turning around and bringing the lantern with me!"

Willa and Maybeck stand in silence, surprised by Philby's outburst. The ginger takes a moment to compose himself, then speaks again, "What direction is this tunnel moving in now, Maybeck?"

Maybeck pulls out the compass. "East, it looks like. We've been going east for a while now." He leans backwards onto the stone wall.

"Then we're making one large circle." Willa says, drawing looks from the other two. "You can only go in one direction for so long without making a loop. We're probably not far from where we started."

"We need to get out of this tunnel," says Philby. "Get our bearings, then proceed from there."

Willa crosses her arms, "Have you seen an exit? I'd like to get out too, but there's nothing."

"Perhaps we're not-"

A shuddering groan fills the air, echoing off the tunnel walls and ceiling. Maybeck, his back against the wall, slides down to the floor in surprise.

"Maybeck," Willa asks, "What were you leaning on?"

"I – I thought it was just the wall." He turns, seeing that this piece of the wall is different from the rest of the stone. The rock is different, with small bands of metal forming a lattice weave throughout. That, and the fact that the entire piece is now several inches deep into the rest of the wall.

"Try pushing some more," Philby points. Maybeck straightens, places his hands on the panel, and heaves. Nothing seems to happen.

"How did we miss this panel?" Willa turns to Philby.

"We were looking carefully enough," he replies. "I should've seen it, but I was a little distracted by all of the bickering going on."

"Really, you're going to blame this on me?"

"It's moving!" Maybeck cries out as the panel gives way. It pushes deeper into the wall before sliding to one side.

"Do we go through?"

"If it's an exit," Philby answers Maybeck, "then we should."

Maybeck hesitantly leads, followed by Willa, then Philby. They exchange the cold stone floor of the tunnel for a plush carpet. Philby fumbles with brightening the lantern.

"It looks like another reading room," Philby says as the light catches the tall bookshelves and formal furniture. Willa turns on a lamp by the hidden door, getting a better view of the room. The panel that Maybeck just pushed appears to be hidden by another bookshelf, and it slowly slides back into place after they step through it.

"Look," Willa beckons them over to a photograph on the wall, "It's Jess. Many years ago, it seems."

Maybeck crosses heavily. "She can't be much more than thirteen in this photograph. Maleficent looks ageless, of course."

"Jess looks so sad."

"I suppose she was. Sad and lonely too."

Philby goes to see the photo when something catches the corner of his eye. There, sitting on one of the stiff-backed chairs is a thick paper folder. Tossed onto the upholstered seat as if forgotten. Curious, Philby picks it up and reads the name on the cover. It is a familiar name.

His companions oblivious, Philby opens the file. Inside, there are handwritten memos and newspaper clippings, printed letters and fuzzy photos. He skims a few of the contents, getting an uneasy feeling. Silently, he slides the file under his vest, hiding it.

The name on the cover is Finn Whitman.

…

12:00 AM

Midnight

"Have you found any crooked handles yet?" Finn calls from the other end of the hall.

"I'm afraid not," Charlene reaches the final door on her side. Every handle looks completely, dishearteningly normal. Her heart sinks. She knows how much Finn wants, needs to find Amanda. She doesn't know why – after all, hadn't Finn and Amanda only just met this evening? – but she didn't challenge it. If it meant a lot to him then, well, who was she to judge?

"Maybe I missed something," she mumbles to herself, pacing back along the wall again with her oil lantern held high. There are six doors on her side of the wing, and none of them have any crooked handles. She walks along the right side, stumbling over a small wrinkle in the long rug underfoot.

In mid-stumble, she sees the stepstool underneath a side table.

She hadn't noticed the table before: it is just like all of the others, similar in style holding an enormous vase of twisted flowers. But this one has a small lacquered stepstool under it, tucked into a shadow.

Dropping onto her knees, Charlene drags the stepstool out. Why would this be here?

Then she puts it together.

The attic should be above them.

Perhaps the door to the attic is not on the wall, but on the ceiling.

Clutching the stepstool under her arm, Charlene raises her lantern to the ceiling. The light finally reaches the shiny wood above them, and she doesn't have to walk far before she sees it: a small rectangular panel with a crooked handle.

"Finn! It's not a door on the wall. It's on the ceiling."

Finn races down the hall, the light catching his green eyes. They look hopeful. "The ceiling?"

