Chapter 19:

Curiosity

The little witch saw as the doctor dramatically changed before her. His intense focus set her golden eyes to light up with genuine childish curiosity as she watched him while he was hunched over the secretary table, that she had cleared off for him in the back of the cellar.

Most of what he had needed for his formula was found in small vials that she had had as samples, and the rest was acquired from several species of flower that were hung up and dangling down from the rafters to dry.

She patiently sat there and observed for what seemed like, to her, hours, and as fascinated as she was, she couldn't help but stifle out a yawn. Epithumia painfully realized that she had gone without sleep for several days, and the simple realization caused another yawn to creep up on her.

The doctor's head didn't lift, and his hands never slowed, but he casually reassured her exhaustion, "Ms. Bashem, I can promise that my work will take all night. I can't force you to go to bed, but I will prescribe it."

The little witch chuckled, "I didn't know you were that kind of doctor."

"I was, but it feels like a lifetime ago."

"What happened?"

The man sighed, remembering that she knew absolutely nothing about him, despite the numerous headlines and news highlights. He took the time to set down his work and turn to face her.

"I tell you what, if you head off and get some sleep, I will regale you with my treacherous story of woe in the morning."

Epithumia rolled her eyes to the last bit of drama he had added to his voice for sarcasm's sake.

"Doctor, are you trying to bribe me like a child?"

"Compared to my lifetime, you are a child, so I have no doubt that it should work. Besides, it is, after all, a very tempting offer."

Her cheeks puffed up in her aggravation.

"I'm afraid Child,"- her words were dry –"that your lifetime is roughly five-hundred and sixty-six years too late for that claim."

Choosing to smooth over her change in demeanor, Jonathan grinned.

"As impressive as that is, I'm afraid Child, that in all that time you still lack the experience needed to function properly in this modern world."

"How does dressing up as a Scarecrow and terrorizing people count as functioning properly?"

The socially drained man removed his glasses and rubbed his brow.

"As I said, I would be more than happy to tell you tomorrow. Now, won't you please let me work?"

Epithumia opened her mouth to say something more but caught herself. She had no reason to complain and yet here she found herself hounding a man that was beginning to cooperate with her. She bit her lip ashamed.

"Forgive me, I realize my emotions got the better of me. I do appreciate you creating your toxin for me."

The man didn't look up, despite his calming, alto, voice.

"Don't thank me, it's what humanity needs, so I don't have much of a choice."

"That's not entirely true. We could have tapped into the dormant demonic power you now possess, and though that wouldn't have been impossible it would have taken a little longer."

She cautiously reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. She felt his light shutter from her unexpected touch, though he still refused to lift his head and acknowledge it.

"Would you like me to show you where you can sleep? That is of course if you finish early."

"I appreciate the thought, but I won't be sleeping tonight."

An apologetic smile came to her lips though he still had his gaze downward to the project on the desk.

"Goodnight, Jonathan."

Not another word was said as the witch ascended the cellar stairs to turn in for the night. She returned to the parlor to fetch Drine, who was dozing off himself, and then climbed the second set of stairs to the second floor.

At the top of the stairs were three doors, the one on the right leading to her bedroom, the middle to the bathroom, and the left the guest bedroom.

Epithumia's eyes wearily fell to the guest bedroom door, which was open just a crack. She gently closed it and let her forehead rest upon its cool wood. The witch nervously pondered the thought of returning downstairs to advise Jonathan not to enter this room, but she could barely hold her head up as it was and instead found herself whispering a soft plea to the door, hoping it would reach what was inside.

"Please don't harm him if he enters. For me."

There was no response or clue as to whether what lay beyond promised or even heard, but she chose to accept the silence as positive and turned to shuffle to her room; trusting that Jonathan would be up all night, consumed in his work.

From the cellar, the house was so deathly quiet that Jonathan could hear Epithumia close her bedroom door.

He sat and waited for almost an hour in the silence before rising and heading upstairs. The sample of the toxin he was working on he had finished long before the woman had let out her first yawn, for Jonathan had been anticipating this prime opportunity to uncover more about his hostess.

His spindly frame still made the vintage floors groan, but his stealth came through as he entered back into the parlor. The doctor came to the painful truth that the house was not furnished with electricity, as his hand had sniffed out a light switch along the wall, however, the fireplace was still lit, casting enough light for his detective work to commence.

Earlier, while in the company of the witch, he had his eyes set on three medium-sized boxes that took up the bottom shelf of the bookcase. Jonathan made a V-line straight to them and eagerly pulled one out.

The dust was at least an inch thick on the lid, as he cautiously removed it, trying not to leave handprints and careful not to risk the possibility of being cursed. With everything that had happened, he wouldn't have been surprised if there was a curse on that box. However, what he found was simply a very small quantity of photos.

They were photos of Epithumia, that were lifetimes old, but all of them jumped in and out of different times until they became more modern. The styles in clothing and hair were all different, but he could always pick her face out, from amongst the rest, in each one of them.

The next box Jonathan dug into was a box filled with nothing more than random knickknacks. There was the occasional precious jewel, but most of the items were relics of what one would find in a poor man's house, such as a tarnished candlestick, a small thimble, and an eroded wooden spoon.

The last of the three boxes immensely caught his curiosity when he opened it, for other than the thick musty gust that wafted into his face, nothing was inside except a large cloth and a tiny eroded, copper broach. The woolen cloth had clearly seen better days, as it was stained with orange and yellow and it was so worn that the density of it had diminished, making it almost see-through.

Jonathan refrained from touching the cloth, as he knew it would end up ripping if he did, but he did, however, pick up the broach. It was such a simple little trinket, with no jewels or much of any kind of design to give it appeal, and the whole piece had long since oxidized being completely green and grey. However, Jonathan was almost charmed to see something so seemingly insignificant be set aside from the other trinkets that were clearly in much better shape.

The doctor decided to put away the boxes and continue his investigation into other areas of the house, as the parlor did not hide much else to be found. He stepped into the hallway and aimed to enter the dining room, who's door was just on the opposite wall, to the right of the front door and at the foot of the stairs that lead to the second floor.

He never made it there though, as he froze to the sight of brief movement at the other end of the hallway. He had seen Epithumia in a white nightgown walk through an archway that was down the hall on the left. In knowing that she would return to go to bed, the man thought through what best he could do to avoid suspicion.

Jonathan cleared his throat and called out to her, knowing the perfect story that would weave itself.

"Ms. Bashem? Would you point me to the bathroom, please? I can't seem to find it."

There was no answer.

"Ms. Bashem?"

He slowly edged towards the archway, for once hoping not to scare her, and peered inside. No lights were lit, and he paused to let the darkness become clearer. When his eyes had adjusted, he saw it was a large kitchen.

There was a bar with barstools, an icebox, and an iron stove, but there was no witch and nothing, from what he could tell, amiss.

Weary, the man shook his head and massaged his eyes, as he must have been mistaken and, as ashamed as he was to admit it, paranoid.

Jonathan as quietly as he could return to his investigation. He had quickly looking into the dining room to see the only furniture there was the table, chairs, and a large china cabinet.

The Doctor's attention was then immediately turned to upstairs, as he carefully climbed to the top. He paced himself well to limit the creaking and paused at the top to make sure he hadn't woken anyone.

When all seemed clear he was faced with three doors, and the one to the far left was open just a crack.