"At the heart of it, Eleanore, there is Good and there is Evil. There is right and there is wrong. And though Evil will try to tempt you, you must stay strong and resist its blandishments. Your father's heritage is as wicked as it comes, but he stands strong against it – and so can you. I believe you will be able to do great and Good things, my dear, if you can resist the easy compromises of sin. I expect nothing less of you! And on that note, I also expect that you learn how to prepare your own potions to inhibit fertility and prevent infection well before you are old enough to need them, because sometimes accidents happen when adventuring far from potion suppliers alongside dashing young heroes. Not that I am calling you an accident. Even if you were one."

Karina de la Vallière, speaking to her 14-year old eldest daughter



Eventually Louise remembered how to breathe.

There was something else she had to remember to do, she thought, staring out at the world through a red haze. Something quite important. She was fairly sure there was something along those lines. Something which it was critical that she do. Something which got in the way of her all-consuming desire to burn the Madame de Montespan's face clean off her traitorous skull..

She couldn't remember what it was precisely this moment, but it had to be very important. There had to be a very good reason that she was not burning off the face of that lying fiancé-stealing sister-hurting witch, because if there wasn't a good reason, she would have already started doing it.

So. Work off the logical assumption that there was one. So what should her next action be?

Use lightning to fry her? No, that probably fell under the same category as 'burn off her face'. Likewise, using acid to melt her down into a puddle of organs and meat wasn't a good idea for… for some reason.

She should listen to her blood and consider what it wanted her to do. Ah, yes. Her long heritage of de la Vallière ancestors was pointing out that if she did something stupid and heroic by throwing herself at the Madame de Montespan right now, not only would she get herself killed – which her blood was not in favour of – but she would also get her sister killed because de Montespan would consider a rescue attempt an excuse to kill Eleanore. And then when they found out that the Overlady of the North was Louise, they'd use that as a chance to go after her parents, and probably re-kill Cattleya and Jess and lock Henrietta up again if they found the Tower. And the towering rage she found herself in was probably the result of a disgusting heroic sort like her mother ruining the breeding line.

Stupid totally accurate and correct blood. Even if she didn't appreciate the jibe about her mother.

So what she should do, her blood continued, was get in a position where she could make sure Eleanore was safe, and then burn off the Madame de Montespan's face and then keep on burning and make sure that she couldn't run away and return wearing a prosthetic face made of silver, which was the sort of thing heroes did. Because no one betrayed de la Vallières and got away with it, apart from other de la Vallières – and only then for sound strategic reasons which served the overall goal of the family. Not over anything as petty as this.

Ah. That was a good point. And much more palatable. Sometimes having the blood of the darkest of villains was convenient, especially when it came with useful instincts for self-preservation.

The lecture theatre was half filled with soldiers. They were checking everyone, pulling off academic hoods and caps as they looked for people on lists they had. There were mages and there were unpleasant hard-faced people with swords and pistols. They certainly had the potential to do rather unkind things to her.

Now, on one hand Louise was fairly sure she wasn't going to be on a list of people to arrest. After all, she had vanished over a year ago, and even if her parents knew she was alive and 'kidnapped by the overlady', she suspected they weren't going to shout it from the rooftops – not least because of the fear that Cattleya's involvement would be discovered. On the other, much more important hand she looked incredibly like her mother, quite a lot like her big sister, and she was wearing a sinister hooded robe and wearing an ancient artefact of Evil on the aforementioned hand.

So she really didn't want to be found.

Carefully, gently Louise looked around and then sunk down in her seat. The floor under her was made of wooden planks, and through the gaps she could see light. So that meant there was a room built in the space under this seating. One not very far below. Placing her gauntleted hand down on the floor, she whispered an incantation. Pink foaming acid began to bubble and steam on the wood, dissolving its way through with alarming alacrity.

Now, all she had to do was wait for it to make a slightly bigger hole, delay until no guard was looking in her direction and then with utmost subtlety and grace she could slip out without-

"Hey, what's that smell?"

"Like acid, I think!"

"Someone find it!"

Oh sugar.

She quickly added more acid, grabbed Igni around the ankles with her free hand and dropped down the hole. She made sure that he was between her and the ground. Better a soft and stupid landing than something hard.

Louise landed with a pronounced 'oof' and the scent of onions. That was unexpected, because minions as a species would generally be significantly improved if they smelt of onion rather than 'minion'. Despite the shared final four letters, the odours were radically different.

