Chapter Summary: In which Miranda and the Duke set in motion a chain of events that will lead to Marianne's demise.

X

1963

The Duke

The Duke sat back in his wicker chair, the sound of its tenuous squeaking drowned about by his joyful humming. Before him sat a bowl of decadent muskrat stew. He had spent all day working on it - seeing as how business had been slow as usual - and he could finally pick out the fragrant scents of lemon, nutmeg, and mushroom sauce. There was an art to seasoning a dish to perfection. The amount of time that something was cooked changed how it tasted. Garlic, for example, maintained its peak flavor up until the point that it was sauteed for a bit too long. Then it became bitter - but in a surprisingly pleasurable way.

If only he had someone to share such a fantastic meal with!

But perhaps his solitude was for the better. Packing up and moving around his shop hadn't been very easy, and it had only been yesterday that he had settled into this new cozy spot along the outskirts of the village. No doubt he reeked of sweat, and the towelette that he had fashioned into a bib around his neck probably didn't do much for his appearance. But! At least he had his rather attractive bodily physique-

As if it mattered. After all, there was no one there to share his meal with. And the dear, sweet girl that had been keeping him company had just up and rode off in pursuit of some whim. He didn't blame her. If he was just a tad more limber, he'd mount a horse and go galloping off to America as well.

But speaking of which.

He dipped the spoon in his bowl and then held it up to his nose, simply cherishing the enticing scent as his eyes roved over a sheaf of papers. He had no right to read them, technically, as they didn't actually belong to him. And yet there was no use having them lying around collecting dust. In a way, he supposed, he was just ensuring their quality of care for the time being - or, at least until someone decided to give a damn enough to retrieve them.

Some several years ago, Marianne Wilder had set up a line of communication between him and the outside world. She had paid him handsomely what with all of the money that she had made in America and, as per their agreement, he had agreed to pick up documents from the town over and hold onto them for safekeeping. She was a sharp girl, sharper than people gave her credit for, and had theorized that one day the outside world would find out about Miranda's mold. Thus, she had had her women back in America keep tabs on anybody who seemed even the slightest bit interested in what was going on in the village, starting with one Oswell E. Spencer. The Duke remembered him well: a handsome British bloke, university-bred and scientifically minded. It seemed as if the man was planning something, judging by the coveted intel that the Duke now held in his chubby hands. But what it was, it could not be told. On one of the pages was the photo of a small scribble cast upon a wrinkled piece of paper as if it had been drawn by a distracted mind. It sort of resembled the top of an umbrella but, in a way, its four red triangles reminded the Duke of the village's four family crests joint within a neat heptagon.

He blew across his spoon with creased brows. In all likelihood, the documents would prove of no use to anybody. Though Marianne had insisted that he maintain the direct line of communication for safekeeping purposes, she didn't seem particularly interested in the information anymore. Only an hour ago she had been with him, nettling him with an uncharacteristic chattiness as she went about closing her accounts and buying necessities for her trip back to America. But this time, she had repeated rather mischievously, she was taking someone rather special back with her.

"A certain…Mister…Karl Heisenberg," she had said, rolling the name along her tongue as if it was a bejeweled pearl cast in honey.

Well! It had been enough to make his stomach rumble. Young love was a lost art and an appetite stimulant. And if her radiant smile and unblemished skin was anything to go by, young love was also the stuff that spewed from the fountain of youth. Though, if he did his math right, both she and Karl were nearing forty-three years of age.

He stopped and tilted his head, listening to an odd sound riding the wind. At first, it sounded like the enraged cries of some animal. He had lived in and around the village long enough to know that bobcats and Lycans often made horrific screaming sounds, especially around the season of mating. But, as he listened, he began to discern human words mixed in with the screaming.

Slowly, he lowered his spoon as a figure in the distance grew closer. It was a man, he decided, and a very distraught one at that. There were several weapons tucked away in boxes within the small cabin that made up his newest setup. One well-aimed shot - even from such a distance - would put the stranger out of his misery.

But he was curious. The man drew closer with an odd gait resembling a drunken stumble. He was swinging around a large object - something like a staff with a heavy metal piece welded clumsily to its end. The Duke nestled his hands comfortably between his thighs as the man clambered towards him, still screaming at the top of his lungs. As the Duke watched in amusement, the man pulled his shirt away from his body and swung it around madly as if he was swatting away a million invisible insects swarming his body. The shirt caught against the zipper of the man's pants, causing him to stumble, lose his footing, and then go sprawling into a nearby prickly bush.

"What the-," the man said as he pushed himself up. Then he took a deep breath into his broad lungs and screamed a rather jarring vulgarity at the burning sun.

The Duke decided that it was probably best that he intervene. The man was bound to spot him eventually, and the Duke figured that it would do them both some good if he took control of the situation before the other man did. He cleared his throat and waved his hand quickly in the air.

