I know, I'm a few days late, sorry... I got distracted by binge-watching Game of Thrones (again) ^^ Can't wait for the final season!

Anyway, I only made a few changes here, mainly to the conversation between Enola and Abraham. You'll be getting quite a few of those in the next chapters, by the way, so I hope you enjoy them ;)

As always, I want to thank my Beta Reader, FateMagician, for their great work. I'm forever grateful!

Enola was trying very hard to silence the sound of snapping bones echoing in her mind as she went for War. Not that she regretted what she had done—it was the only way to make sure Death didn't run back to his estate while she was busy with his colleague—but she hadn't enjoyed it either. Which was probably a good thing, now that she thought about it: it meant that this war hadn't turned her into a sadistic hag yet.

War was a black suit of armour riding a russet horse and wielding a flaming longsword. For a few seconds, Enola stared at the Horseman as her brain scrambled to come up with her first move, and then– get him off his horse. The surest way to do that was to throw the horse down—a good shove with her vampiric strength should be enough.

Pain cut through her shoulder when she sheathed her sword, forcing a growl from her throat. A glance at the wound told her it was rather deep and its edges had been cauterized, which made her scowl in displeasure: burns always took longer to heal, meaning that the wound wouldn't close before the next day. Wonderful. I have to fight the Horseman of War with a bad sword arm. Well, no time to worry about that now. She switched to full speed, vanishing from War's sight as she swerved to the right and then to the left, barrelling straight into the horse's shoulder and bowling him over. With a piercing neigh that stabbed her eardrums, the animal crashed to the ground as his rider went flying off the saddle. The Horseman bounced on a tree trunk and collapsed with a loud clatter of metal. Enola gave the horse a look of regret as she stepped away from him: he was struggling in vain to get up, blowing and nickering, his hooves frantically scraping the ground—no doubt she had broken a few bones. But there was no time to dwell on that: War had risen to his feet and she suppressed a shudder. Now that the suit of armour was standing in front of her, with its smell of brimstone and hot metal filling her nose, its emptiness was truly oppressive. She couldn't feel its eyes on her as she did Abraham's, its gestures were devoid of any emotion, and that black void beneath its helmet… Dear God, even Death is less lifeless. Just an empty shell, and yet it exuded a cold malevolence, like a thick oily smoke weighing on her, pressing against her chest. The same malevolence as its puppeteer, I suppose. Parrish must be watching through its eyes… Well, let's not disappoint him.

They circled each other for a few seconds, each assessing the other. A splinter of trepidation was lodged in Enola's stomach and her eyes kept flicking towards the flaming sword—Don't let it touch you, her mind was chanting. And then War attacked: his sword cut through the air vertically, but suddenly tipped into a backhand strike that would have ripped Enola's stomach open had she not dived to the ground. She rolled but didn't get up: instead she kicked War's ankle with all her strength. The Horseman collapsed noisily, buying her time to jump up and look around. Ichabod was nowhere to be seen, but she spotted Abbie aiming a shotgun at Death who had managed to rise to his knees. Unfortunately for him, the pellets that punched his chest toppled him back down, and Abbie kept firing as she made for the estate, presumably to fetch Ichabod.

Enola gasped when something cold and hard clutched her left ankle in a painful iron grip and yanked on it. She bit the dust with a startled yelp and rolled on her back just in time to see War, still clutching her ankle, rise on one knee, his sword poised to strike.

"Let go of me, you jangling tin can!" she snarled as he dragged her towards him.

Fear was wringing her insides but she would rather have swallowed two gallons of dead man's blood than let Parrish see it. She leaned on her hands and threw her right leg with all her strength, and her foot slammed into the Horseman's chestplate. Pain rippled in her leg and, even though the thick sole of her Dr. Martens absorbed a good part of the shock, she thought for a moment that her kneecap had exploded. At least she managed to shove War away from her, and his grip on her ankle loosened enough for her to wrench herself free and scramble to her feet.

"Merde!" Enola cursed when pain whipped through her left ankle and her right knee.

She carefully limped away from the Horseman who was standing up. Fortunately, the pain quickly subsided thanks to her vampiric healing abilities, just in time for her to dodge a sword thrust with a graceful whirl, then a horizontal cut by ducking. Being reduced to defence irked her, but she wasn't stupid enough to punch War—all the bones in her hand would shatter. So kept on dancing around the black suit of armour—rolling, spinning, arching, she let the blade cut the air wide of her skin, unwilling to literally play with fire. She refused to let herself wonder how long she could keep this up, only focusing on the necessity to do so because she had no choice. She had to keep the Horseman away from her more fragile human friends. And speaking of them, what the hell are they doing?!

Just as this thought crossed her mind, Abbie's shotgun exploded again and she grimaced as her sensitive ears rung.