She looked around. Ah, yes. The reason that there was a smell of onions was that she had landed on a sack of them. Well, technically she had landed on Igni and Igni had landed on them, but who was counting? Certainly not Igni, as he lacked the intelligence or looted skeletal fingers to do so. The reason she had landed on a sack of onions, incidentally, was that it seemed that the university staff had taken to storing food supplies in the empty places below the lecture theatre. She looked around at piled crates of vegetables, bags of flour, and of course shocked looking serving staff who were somewhat surprised that magical acid had burned a hole in the ceiling. And, uh, bits of the floor too.

"As you were," Louise told them as she hastily clambered off Igni and brushed herself down. "Just a minor magical… uh, experiment. I was demonstrating something to the class. With. Um. The aid of this poor orphaned child," she hinted strongly.

This seemed to pass muster. "Urgh, again?" Louise heard a woman say. "They need to move these here stores away from the bleedin' lecture hall. I swear, if we could just go a week without this happenin', I'd be a happy woman."

Excellent. Time to make her escape.

"Someone stop them!" a guard shouted down through the hole in the ceiling.

Louise fled. And then there was much lamentation. Or at least much weeping, because Igni set fire to the onions.



A placid expression on her face, Françoise Athénaïs stared around the chaotic lecture hall. The expression was only possible because of the spell which surrounded her head in a bubble of fresh air. Otherwise she'd be choking and gasping like everyone else in here.

"Everything smells of onions!" the captain of the guard wheezed, holding a handkerchief to his watering eyes. "We're under attack! The treacherous Gallians are attacking us! King Joseph has declared war."

The Madame de Montespan gave him a look that said in no uncertain terms that she considered him to be an idiot. She seriously doubted King Joseph had declared war, not least because it was widely held that the man was so crazy that most days he wasn't entirely sure where Tristain was and thus any attempt to attack it would probably involve him ordering his men to march into the Great North Sea and stab it to death. And it had already been proven natural-philosophically impossible to stab the ocean to death, despite the best efforts of various popes, princes and one king annoyed that the tide refused to listen to his orders. Its susceptibility to siege warfare hadn't yet been tested, but it was probably only a matter of time.

"I doubt that the Gallians have decided to attack Amstrelldame right here and now," she said clearly. She looked down at the figure of Eleanore de la Vallière, who glared back despite her watering eyes and the bright red slap mark on her face. "Get her out of here, just in case this is an ill-planned rescue attempt."

She didn't think it was a rescue attempt, though. It rather more resembled an undergraduate prank. The Madame de Montespan shuddered elegantly. Undergraduates. That universities had to have them around was one of their few great flaws. She'd been an undergraduate once, which was a shameful blemish on her character, but she'd had the decency and good taste to grow out of it.

Eleanore de la Vallière was disgustingly popular among undergraduates. Apparently she 'made natural philosophy fun'. Given that most undergraduates were barely human, they apparently enjoyed her tendency to produce mocking diagrams and generally act in a crude and inciteful manner. It was probably some black sorcery of the de la Vallière family which let her channel her boundless spite to capture others under her will.

Yes. Françoise Athénaïs balled her hands into fists, even as her face remained calm. The de la Vallières were good at stealing things. Thieves. Treacherous evil thieves. She'd show them. She'd show them all the consequences for their actions!



Louise fled through corridors which smelt strongly of onions. It was probably for the best, decided the bit of her brain which wasn't cursing about how much her eyes hurt. It meant that no one could follow her or Igni by the odour d'minion.

The de la Vallière part of her brain also contemplated whether she should load some catapults with burning sacks of onions and fire them into enemy castles to incapacitate their protectors, but then decided that it was better that she use something kinder. Like one of those alchemical compounds which drive men mad and lead them to fall upon their friends in a killing frenzy, before their hearts give out. Louise told that stupid bit of her brain to shut up if it wasn't going to help her run because now wasn't the time, darn it.

Eventually the sound of footsteps faded away. It was just as well. She was gasping for breath and on the verge of collapsing. Why was she so out of shape? She needed to find somewhere to sit, just to get her breath back. Louise looked around. Her flight had led her into the theology department. Seeing a nearby chapel, she ducked inside. The chapel was small, but there were long red curtains hanging from the walls. They'd do.

Gratefully, she let herself sag down, and then realised she'd lost Igni.

Well. Uh.

Gosh.