"Why hello there, sir!" He called in a cordial voice clipped to perfection after many years spent haggling wares. "A lovely day, isn't it?"

The other man jumped and whipped his head the Duke's way. He looked him up and down with obvious disgust, his gaze lingering pointedly on the Duke's belly before curling his lips into a snarl. The man was, admittedly, in very good shape. There was a toned largeness to his body that didn't seem to fit in with the general appearance of the villagers.

"And just who the fuck said it was a lovely day?" The man called back. He pushed himself up with a spry hop from the ground and stormed towards the Duke. Even as he drew close enough to slam his hands down on the table and lean towards him, the Duke did not flinch.

"Well, I did, of course! And you must pardon me if my humble observations do not align themselves with yours. Every man has the authority to make of the day what he will."

"Wh-...what?" The strange man exclaimed. The Duke sighed and then pointed at the gold cross pendant swinging in circles in front of the man's bare chest.

"I said: if the authority of the sort that you follow provides more of a…decorative appeal, I'd be willing to take that off of your hands. For a fair price, that is."

The man clutched the pendant and glared back at the Duke as if he was a child trying to take away his prized toy. There was something very familiar about him though what it was the Duke just could not put his finger on. The Duke scanned his mental databases, thinking of all the family lineages that had popped up in the village throughout the years.

Slowly, the man let go of his pendant and placed his fist on the Duke's table. Oh yes, the man was distracted and angry. The Duke could see it in the sweat sliding down beneath his tinted glasses.

"And just who the fuck are you?" The man demanded, jabbing his finger at him with his other hand. The Duke put a hand to his chest and gave a small bow.

"Just a humble merchant, is all. Though some in the village prefer to refer to me as the Duke. And you are…" the Duke put a hand to his chin and gazed openly at the strange man. Prominent nose…black hair strung through with premature gray….broad cheeks and full lips. "You're not a Moreau, are you? You must be…one from the Heisenberg line! Not Jebediah, I assume, but his son. If memory serves me correctly, he had two boys - completely identical in looks. Which one are you, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Me?" The man said after swiftly removing his sunglasses. "I'm the poor, pathetic loser that everybody's so fond of yapping about-"

"Oh!" The Duke said with a sudden snap of his fingers. "Then you must be Karl!"

"Oh, for fuck's sake-"

"No, no m'boy," The Duke said quickly, realizing that it was necessary to backtrack lest he incurred the wrath of the rather unpredictable Heisenberg son. "It's just, well, your eyes! They're very…distinguished."

This was true. Karl had the most startling pair of handsome green eyes that the Duke had ever seen. Though he was faintly aware of the history of the Heisenberg sons, he had never actually met them in person. Village gossip had preceded them - specifically Karl, via Marianne's lovelorn blatherings - and he was well aware of the village belief that Karl was the Devil in disguise, proven by the perfect eyes and silver tongue.

But it was odd. While Karl's eyes were beautiful, his voice simply did not match the Duke's high expectations. Karl spoke with a coarse roll to his voice, the deeper octaves jarring and unnatural. It seemed to Duke as if once his voice may have been nice, but something had happened. Maybe it had been all of that screaming that he was doing only a few moments ago.

The Duke turned himself around in his chair with a groan and set about pouring a mug full of steaming water from a kettle. A quick rummage through his ramshackle drawers produced an ancient bag of boxed teas with the faded name Bigelow stamped across it. As Karl watched with a blank gaze, the Duke steeped the tea bag in the water, added a generous helping of honey, and blew across the rim.

"A tantalizing mix of black tea complimented by a gentle drop or two of bergamot oil," he proclaimed as he handed it over. "Supposing subtle hints of citrus in the background. The very best that America has to offer."

"Tch. Fuck America," Karl growled before throwing his head back and downing the tea in one gulp. The boiling water hit his throat immediately and he threw himself forward in a violent fit of coughs.

"It may be none of my business," the Duke said slowly, watching Karl sputter and wondering about his mental state. "But I could have sworn that you were headed to America only an hour ago."

"Plans change, don't they?" Karl said. And then suddenly froze. The look in his eyes made the Duke shiver slightly. Heisenberg men were known for their creepy, stony gazes. "How the fuck did you know that I was on my way to America?"

The Duke hunched his shoulders in mock innocence. "A little birdie told me. Not a white dove, mind you, but a pretty little black sparrow…if you get my drift."

"No. I don't."

"Well, Marianne! She was just here! Talking up a storm about you, as per usual. I remember she came galloping along on her horse. Spent a whole hour chatting about her plans and closing off her debts and-" the Duke quickly cleared his throat before he could slip up and reveal the last part. "You seem surprised, Karl!"

"She wasn't here," Karl said, rather roughly. "She was in the village center getting railed by my brother."