"Enola! We're leaving!" the lieutenant yelled over the sound of gunfire.

"Coming!" the vampire shouted back.

She dodged a last blow, dropped to the ground and kicked War's legs away from under him. Before her enemy even hit the ground, she dashed towards the Witnesses at full speed, only pausing to knock Death over.

"Where's Katrina?" she asked, throwing open the back door of the Land Rover and jumping in.

"I will explain later," Ichabod said while Abbie started the car. "Are you all right?"

Abbie floored the accelerator and turned the car around brutally, flinging the passengers against the doors. Enola hissed when her injured shoulder collided with the plastic panel of the door.

"Death managed to cut me but it's nothing serious," she grated, fastening her seat belt. "I just hope I didn't fight two Horsemen of the Apocalypse for nothing."

"You did not," her friend promised. "But I would prefer to wait until we are safer… and more serene."

Enola sighed and dragged a hand down her face.

"You're right. I need to chill out. Let's go to my place, I need some tea."

"Okay, hold still..."

"I told you I don't need a bandage, Abbie," Enola groused as she attempted to fend off a very determined police lieutenant brandishing a large bandage. "The wound will be gone tomorrow!"

Enola had been busy making tea when Abbie had innocuously asked her if she had a first aid kit. Distracted by the task of selecting the proper temperature on her kettle, she hadn't thought before answering that, yes, she had one in her bathroom. Abbie had then disappeared, only to ambush her with the kit as she sat down on her couch with a cup of tea. The vampire had argued that she didn't need any medical attention, but even the—empty—threats of bodily harm hadn't been able to deter the lieutenant.

"Yeah, and in the meantime it should be protected," Abbie shot back, unfazed by unyielding hand around her wrist. "You already need stitches, there's no need to worsen it."

"I can't get an infection, you know."

"Maybe, but a bandage will keep the wound from rubbing against your clothes or your sheet, which could be painful."

"I'll wear a tank top and I'll sleep on my other side."

"Well, I've already removed the coverings so I can't put it back in its package."

"Oh for God's sake– fine!"

Her lips tightened into a mildly exasperated line, Enola let her friend apply the bandage to her wound without further protest. She did, however, stick her tongue out at Ichabod, who was observing the scene with an entertained look on his face as he sat in an armchair sipping his tea.

"There, all done," Abbie announced with satisfaction, pulling away from the vampire.

"Maybe you could tell me what the hell happened with Katrina, now," Enola requested while the lieutenant tidied the first aid kit, putting the packs of bandages and of antiseptic wipes into the green box that lay on the coffee table in front of the couch.

"She chose to stay with Abraham in order to learn what he and Henry are planning," Ichabod explained.

His voice was calm but there was an undercurrent of concern and reluctance to it. Understandable, Enola mused gloomily. Who would be happy to leave their beloved wife in the hands of their nemesis?

"That's very brave of her," she commented.

She didn't know exactly why she'd said that. Well, because it was true, for one. And perhaps it had been an attempt to get Ichabod to see Katrina's actions as something other than a strategic decision or a source of worry.

"Indeed," the Witness approved with a faint smile.

"So… I guess I didn't fight two Horseman of the Apocalypse for nothing, after all."

"No, you didn't," Abbie chuckled as amusement glimmered in Ichabod's eyes. "We got to Katrina, and now, she's a mole. All this time, we've been in the dark, having no idea what Henry and Moloch are planning..."

"Well, not anymore," Enola concluded with a wicked smile. "All thanks to your wife."

"She's already revealed news about Henry. They're designing again for Moloch's rise… This time we'll get ahead of them."

Enola opened her mouth to say something along the lines of 'You bet your arse we will', but then she noticed that Ichabod had slipped back into the mire of his concern. He was staring down at his mug without seeing it, his eyebrows drawn together and his lips tightened into a pale thin line.

"Ichabod," she called out softly, leaning towards him.

Her friend turned his gaze in her direction and met her golden eyes that shone with comfort. A gentle smile was gracing her lips—a rare sight, to be sure.

"She'll be fine," she reassured him. "She's obviously a strong person and–"

She was cut off by the wonderfully mad idea that had just crossed her mind. You wouldn't, the little voice in her head sputtered.

You sure about that? she retorted as a shrewd smile stretched her lips.

I'm beginning to think you enjoy getting into sword fights with him. Careful, that's a slippery slope.

Yeah, okay, bye-bye now.

"I don't suppose she'd object to some feminine company," the vampire mused aloud. "Someone who's not trying to destroy the world or to–"

To bed her. Probably best not to say that in front of Ichabod, though.

"To kill her husband."

Ichabod's eyebrows flew to his hairline and Abbie looked at her as is she had grown another head.

"You're not suggesting…" the police lieutenant trailed off, still uncertain that she had correctly understood her friend's idea.