A shame, but he'd probably show up at some point. Or she'd just need to follow the fire. If he'd heroically given up his life in her service, she'd… uh, do something. Maybe get some revenge? Maybe be secretly happy? She was too out of breath to really be sure at this present time, but decided she'd make up her mind later.

A vague sense of religious guilt nagged at her. This was a chapel, after all. And in her current place, a prayer probably wouldn't hurt.

Kneeling behind the curtain, Louise clasped her hands together. "Uh, hello?" she whispered. "Founder? Lord? If it might please you, might I have your divine aid in my sacred quest? Uh, right now, that is? Please? I understand that I may sort of be an overlady, but that was never really something I planned. And I have always been faithful to my princess," and have never indulged in any wicked urges directed towards her, Louise mentally added because there was no way she was admitting to that out loud, "and while I may have occasionally used dark and evil magics, I have only directed them against villains, fiends, demons, and quite a lot of vampires. And a few necromancers And traitors, obviously."

Louise waited to see if there was an answer, and really hoped it didn't come in the form of righteous smiting. The fact that no lightning bolt had come after a few seconds was probably good news, all in all. The lack of a booming voice telling her that all her sins were forgiven and that none of them had been very bad sins in the first place so she should keep on doing what she had been doing already because it was the Lord's will that Princess Henrietta be restored to the throne was… uh, less comforting, but the fact that she had wanted that was probably hubris anyway.

"Amen?" she added hopefully.

An answer would be nice, though.

A little white head poked through the curtain, and mewled. A young cat, barely more than a kitten, pushed its way into her hiding place and – after spending a few seconds batting at the tassels on the curtains – stared up at her with bright blue eyes.

"Hello, kitty," Louise breathed. "Just go away. Please." She could hear a clatter of feet outside. The guards were showing up. "No, no, no. Move on, please," she told the guards and the cat alike.

The white cat tilted its head at her words, and walked closer. Purring like a saw, it rubbed up against her legs. It obviously wanted to be stroked.

"Shh!" she whispered. "Please… just go."

Sitting down, the cat stared at her. Blue eyes stared up at her. Quite deliberately, it mewed.

"Oh no, no, no. Don't start that. Don't even think of it," Louise hissed.

It mewed, slightly louder this time.

"No no no. Please."

It mewed again, raising the volume.

"What was that?" called out one of the guards.

"Sounded like a cat," another one said.

Louise rotated in place, trying to make as little noise as possible. Carefully, delicately, she reached out and stroked the cat. It purred happily, melting into her evil gauntleted touch like a sack of butter under a blowtorch.

"Oh, you… you wicked little thing," Louise whispered, gritting her teeth. "How dare you do that?"

"Just a cat. Never mind."

The cat shot her a glance, which clearly indicated it'd yowl if she even thought of stopping the stroking.

"You wicked, malevolent, evil, bad, nasty, cruel, spiteful, horrific, terrible, monstrous thing," Louise added. "You… you Wardesian dog… uh, cat."

Twisting, the cat rolled over onto its back and batted at her gauntlet with its pawns, play-fighting with the tool of vilest Evil.

Barely breathing, Louise listened while tickling the white cat on the stomach. It had a collar. Apparently its name was Pallas. The guards seemed to be going. Good. They'd go, she'd get out of here, and now that she actually had her breath back she could speak to the tower and see what the nearest escape route would be.

"Goodbye, Pallas," she said, "you evil stupid wretched thing."

The cat tilted its head. "Mrrraa?" it asked quizzically.

"Yes, I'm leaving," Louise told it cheerfully.

"Mrarrraraaaaa!" it mewed threateningly, raising its voice.

"Oh no. No you don't."

"Mrraa." Pallas rolled onto its feet, and sprung up onto her shoulder.

"Of course you can't come with me!" Louise hissed.

"Mrrrrrrr," the cat disagreed.

Louise winced. Grating her teeth together, she sighed. "Fine!" she muttered. "Stupid d… cat. Can't even tell a cat what to do."

"Mraaa!" Pallas agreed as she rose and poked her head through the curtains. No one was looking for her and the guards had moved on. Time to make her move.

"I bet you were some witch's familiar," Louise told the cat sitting on her shoulder, grumbling as she poked her head out of the chapel entrance. It looked clear. "Some wicked horrible witch. She… she probably fed you on scraps from the table. And she cooked children, so you… you grew up feeding on human flesh. Well, there's no way you're getting that from me."