This bit of news was especially juicy, but the Duke was an expert at hiding his emotions behind a politely-interested expression. So that's why Karl's eyes were puffy and red. The poor thing had been crying!

But something wasn't right. The timing didn't add up. The Duke sat even farther back in his chair and laced his hands around his belly as his muskrat soup went cold.

"Well, now," he said thoughtfully. "That is rather odd. You see, in the time that it took her to ride out from the factory, settle her affairs here with me, and then ride back out to retrieve you there just wouldn't have been an opportunity for her to, er, have relations with your brother. Not even if it was really quick, as I've heard you Heisenberg men are fond of taking it."

"Are you calling me a liar, big boy?"

"Allow me to extend the same courtesy back, and ask if you are perhaps calling me a liar." The Duke leaned forward amongst a loud squeaking of his chair. Karl seemed to have withdrawn into himself, slightly. The Duke grinned to himself. I still got it, he thought. "Marianne Wilder was here with me. I have receipts to prove it."

Karl took a step back and gave a rather unhinged shake of his head. "Listen. Y-you got it all wrong. I saw her with my own two eyes, in that ramshackle room that my brother calls his home. She was standing there half-naked, talking about how much she hated me and how much of a fool I am for having ever-" he paused, and looked away quickly. "It wasn't a dream. In dreams, words don't hurt. But…but everything she said just felt like uh..."

Karl's bottom lip was quivering. He tried to hide it beneath a swipe from his broad hand, but the Duke saw it nonetheless. Though he was still undecided on Karl's mental state, he couldn't help but feel as if it was part of his businessman's duty to make sense of confusing phenomena. It was less out of a desire to see Karl comforted, and more of a desire to uphold Marianne's honor

"There's something you're not telling me…" he said slowly as Karl stared off to the side. "I can hear hesitancy in your words. You are…contemplating something."

Karl was quiet for a long time. The wind began to pick up and toss wayward strands of hair across his haggard face. The Duke had been around for a long time - longer than anybody could have reasonably guessed. Something about Karl's demeanor had become both suddenly very boyish and suddenly very grown up.

Karl swiped his wrist distractedly over the crumbs lining the Duke's table before taking a deep breath in and speaking quickly. "Guglielmo's Hammer," he said softly, tossing his chin at the hammer lying a few feet away. "She lifted it with ease, as if it was nothing! No one should be able to lift it except for the strongest of the Heisenberg bloodline. And…"

"And?" The Duke repeated softly, urging him on. Karl took another shaky breath in.

"Before I left, she started crying, but…her tears. They were black. Black as…" he pursed his lips together and gave another dazed shake of his head. "Black as Miranda's mold, I guess. I think that she was also one of the villagers that Miranda experimented on. And in the forty-two years of me knowing her, she n-never even bothered to…tell me-"

He closed his mouth quickly and looked up at the sky. Tears were brimming along his lashes. This time he didn't even bother trying to hide it. The Duke retrieved a handkerchief from beneath his collar and flushed it at Karl until he was forced to take it. As the Duke sat back and thought, Karl lifted the handkerchief and blew his nose into it so loudly that several birds rose from the trees.

"Something's not right," the Duke said quietly, mostly to himself. "No, not right at all…Karl. Marianne and I have been acquainted for a long time - longer than you've even known her. She used to hang around me as a child - not like that!" He said quickly, seeing the flare in Karl's eye. "No, no - I would have never dared to besmirch her honor in the way that your village brethren did. It's all to say, Karl, that I've watched that girl grow. I know all of her secrets, and as I am the fairest merchant in the land, I can promise that she loves you with a fierceness unparalleled. If she was an unwilling - or even willing - experiment to Miranda's mold, she would have told me, or I would have found out by some other means! Marianne is strong, dear boy, but she is not strong enough to lift that there hammer. The woman whom you witnessed perform such an incredible feat simply could not have been Marianne."

"So what are you saying?"

The Duke paused and glanced down at his muskrat stew. In it, he saw his own face but also the face of another…a woman with extraordinary power bestowed upon her by an ancient fungus. "Do you believe in shape-shifters, Karl?" He asked, stirring his finger around the bowl. Karl snorted and then broke out in disbelieving laughter.

"Why, as much as I believe in ghosts and spooky skeletons walking through the village at night," he said with a wheeze. "Listen. Don't try and insult me by insinuating that the woman sucking my brother's dick in his room was some sort of shapeshifter-"

"I wouldn't try to insult you. It'd be a waste of time, seeing as you already seem well equipped for the task. Besides, is it really so outlandish to consider the possibility of the unthinkable, in a village overrun by magic mold and men turned Lycans?"

"Look. I-ignoring the fact that I'm two seconds away from blowing your head off for talking in riddles…let's just say that the woman I saw in Ken's room wasn't Marianne - that it was some… fantastical mirage conjured up by some dark magic…who in this village do you think holds the power to shapeshift? And! And - don't cut me off - not only that! Who do you think, aside from me, has the power to wield that fuckin' hammer?"