Enola shrugged.

"And why not? I'd like to know Katrina better, and it's not as if Abraham can kick me out."

"No, but he can certainly try," Ichabod countered. "It will be difficult for you to discuss with Katrina if he keeps attacking you."

"I guess I'll just have to be persuasive," Enola smirked. "I'll play the 'If you love her then you should care about her happiness' card. Works every time."

The next day, taking advantage from her free afternoon, Enola rode her motorcycle to Willow Point estate. She parked about fifty yards away from the house and took off her helmet, watching and listening intently: the windows were hidden behind shutters and she couldn't hear a noise. Still, she had no doubt that Abraham had heard her coming and was waiting behind the door with his axe at the ready, like some psychopathic killer in a horror movie. The mental picture of the Horseman with Jack Nicholson's head made her snicker as she started towards the estate, her helmet hanging from her left hand. All right, let's get this show on the road, she thought when she got to the door. Good thing vampires don't actually need to get invited in. Oh, wouldn't that be awkward? She puffed out her cheeks and let out a long breath before lifting a fist and knocking. For a few seconds, nothing happened, then she heard the familiar heavy steps, and the door flew open. Enola gazed steadfastly at the towering headless man in front of her. He was indeed holding his broadaxe but he didn't make any move against her—she suspected it had something to do with the utter shock she felt in his eyes set on her. His cold aura brushed against her skin, more subdued than usual, and she wondered if he was repressing it for Katrina's sake.

She was extremely tempted to just knock him on his arse and go in, but Ichabod was right. Discussing with Katrina would be much easier if she didn't have to fend off an angry Horseman while talking and listening. Her multitasking skills had their limits.

"Hello Mr. Van Brunt," she greeted with a cheerful smile that didn't reach her eyes. "I'm here to see Katrina."

The surprise turned to hostility and his aura grew colder as he shifted his stance, obviously ready to fight. The vampire sighed and rolled her eyes.

"Oddly enough, I knew you'd react that way. Look–"

"Abraham? What's going on?"

Enola peered behind the Horseman and saw Katrina standing there, still wearing her black dress. When the witch spotted her, her green eyes widened in surprise.

"Miss Vallombreuse!" she exclaimed, a hesitant smile fluttering on her lips. "What are you doing here?"

"I've come to see you, of course," Enola explained with a smile. "I thought you'd appreciate some feminine company. And I have a few questions to ask you."

The witch open her mouth to answer, but her gaze suddenly shifted towards Abraham and she bit her lower lip.

"Abraham–" she began, but she immediately broke off.

Is he talking to her? How can she hear him? Enola folded her arms and gave her enemy a dirty look.

"This is getting annoying," she grated. "Let me guess: you don't want me to come in."

The intensity of his glare didn't waver.

"Maybe I can extend the enchantment on my amulet so you can see him too," Katrina cut in, taking a couple of steps forward. "The wards on the house weaken my powers but it is a simple enough spell…"

Enola's ears all but perked up at the witch's words. You mean I'll get to see his face? Hell yeah! She had always been curious to see what Ichabod's former best friend looked like, so she wasn't about to miss that opportunity.

"Go ahead," she said with a nod.

Katrina took in her hands the pendant hanging from her neck—the one that had been in the Horseman's possession when they had captured him—and whispered in Latin, her eyes closed and an intensely focused look on her face.

"Extendes venustas monile…"

The witch repeated these words half a dozen times, and for a few seconds nothing happened. Then Enola blinked... and her eyes went as wide as dinner plates. Oh, woah. Yeah, definitely not Jack Nicholson. The most superficial part of her brain was already cooing in delight and she trampled it viciously, wrestling her features back into an impassive expression.

He was quite handsome, she'd give him that. All square jaw and high cheekbones, sharpened by the tightness of his low, ash-blond ponytail. A scowl was pulling at his pale thin lips, and– Oh my God.

Enola had to contain a start when, for the first time, she saw his glare. And they say eyes are the mirror of the soul… If she had ever wondered what had filled the hole left in Abraham when Moloch had taken his soul, she now had the answer: anger. His blue-grey eyes were filled with it, burning with it, so intensely it was a miracle that they hadn't burst into flames yet. Enola frowned discreetly as she began to understand. Moloch had kindled his hatred for Ichabod until it had become him, until there was nothing else left in him except for his equally fierce determination to claim Katrina as his; had turned it against all life like a fire driven by the wind. The question was, how much of these feelings was the man's, and how much was Death's? And also, could they be appeased, could they ever leave room for something else?

However, this fragment of understanding didn't change anything to her feelings towards him. She still hated him for trying to kill her friends and raise hell on Earth, and still despised him for considering Katrina as some prized possession, something he was owed. And she hadn't forgiven him for trying to use her like a ventriloquist's puppet.