Louise was vaguely aware that witches were meant to… um, nurse their familiars. Which was… uh, a thing. A horrible, perverse lower class thing which clearly indicated why only peasants became witches, while proper well-bred ladies who fell to the forces of Darkness became sorceresses or dark enchantresses or… or other wicked blasphemies which did not, in any way whatsoever, involve having a cat chewing on your breasts. Apart from witch-queens, but if they didn't want a wetnurse to feed their cats they were clearly… clearly s-s-sick in the head.

"There's no way I'm doing that for you either," she added, glaring at it. "You can just eat mice. If you can get to them before the minions."

The cat mewed and batted at the end of her hood with its paw, clearly enjoying its ride. "Mrrarrara," it observed wisely. Perhaps it felt more comfortable because it wasn't too high off the ground.

And then Louise felt it. Distant. Warm. Pulsing. And familiar.

Yes. She could feel the fragment of the tower heart somewhere in this building.



Françoise Athénaïs de Rochechouart de Mortemart, marquise of Montespan sat back in her office. It was a nice office. It was, in fact, possibly the second best office in the entire university. The large glass window overlooked the fens to the east of the university, and – apart from the annoyance of the cemetery – it was a wonderful view. It always made her feel so calm and relaxed and tranquil.

But then again, being on the Regency Council had its advantages. And barring a small onion-based prank, today had been very, very, very, very, very, very good day. She held her hands to her flushing cheeks. Yes. The best day ever! Well, not quite! Because there'd be one day which would be better and she'd be wearing a white mantle and…

Françoise Athénaïs started to laugh, high and shrill, and then clasped her hands over her mouth. She wasn't meant to laugh like that, even in private. Someone might hear. She had to seem calm and impassive and like the earth of her magic. Proper manners, yes. Proper dignity.

A deep breath. Yes. Calm like the earth. Cool as marble. Yes.

There came a hesitant knock at her door.

"Come on," she said clearly.

Several guards shuffled in, each of them trying to hide behind at least one of the others. She had found she worried the guards. Apparently they didn't like her habit of using excessively long words. She tried to dampen down her vocabulary for the sake of their uneducated tiny brains, but it didn't seem to help.

"Well, your ladyship," the first of the guards said reluctantly. "We… uh, have a small tiny weeny question. About Miss de la Vallière?"

"What is it?"

"Well, when you said to put her in 'the special cell'," one of the guards began. "Uh… which one did you mean by that?"

There was an awkward silence. "Did you mean the special cell with the rack and the dripping water fountain and… all them things?" another of the guards asked.

The Madame de Montespan sighed. "No, the other special cell," she told him with a faint note of irritation in her voice.

"Well, I'm just saying, your ladyship, it's a bit confusing to have two cells which you call 'the special cell'. Howsabout we try renaming one of them?"

"It wouldn't take very long," another guard chipped in. "Just need some paint, we can repaint the sign on one of them. Simple! My next performance review wants me to suggest a process improvement and this kind of proactive thingie will look very good 'cause my wife is wanting me to make sergeant by the time I'm thirty and-"

"We will table the motion for later," de Montespan said coldly. "For now, just take her to the special cell which is located in the east block."

"Ah, excellent show your ladyness. The East Special Cell. Gotcha. We'll just… uh, have to move her."



For the second time in the space of an hour or so, Eleanore de la Vallière was thrown in a prison cell.

As prison cells were, this one was certainly an improvement over the last one. There were roughly zero percent of the torture devices, which also left a lot more floor space. It was probably for the best. The previous one really had been a bit cramped. Really trying too hard.

The key turned in the barred door behind her. Eleanore counted to a hundred in her head, and let the men who'd dragged her here get out of hearing range. Then she let out a scream of frustration, and started beating the metaphorical crap out of her pillow. After around fifteen minutes of this she was feeling somewhat more in control of herself. Enough that she could resist the urge to punch a wall, at least. Punching walls hurt. She'd found that out a lot when she was younger, until the fact had been pounded in enough to stick.

Slumping down on the floor, she sat panting and let the tears take her. It was all part of the catharsis. She had to vent the negative emotions and feelings before they could condense within her and lead her to do things she didn't want to do. And if it looked like she'd have a breakdown, well, all the better for her.

Once she was feeling calmer, she dried her eyes and took a deep and barely-shuddery-at-all breath.