The Duke lifted his finger to his lips and sucked away the juices from the muskrat stew. It was cold but still bore testament to his excellent cooking skills. "Who do you think?" He asked, somewhat coyishly. Karl's face fell, and the Duke knew that he had hit his mark. "Anyway, Karl. It really isn't my place to cast suppositions upon deaf ears. You don't believe me, fine. You think that I am toying with your head like all of the others. Very well, you are at liberty to dismiss educated assumptions. But I will tell you this, though it pains me to breach customer confidentiality. An hour ago, Marianne Wilder came to my shop. She closed out all of her tabs and paid me very well for all that I had done for her over the years. And not only that, she purchased a ring bearing your family's crest. Don't ask how it found its way into my shop, for I have no intention of breaching Ken's - I mean, a customer's confidentiality again but…she bought it with the intent to return it to you and to ask your hand in marriage before you could do the deed. The woman at my shop was definitely Marianne Wilder. And though she possesses fantastic inner strength, she simply could not have been in two places at once. Karl. Have you ever wondered about the true identity of the Old Ha-"

He was caught off by the sound of a horse's hooves thundering towards them. Both men turned at once and looked into the distance where a woman astride a horse was quickly approaching. Seeing the tension suddenly overtake Karl's body, the Duke uttered a soft curse and prayed to God that whatever showdown was on the verge of happening wouldn't cause any destruction to his wares.

Marianne pulled to a stop right before Karl and gave a raucous 'yee-haw' as the horse reared into the air.

"Hiyo, Silver!" She said girlishly, completely oblivious to the heat in Karl's gaze. "I was looking all over for you! I told you to wait at the factory but nooooo - your ass just had to go a'wanderin'. Lucky thing I ran into a villager who told me they'd seen you hollering your way over here. Hiya, Duke!"

"Hello, princess."

"Well," she said, turning back to Karl, "Are we going or what's the hold-up, handsome?"

Karl turned around and swiped up the Duke's bowl of soup. As the Duke watched in utter disappointment, Karl lobbed the bowl right at Marianne's head, dousing her in the oh-so-carefully crafted concoction. She had just a brief moment to stare back down at him in surprise before Karl hooked his hands along her pants and tore her violently off of the horse.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing, sitting here like nothing happened?" He screamed at her, growing red in the face. She rolled onto her side and leaped up before Karl could do something rather rash with his boot. "Calling me handsome 'n shit, after you just talked down to me like I was nothing!"

"Wh-wh-wh-what are you talking about?" She said in an alarmed falsetto. She glanced in confusion at the Duke who sighed and let his shoulders fall. "Are you high? Or are you drunk? Or are you just plain fuckin' stupid!?"

"Oh, here she goes again!" Karl said, throwing his hands out dramatically as if he was in the middle of a court case and the surrounding trees were a watchful jury. "Go on, spit it all out again! I'm drunk, I'm stupid, imma poor pathetic lunatic that all of the village women gossip about. Go on! Get it all out before you go and fuck my brother again!"

"What?!" She said before taking a big breath in and screaming in his face, "ARE YOU FUCKING INSANE?!"

"Marianne-" the Duke tried, but to no avail. Karl whirled around and gave the table an enraged kick.

"Maybe I am!" He said in a voice that sounded much too theatrical to the Duke. "What else am I supposed to be after finding out that you've been lying to me for forty-two years?"

"L-lying about what? Karl, w-w-what the actual fuck are you going on about? When I left you, y-you were fine! Now you're standing here ranting like some kind of lunatic!"

"Er, Karl-" the Duke tried again but was once again ignored. Karl gave a long gasp before clapping his hands and advancing toward her.

"There you go again! Calling me a lunatic! Well, guess what, doll? Maybe I'm not the lunatic - maybe you are! Maybe taking all of those cocks up your ass since you were a baby fucked up your god damn fucking mind!"

Both the Duke and Marianne gasped at this. The Duke was glad that Marianne kicked Karl between the legs just then for, if she hadn't, he most definitely would have. Karl stumbled around for a moment before looking up at her with a gaze so contorted that the Duke knew that he had to do something, and fast, before he killed her.

"Karl, m'boy, listen to me." It was with some effort that he slid off of his chair and waddled his way towards them. Both Marianne and Karl were staring at each other as if they were hounds on the verge of fighting. Blood was dripping from Karl's nose and splattering between his new shoes. There was a scrape running along Marianne's cheek from when he had grabbed her and flung her off of the horse. They both looked like schoolchildren after a particularly violent scuffle, but the situation was much direr than that. The Duke placed a cool hand on Karl's shoulder which was quickly shrugged off. "The woman that you witnessed engaging in indiscretions with your brother was able to lift Guglielmo's Hammer. If this is the same woman, then she should be able to lift it again, yes?"