"Here," Charlene points upwards, then drops the stepstool. Finn hops up first, able to reach the handle from this height. He gives it three strong tugs before the door swings open and a noisy ladder extends to the floor. He climbs first, and Charlene follows.

"Amanda?"

"Finn?" She answers his call, and Charlene can hear desperation in her faint voice.

"Amanda!" By the time Charlene reaches the top of the ladder, Amanda has already thrown herself into Finn's arms. She buries her face into his shoulder, and Charlene watches him gently stroke her hair.

"I—I didn't know what she was going to do to me," Amanda trembles, "Lock me in here forever, torture me, or worse…"

"It's alright, you're alright. You're safe now. We are going to get you out of here."

"You found me," Amanda says softly. "I had hoped it would be you."

Finn smiles back at her. "I had some help." His glance reaches Charlene.

Amanda turns her head to see the other girl in the attic. Suddenly, Charlene's stomach feels hollow. She wants to trust Amanda, to see the good in her like Finn does. But how could she justify the snake coming from Amanda's room? Or the lies that Amanda has been telling the entire night? Even if she could ignore the obvious affection Finn held for Amanda – and why does Charlene care? – Charlene is dubious she could truly embrace the girl.

"Thank you," Amanda nods gratefully.

"No one should be locked up in a place like this," is all Charlene can say. She feels awkward and in-the-way, standing in on this reunion in nothing more than a nightdress and robe. Amanda looks like a damsel in distress, but in a beautiful way.

Finn's arm slips around Amanda. "Let's get you out of here."

…

12:00 AM

Midnight

The Overtaker Manor.

The place has an odd ring to it, Wanda decides as she flips through another several pages on the old mansion. She has everything on her desk: building records, manor history, ownership licenses, everything down to the smallest phone and electricity bills. Everything she could get her hands on without actually going up to the manor itself.

Most strange are the records concerning the late Chernabog, husband to Maleficent. Wanda has nearly nothing on him. There is significantly less paperwork from Chernabog's time at the manor, and the little she does have is discreet and offers no real insight into Chernabog at all. All Wanda knows is that he was some sort of Russian businessman.

And that he is dead now.

This is not the first case Wanda's had about Chernabog. Every time she tried to gather information on him, there was little there. Now, she remains as clueless as ever. Was he a mob ringleader? Drug smuggler? Murderer?

Wanda has nearly nothing concerning Chernabog in the few months leading up to his sudden death. A plane ticket receipt from four months before his accident, for a flight from Miami, Florida to a small island in the Caribbean.

And then an autopsy report from four months later. Death by lightning strike.

There's something about this Chernabog fellow, Wanda tries to piece anything together. No real records on his business, or where his money came from. Simply an enormous sum in his name, held in several of the largest banks in Los Angeles. A plane ticket to a small island on the other side of the country. No voucher for any return flight. How did he get home?

And now five young elites reported missing, likely held captive at this manor in the hills.

"Well," Wanda mutters to herself, gathering up her papers. "I'm certainly glad I wasn't invited to this little dinner party."

.

.

.

Author's Note:

And there you have it. Chapter 14.

Sorry this one took a while to get out. Life's been good, but insanely busy. My spare times has been filled with rehearsals for a musical I'm in (Mary Poppins!), and that's been a blast. But I've been missing my writing time.

Enough about me. Chapter 14.

Thanks to .Narnia and abzrocks1234 for your predictions! I love hearing what readers think about where this story is going. Some of your predictions are correct, but I can't say which! And while this chapter didn't answer any of the million-dollar questions, it's building to there. I will give you this little hint: There's one major Overtaker (from the books) that we haven't seen yet. Some clues in this chapter are alluding to that OT. And we'll see them very soon.

Fun note: Finn is worth $25 million dollars in 1939, which – adjusted for inflation – would be $422 million today. That's more than Johnny Depp's entire net worth. Yup.

Plus, I now have the rest of the story outlined, chapter by chapter. That's one of the reasons why this was so late. When I started this story, I had an idea of where I wanted to go, but no real plan. Now, I have everything tied together and ready to be written. So there is SOME method to the madness!

Some questions for YOU to answer from this chapter:

-What is in Finn's mysterious file?

-Where is Wayne during all of this?

-What is Chernabog's story?

-What do you think will happen next?

Give me your predictions in the Reviews! The more predictions I hear, the more secrets I can give away!

Thanks guys,

K.T. Grace