As the eldest daughter of two famous Heroes with more than a little experience of her own, Eleanore took in the cell with practiced eyes. A window wide enough for her to fit her shoulders through with metal bars which were barely embedded in the crumbling mortar. The wall the bed was up against had manacle bolts in which could be easily used to collapse the structure. The gate was one of the old-style hinged ones which, if she strained, she could probably lift off the frame and get through. The lock was fragile and could probably be broken with a good kick. The jailer had hung the keys on the wall opposite the door, and if she reached through, she could reach them.

Oh, and to round things off, there was a wand under her pillow, with an anonymous note attached. It said "You have friends. Use this well."

Eleanore sighed. Honestly, Françoise Athénaïs was far less clever than the egotistical witch thought she was. Carefully, she threw the wand out of the window, reached into her undergarments and withdrew two of her three reserve wands and tossed them out the window too. The third reserve wand was a design she'd copied from her mother. She wouldn't dispose of that, but since it wasn't assembled she couldn't be caught with it. They'd no doubt search her at some point, and if she had a wand on her they'd use that to justify anything they'd do to her.

What did they think she was, stupid? What kind of idiot put someone in a cell this easy to escape from unless they wanted them to escape. Françoise Athénaïs was compensating for something by being this blatant. If she was male, Eleanore would have thrown plenty of implications of masculine deficiencies at her, but alas, she wasn't. And making fun of someone for their lack of bust was hard when you had quite conspicuously failed to inherit the de la Vallière tendency for buxomness yourself.

Such a shame for her dear old 'friend' that there were so many other things she could make fun of her for.

Despite all that, she desperately longed to be free. She was scared. You would have to be a fool to not be scared when you were in a situation like this. Françoise Athénaïs would rig the court. But if she had anything which would give her a certain prosecution, she would have simply had Eleanore arrested according to standard procedure.

Her most certain means of getting Eleanore to incriminate herself would be to make it easy for her to flee and have her killed when she escaped. Or failing that, use her escape as self-incrimination. And either way, she'd then move against her family. Cattleya couldn't inherit b-because… and Louise was missing and hadn't been much of a viable heir anyway, so if they could dispose of her, the primary line of the de la Vallière family would be barren. Her cousins were… de la Vallières of the old school. She loathed them.

So much as it disgusted her, Eleanore knew she was safest for now by staying right where she was. Even if her blood was boiling, telling her that she needed to find a way to silently murder Françoise Athénaïs without being seen to leave the cell. She had to stay calm. Serene. Under control.

Sitting down on the bed, Eleanore crossed her legs and began to practice the meditation she'd learned from a quite interesting wandering orange-robed monk from the Mystic East. She'd learned a few other things from him. Like some things about their decadent culture and how monks there – utterly disgracefully and yet intriguingly – weren't expected to be chaste. Also, how to punch a man in the chest in just a way to make sure his solar plexus shattered and punctured both lungs so he drowned on his own blood.

And, well. If anyone broke into her quarters to try to plant evidence, they'd find a horrible array of particularly spiteful traps. She was rather fond of some of them, especially the inventively lethal one in the bedpost that activated if the floor panels were disabled. Intricate mechanisms were something she'd always been good at. Probably a part of her de la Vallière heritage.



Hood up, white cat on her shoulder, Louise de la Vallière stepped out of the kitchen entrance of the university and strode past the carts and out onto the narrow streets of Amstreldamme. And that was pretty much precisely followed with the voices in her head chiming to life from her gauntlet.

Louise winced, and pressed her hand to her ear.

"Where have you been? Why weren't you talking? Or listening?" Henrietta exploded.

"She's alive?" an attractively demonic male voice boomed in the background.

"Yes!" Henrietta shouted back. "Louise Françoise!" she snapped. "What on the Lord's earth did you think you were playing at?"

"I'm sorry," Louise apologised, swapping Pallas away from trying to bat at her hood. "I was running for my life! Didn't have breath to spare! And also hiding!"

"I was so worried!"

"So was I!" Louise coughed, and ducked behind a wall. She was drawing attention. "I mean, I'm sorry you were worried, but I was terrified. I wasn't thinking properly. I'm sorry."

Henrietta let out a slow sigh. "Don't you ever dare do that again! I mean that! Princess' orders! Never ever ever ever sneak off like that!"

Louise felt that at this point she should probably be technically pointing out that Princess Henrietta de Tristain was her captive and thus her authority to issue such commands was abrogated. What she actually said, however, was "Um."