Karl said nothing to this. The Duke attempted to put his hand on Karl's shoulder again but quickly recoiled at the feel of the tension hardening his muscles.

"You're right," Karl said quietly, reaching for his belt. In less than a second, he had pulled out a small pistol and aimed it at Marianne's head. The woman screamed as she just as quickly retrieved her own pistol and shoved the muzzle against the bottom of the chin. The Duke watched helplessly as they stood in intimate proximity to each other, panting wildly and trapping each other with a tense glare.

"Fuck," Marianne thundered, spit flying from her mouth as the fingers of both hands quivered along the trigger guard. "Fuck! Fuckfuckfuckfuck - put it down, Karl! Drop it! I said drop it!"

In response to this, Karl let his lips part slightly before lifting his finger and curling it slowly along the trigger. Marianne screamed before doing the same and showing the muzzle deeper into the soft underside of his chin.

"B-bastard," she was wheezing and rasping incoherently. "You fucking two-faced lunatic bitch, you god damn son of a motherfucking-"

"Pick it up," Karl said simply, softly. He gestured with harrowing gravitas to the hammer lying on the ground beside them before wrapping his fingers around the pistol again. "Pick…it…up."

Sweat was running down her forehead and pooling into the indent made by his barrel pressing into her skin. Her tongue darted between her dry lips as her eyes cut nervously between him and his hammer.

"Make no mistake," Karl continued in a baritone echo. "I will shoot you if you don't lift that hammer off the ground. So I suggest you put your back into it, woman - really bend your knees. You're good at that, ain't you, doll?"

"You're not gonna sh-sh-sh-shoot me," she stuttered before licking her lips again. "You l-l-l-love me."

There was a deafening 'pop.' The Duke quickly covered his ears and looked away. But Karl had only fired a shot into the air above her head. She was shivering and muttering prayers to herself, tears falling freely across her face. An empty cartridge tumbled across the ground as Karl shoved the barrel against her forehead again, causing her to stumble back.

"I loved you. Past tense. Now I'd just really love to see you do exactly what I ask before I make your pretty little eyeballs jump out of their sockets. Pick up the hammer, Marianne." Karl held up one finger. "Una-"

"Karl, I beg of you-" the Duke tried. Marianne screamed and ducked her head against her hunched shoulders as Karl lifted a second finger.

"Doi," he said.

"H-have mercy on me, O God, have mercy, for in you my soul takes refuge! I w-w-will take refuge in the shadow of your wings until the d-d-danger has passed-"

Karl lifted a third finger. "Trei! Such a disappointment. La revedere, Marianne-"

"WAIT!"

Another 'pow' echoed around the hills as Marianne quickly ducked down. Again, Karl had only aimed for the sky but it was enough to rattle both her and the Duke. Quickly, and with her pistol still trained on him, she reached down and felt around in the grass until her fingers came in contact with the hammer's staff. The Duke watched Karl watch her with a vacant expression as she grunted and cursed in an attempt to lift it. Seeing that Karl had no intention to shoot her at the moment, she placed her pistol in the grass and wrapped both hands around the staff. Her small body curled over upon itself as she yanked again and again at the hammer. But it was no use. It was obvious that she simply couldn't lift it.

"Are you satisfied?" The Duke asked. "Look at her. She's crying-"

"I couldn't give a shit less," Karl said in a voice that the Duke did not find very convincing. The Duke shook his head.

"Her tears. They're clear as a crystal river," he said. Marianne gave a frustrated whine as she yanked at the unmoving hammer again. "The woman whom you claimed was frolicking around with your brother cried black tears as you were leaving, did she not? Tears that were, as you put it, black as Miranda's mold."

"Fuuuuuuuuck-" Marianne cried with so much passion that she sounded almost like a man. She snatched up her gun and stormed up to Karl. As the Duke watched rather tiredly, she stuffed it in Karl's mouth and gave it an enraged wriggle. "I w-w-wish I had it in my heart to k-k-kill you, you ugly rat bastard!"

Karl reached out and slapped the pistol from her hand as easily as he would have a bothersome butterfly. The weapon fell to the ground and emit a loud 'bang,' firing a round in the space between her and Karl. The Duke watched with open interest as the bullet traveled upwards, its ascent growing slower and slower until it was just hovering beneath Karl's fingers. Both he and Marianne stared with bated breath as he closed his fist around the bullet and then dropped it to the ground.

"You couldn't kill me even if you wanted to. Such a shame," he said quietly, running the heel of his loafer back and forth over the bullet in the grass. He turned to the Duke. "Don't think that I've been convinced. You and her…you're probably in cahoots, aren't you? Trying to make me out to be the crazy one. Blame everything on Miranda, just because you know how much that wicked witch bothers me! L-let me tell you both something," Karl held the Duke's eye for a second before twisting around to stare down at Marianne. "I'm leaving. Fuck this village, fuck you, villagers, fuck everything that's risen and fallen upon this accursed land. I'm going to America on my own, Marianne. I don't need you. I've never needed you or any of the other sick bastards that disguised their abuse as love. Once again, doll and Duke, my business has become my own."

"Karl," Marianne whimpered from her spot on the ground. He picked up his hammer and turned to look at her, just in time to get hit in the face with a flying projectile. He put his hand to his head and stumbled back as he looked down at the grass. There was something small and silver glinting in the sunlight. He reached down, retrieved it, and found that it was a large ring bearing his family's crest. He looked down at Marianne who was baring her teeth back up at him in an odd facsimile of a grin.

"I was going to ask you to marry me," she said before giving an odd giggle. "But I guess you can say that I dodged a bullet. Ha ha ha! Right, Karl? I d-d-d-dodged a bullet!"

He watched in disgust as she bent over and began to wheeze with laughter. Then, he turned to face the Duke who gave him a tepid shrug.

"Off you go, then." The Duke said over the sound of her wailing laughter. "And don't bother offering to reimburse me for the tea. I prefer to exchange currency with unsoiled hands."

X

Later on that night, the Duke made his way over to the Dimitrescu castle. It pained him to do so, as he was not fond of trekking large distances and he had only just gotten comfortable with the placement of his shop within the hills. But certain matters had to be discussed, and he had heard tale that Miranda was spending most of her days in Alcina's castle.

Once inside, he was rather perturbed to find that Miranda was surrounded by a sort of entourage. Aside from Alcina, the three beautiful Dimitrescu daughters were wafting about the room at the beckoning of their mother. Salvatore Moreau - or whatever it was that he had become - was kneeling before Miranda and was massaging her feet emphatically. And further back, in the corner, Ken Heisenberg had been stripped of his clothing and chained to the wall.

The Duke tried his very best to keep his eyes off of Ken as he settled himself along a velvet settee that Alcina swore was a 'precious heirloom.' But the Duke knew better. He could have probably haggled the damn thing for a price that would have made Alcina die of shame.

Or, perhaps the true shame lay in the fact that she couldn't die so easily.

"Thank you, my dear lady!" The Duke said in his most charming voice as the eldest of the Dimitrescu daughters - Cassandra, he seemed to remember - filled his cup to the brim with tea. In response to this, Cassandra pursed her lips in an affronted frown before muttering, 'bloated man-thing' beneath her breath. At this, the youngest of the sisters gasped and turned to Alcina in a hurry.

"Mother!" Daniela exclaimed, pressing her hand against Alcina's arm.

"Quiet now, darling," she warned before blowing smoke tiredly out the corner of her lips.

"But Cassandra is insulting the guest-"

"I am only speaking that which is true," Cassandra parried in a high whine.

"That which is true does not always need to be spoken-!"

"Spoken like a liar who has a lot to say-!"

"When have I ever lied-?"

"When you said that I was insulting the guest!"

"DAUGHTERS!" Alcina thundered in a voice that the Duke found pleasantly musical. Of course, he knew that Alcina had spent many years as a jazz singer in New York. She still had the bearing of a showwoman, though her rather sudden growth spurt from Miranda's experimentation now lent her an intimidating air. Bela looked on with a small smile as her sisters lowered their heads, chastised. Alcina slid a small wine bottle into his hands which he looked over with a calculating eye.

"As I was saying, I would appreciate it if you could deliver this to Sam and Ella Beneviento. I will pay you handsomely of course."

"Ah, yes," the Duke said, tossing the bottle in the air as Alcina looked on in alarm. "I hear that Ella has given birth to a baby boy! Named him Marius, or something of the traditional like. Good on her."

"Well. I wouldn't be so quick to celebrate," Alcina said in a thoughtful drawl. "I've heard that it takes a few years for the Beneviento children to show signs of…whatever unfortunate curse drives them all mad in the end."

"I've heard that Ella almost lost her life giving birth," the Duke said, somewhat heatedly. Alcina shrugged her shoulders daintily at this.

"Well, you didn't hear enough! She almost died because she took a knife to her neck and attempted to slit her throat as soon as the baby was out of her. Suicide has always appealed to that family like a glittering dream on the horizon."

"Now, Alcina. Dare I say that it is imprudent to romanticize the gloomy desperation of others…"

"You may 'dare' all that you'd like, sir. In the words of my very own daughter, 'I am only speaking that which is true.'"

"Such fine little toes you have, Mother Miranda," Moreau gargled as he stroked the Prophetess's feet. "Like little vanilla beans. May I tempt you with some cherry red polish? Or…or maybe a soft salmon pink?"