"Was she in the university?" Gnarl's wizened voice said. "There's ancient magic in that place. Especially with her incomplete tower heart, it'll be hard to hear from her when she's in that place. Your wickedness, it is bad to hear from you again. I wasn't looking forwards to having to find a new overlady on short notice. But I'm sure I'd have managed."

Ah. It was good to hear from Gnarl again. In the Evil sense of the word. "Gnarl," Louise said, circling the building. "I have confirmed a fragment is present in the university. I felt it."

"Well, that is diabolical," Gnarl said happily. "Dire work, your darkness."

"Now," Louise commanded, "put Cattleya on."

"Hi! Louise! It's so good to hear that you're not dead! Or undead! Or trapped! We were so worried, and Jessica was so on fire which is even worse!"

"I'm sorry for worrying you," Louise said. "Now-"

"Are you sorry for Jessica being on fire?" Cattleya asked.

"Yes, that too," Louise said brusquely. "Listen. Catt."

"Mraa?" asked Pallas.

"… not you, cat. Cattleya. The Madame de Montespan has arrested Eleanore and most of her allies at the university. The entire city is under martial law. I've managed to escape them for now, but getting out of here is not going to be easy. In the worst case, I'll stay on the run until nightfall until you can show up."

"Oh sugar," Cattleya swore. "That flipping mother-sucking witch."

"Steady now," Louise said, paling slightly at the language Cattleya was using. While she was very angry about the Madame de Montespan herself, she wasn't a homicidal vampire. "Breathe deeply, Catt. We're going to stop her, do you understand?" She could almost hear her sister's nod. "Now. Is there anyone in Amstreldamme who might be sympathetic to our cause, or who's an ally? Jessica? Do you have any… uh, family members who you don't hate too much who live here?"

"She has run off and is… um, currently breaking things," Henrietta said. Louise could almost hear the wince.

Louise groaned, and ducked into a filthy stinking alleyway. "Drat. Well…"

"I can think of someone," Cattleya said. "I know her from my cult. But… uh, you might not like it."

"Why, Catt?" Louise asked warily. "Remember the trouble I'm in. I'm a bit desperate here."

"Well… uh, Magdalene is… well, she's a bit mean."

"A bit mean?"

"A bit mean. A large bit mean."

"Tell me it simply, Catt," Louise said. "How many centi-Eleanores is she?"

Cattleya sucked in a breath. "Maaaaaaybe… uh, seventy. Seventy to eighty. Well, seventy-five-ish."

"Seventy five?" Louise echoed faintly. "But most people don't ever get above twenty! Do you mean she's really three-quarters as mean as Eleanore?"

"I know! She's very mean! And hurtfully sarcastic, which is… gosh, at least thirty points of that rating."

Louise shook her head warily. "Are you sure you can't think of anyone better?" she asked hopefully.

"Louise, I'm a shut-in who barely got to leave the house," Cattleya told her. "You should be lucky I know one person there from my cult."

Slumping her shoulders, the vile overlady of darkness sighed. "Fine," she said. "It's a close thing, but it's… it's probably better."

"I'm sorry for not being more helpful," Cattleya said. "You just need to hold on until nightfall and I'll be here in a snap! But… um, Jessica hasn't adjusted the fit of my sunproof suit yet so… um, it doesn't fit over my chest and… um, hips. Um. Sorry?"

Louise ground her teeth at the reminder that her sister was a member of the undiet.

"Wait. Can we just go back a little? Centi-Eleanores? You use one hundredths of your elder sister for measuring how mean someone is?" Henrietta asked, fascinated. "That's… a thing you both do?"

Louise frowned. "She's my eldest sister," she said, in a tone of voice which was very carefully trying not to imply that the heir to the throne was an idiot. "Of course I measure 'mean' in terms of her. And I can't measure using just Eleanores. It's too big for a useful measurement. We'd be measuring most people using values from 0.01 to 0.1 Eleanores. The centi-Eleanore is easier."

"It's her fault I'm a blood-drinking undead monstrosity who hungers for the vital essence of the living, a creature of the night whose foul hungers drive her on in an endless mockery of life," Cattleya added. "The curse lingers within me, driving me onwards to-"

"Catt, you're fasting until I get back home alive and in one piece," Louise snapped. "I don't care if you're getting hungry and that you just helped me! You need to lose weight!"

"Aww."

"Now. Give me directions to wherever this Magdalene woman lives."