Miranda shook her head at this. The Duke watched as a crestfallen Moreau set the small glass jars of polish on the floor and went about massaging the heel of Miranda's foot. Ken gave a phlegmatic cough from the corner before chuckling and muttering something under his breath. The Duke swirled his tea around thoughtfully, wondering how best to broach the subject that had brought him to Miranda in the first place.

"Do you know what the people in Britain say when they've found something that pleases them?" The Duke said to Alcina. "They say that it is 'bloody good.' Ha ha! I'm sure that the same can be said of your wine. Might I ask how you and your children are coping with the recent shortage of meat within the village?"

Alcina hadn't been fast enough to hide the angry flare in her eyes. But then she smiled and gracefully rubbed Daniela's suddenly tense shoulders. "I could ask you the same thing but your…rotundness tells me all that I need to know. Maybe our tastes in the alternative parallel one another. After all, muskrat stew alone will not keep a man so well-fed-"

"Duke," Miranda suddenly said, seeing the flare in his eye. She nudged Moreau away and leaned forward in her chair, clasping her hands above her knees. Her style of dress had gotten more and more eccentric over the years. Gold-rimmed shoulder pads stuck out in stiff angles from her shoulders, complimented by a wrought-gold wreath encircling her head. Three sets of glossy black winds flushed against either side of her back and seemed to extend at her command. But neither the heavy hood nor the glossy dewiness of her skin could take away from her strange and particular beauty. Everyone in the village had found her attractive, if not a bit odd. "Pardon my haste, but I am a busy woman. Tell me now, is this merely a friendly visit or are you perhaps seeking something?"

"Seeking something?" He repeated with a rich belly laugh. "Aren't we all, my Miraculous Miranda? Ah, well…I suppose I'll cut to the point. That ring there, on your hand. I was hoping to buy it from you."

Miranda glanced down at her fingers as if she had never seen them before. There was a thin band of gold encircling her index finger. It was so small and unassuming that it was obvious that she had forgotten all about it. She twisted it off of her finger and held it up to the dancing light of the fire lamps.

"This?" She said with some confusion. Ken gave another sickly hack and was promptly ignored. The chains around his neck clinked together as he readjusted them uncomfortably. "Nothing more than a silly decorative trinket. I've had it since I was a young girl, but it bears no sentimentality for me. You may have it, no payment necessary-"

"Oh, no no no. I must insist. I am a businessman after all, and my specialty lies in fair trade. Here, let me just-" they all watched as he shuffled around in his pockets. Then, for added effect, he pulled out the linings of each pocket and gave a heavy sigh. "My, my. It seems as if I have left my wallet back in my shop. Though rare, I do make mistakes from time to time."

At this, Alcina gave an ironic chuckle and Salvatore looked up at her in confusion.

But Miranda was growing impatient. He could see it in the jittery tap of her toes against the floor. He'd have to find his way to the point, and quickly.

"And since I currently am bereft of funds, I must offer you something in place of currency…something just as valuable, if not more."

"Duke," she said in a low voice.

"Information," he said quickly. "I am willing to offer you information as a form of currency."

This caught her attention. The whole room went silent as they stared at him. He gave a neat smile and leaned back on the settee, crossing his legs comfortably in order to give off the appearance of a man who knew he had a lot to offer.

"What sort of…in-for-mation?" Miranda asked, her eyes narrowed slightly.

"Mind if I smoke?" He didn't wait for her to answer and instead lit a cigar right there in the foyer. This obviously bothered Alcina - no doubt she was very picky about what could or could not be smoked in her home - but he didn't care. "I suppose it's only right if we talk about everyone's favorite little rogue: Karl Heisenberg."

"What about him?" It was funny. Miranda, Moreau, and Alcina had all asked the very same question at the very same time. The Duke gave another full belly laugh.

"Alcina, Sal, please. Miranda's the one whom I have struck the bargain with. This information is for her ears alone. Now, Miranda. I am no fool. I know that you have been pining for that boy ever since he was…nine years old, am I correct?"

"Do not think that I am blind to the vulgar insinuations dripping off of your tongue," Miranda warned.

"Oh! No. Well. I only mean to say that he's had a special place in your heart. He's always been a strapping young man, and there are a lot of opportunities to be made in men like him. Say, if someone were looking for a vessel by which they could resurrect their deceased daughter. That is all to say-!" He added quickly, seeing the small curl on her lip. "That is all to say that I understand why you would do anything to keep him close. No doubt you are aware that Marianne Wilder had attempted to lure him away from you, and back to America. And her plan would have succeeded were it not for a rather…uncomfortable turn of events."

"As if consistency could have been expected from a lady of the night," Alcina muttered beneath her breath and Miranda smirked at this. My, my, the Duke thought to himself as he held Miranda's unblinking eyes, she really thinks she has me fooled.

"They say God has foresight," he continued slowly. "So God must not have been with us when a rather mysterious woman claiming to be Marianne Wilder made it her duty to make it seem like the real Marianne had violated Karl's trust."

"What are you saying?" Miranda hissed in exasperation. "I'm growing tired of your insinuations, sir!"

Ken was looking up at the Duke. For once, his eyes seemed unusually bright in his sallow face. He muttered something and Duke leaned over with a smile, cupping his hand theatrically around his ear.

"What was that, my dear boy?"

"I said…yesterday, when Marianne and I….it wasn't like how it…how she used to…" Ken coughed and then muttered something unintelligible. "It was like…I was with a completely different person-"

"Stop," Alcina commanded. "I will not have you spilling vulgarities in my castle, not in front of my daughters."

"A completely different person," Duke repeated with a nod, spinning his ring around his middle finger. "A completely different person taking on the face of Marianne Wilder…all with the intent of making Karl hate her so that he would stay behind, here, in this village and submit himself to someone else's will-"

Miranda reared up at this. The black wings thrust themselves from her back and stood there waving eerily as she glared down at the Duke.

"You've stayed past your welcome," she informed him in a voice that echoed darkly along the castle halls. "Take the ring and leave."

"Oh! But!" The Duke added quickly, knowing that he had precious few seconds before Miranda cast him out by some unknowable violence. "The information that I promised you! Karl intends to go back to America - on his own that is. The illusions built up by his enamourment with Marianne may have been shattered, but he is still more than willing to leave this village behind! Any day now, in fact! Do you remember when I said that God does not lack foresight? Well, my dear Miranda, that is proof enough that God is not with us in this room right now - despite what you may have these people think! You underestimated Karl's obsession with his own freedom! May God help you if you ever try to twist his mind for your benefit again!"

Once again, the room fell silent. If looks could kill, he'd be long dead in his grave whilst Miranda spat upon it. She gave an enraged roar and rushed at him but, in the blink of an eye, he was somewhere else in the room. He laughed uproariously as she spun around to find him balancing his bottom along the ledge of a window. There was a metallic 'zing' as a set of wicked claws sprung from Alcina's hand but he had no fear. She was too scared to kill him, he could see it in her eyes.

"Don't shoot the messenger!" He said in a loud voice. "Or tear him to ribbons, in my case! I am only playing my fair part as a mediator and a businessman!"

"You are playing the part of a jester foolish enough to laugh at the people who put him on his own stage. Fine! Fine!" Miranda sighed and brushed her hair away from her face. The wings fell limp along her back as she straightened the thickly embroidered cloth hanging from her shoulders. The shadowy darkness that seemed to have quivered in the space around her fell away as Salvatore began to cry. "So Karl will go to America. So be it! I have lost a child before, and it looks as if I will lose one again. Neither love nor promises can tempt that hard-headed fool and I, shamefully, assumed that to be his greatest asset. Fine!"

Miranda stormed back to her chair and let herself down into it with a grand pout. She swiped her hand over her forehead one last time before giving another sigh. "I forgive him. Just as God forgave his creations, I will forgive him. But Marianne. That black bitch-" Miranda curled her fingers around the glass handed to her and shattered it. "She's the cause of all of this. She must suffer. She must know pain."

"Will you kill her, then?" Alcina asked. "As I suggested many years ago?"

There was a resounding crash in the room and everyone looked back toward Daniela. A silver tray lay overturned at her feet, surrounded by broken wine glasses. She looked paler than usual and more terrified than the Duke had ever seen her. But why? Nobody in the room knew. She turned and tried to say something to her mother, but was cut off by Miranda's voice.

"She will know pain. While her lover goes gallivanting off to America, she will stay here and die upon the lands that held her captive for so long. Her blood will leach into the ground and feed my hungry mold. Let her story be spoken in the foreign tongue of an all-consuming fungus, let it be spoken for years to come by words that none but I can understand. Ken!"

Ken startled and reared back as Miranda stood up and stormed over to him. "You remember the fate of Jezebel, don't you?"

"And of Jezebel also spake the Lord saying, The dogs shall eat Jezebel by the wall of Jezreel," he mumbled dutifully.

"Mm-hm," Miranda nodded as she unclasped the iron wrung around his neck. "Go, now, and make your mother proud. Destroy her, son. Leave no trace of her pathetic face."

They all watched as he stood up and stretched his emaciated arms. The brittle bones shifted beneath his bare chest as a soft blue glow began to radiate from his abdomen. The Duke watched him, feeling neither sorry nor particularly moved by the events that were to unfold by his own doing. He wasn't just a businessman, but a man who enjoyed prodding at fate. He'd watch the coming hours with interest. Marianne would die but so did all, in the end.

Ken made for the door. But before he could open it, Daniela burst into a cloud of glittery black insects that siphoned beneath the door. Alcina called her name in a curt voice but her daughter did not return.

"Well," the Duke said in the following silence before biting down on his cigar. It looked like he wasn't the only one who enjoyed prodding at fate.