"Anyway," the vampire carried on, propping her free hand on her hip, "I'm here to see Katrina, as I said, and I won't take no for an answer."

"You will have to, because I will not let you in," Abraham growled.

His voice, which she was hearing for the first time, startled her too: it wasn't this hollow unearthly sound that had come out of Brooks's mouth, but a perfectly human voice—a smooth tenor that she thought pleasing to her ear. She refrained from shaking her head as she swatted her distraction away, and returned his glare.

"Uh-huh. Let's see about that, shall we? Mrs. Crane!" she called out without warning, leaning sideway so she could look at the witch. "Do you want some company or not? If you don't, I'll leave without a fuss."

Katrina clasped her hands together as she considered the vampire with uncertainty. The offer was exceedingly tempting, of course... Enola was someone she could talk to without minding her every word, someone to be around of without walking on eggshells. She was also quite curious about the young woman. She hadn't met many good vampires—meaning ones that didn't consider humans as cattle waiting to be slaughtered. Besides, a woman spirited enough to brave Purgatory to rescue someone she didn't know, and then knock on Death's door to visit her, was worth knowing.

However, she wasn't eager to antagonize Abraham, not when she had to convince him that she was on his side. Although she was certain he'd direct his annoyance at Enola, and not at her. The witch bit her lower lip: the temptation was too strong and she had no real argument against it. Enola wouldn't be there all the time, so she'd still have time to spy on Henry and Abraham… who would undoubtedly not hold a grudge against her… and she really needed some company. During her imprisonment in Purgatory, she had grown accustomed to loneliness, but now that she was out, she found that she could barely stand it. Perhaps that was because she had come close enough to freedom to touch it, only to be taken captive one again. Because the world was but a door away, but the chains that held her in place, among which some were of her own making, wouldn't let her reach it.

"I would welcome your company," she eventually declared.

Enola lifted a triumphant eyebrow. She was clearly holding back a smug grin, which drew an amused smile from the witch. A mixture of disappointment and irritation flickered on the Horseman's face but when he turned around towards the vampire, his scowl was back in place.

"See, letting me in will make Katrina happy," the vampire pointed out in a tone that was much too innocent to be genuine. "Since you love her so much, that should be all you care about."

It had taken all her will not to pour any sarcasm into the word love, because it would just have been like spilling gasoline on a fire. Maybe she'd throw that to his face later… For now she had enough to do with convincing him to allow her to see Katrina. Given his now conflicted look, she was close to succeeding. She refrained from smirking: she had hit home, as she had expected.

"And what tells me you're not here as a spy?" he spat.

Oh, sweetie, you're grasping at straws… Granted, this is a big straw, but still.

"If that's what it takes to see Katrina, then fine," she huffed, rolling her eyes. "I promise I won't listen to any conversation you and Parrish might have."

Abraham looked as if he had bitten into a lemon.

"Your promise has as much worth to me as the saliva you used to utter it."

"And yet, you'll have to content yourself with it. So, can I come in?"

He was far from oblivious to her manipulation, of course—he might have no head but he was no idiot. But, and he would rather cut off his sword arm than admit it out loud, she was... right. He did want Katrina to be happy so she'd be more inclined to give herself to him willingly. Consenting to Enola's visits could only help move things along. He would simply have to avoid her.

But what if she attempted to turn Katrina against him? That was his main concern, but he would have to take the risk. He could hardly slam the door to her face now that Katrina had admitted to wishing for her company. That would only antagonize the witch.

And so he glared at the infuriating woman for a handful of seconds before reluctantly stepping aside. She took up his wordless invitation and slipped inside, refraining from wrinkling her nose at the musty smell—obviously the house wasn't aired out very often, if at all. Behind her, Abraham didn't even try to refrain from slamming the door. She could feel his glare burning holes into the back of her head.

"Hello, Mrs. Crane," she greeted with a friendly smile, offering her free hand to Katrina, who clasped it between both of hers. "It's a pleasure to see you again."

"The pleasure is mine, Miss Vallombreuse," Katrina answered with her own soft smile. "Please, follow me… Would you like some tea?"

"Why not? And please, call me Enola."

The witch led her guest out of the room, leaving Abraham to glower at the doorway into which the two women had disappeared.

So it wasn't enough that she humiliated him every time they crossed swords, now that damn vampire invaded his home? He pointedly ignored his inner voice that reminded him that he had let her in, so it hardly was an invasion. All that mattered was that, if she hadn't had the gall to knock on his door, he wouldn't have had to allow her in. Consequently, this wretched situation was all her fault.

He determined that he would limit his interactions with the vampire to sword fights when they'd cross paths during their respective missions, and to formal greetings when she'd enter and leave the estate—the latter, only it if couldn't be avoided.

… Amazing how life enjoys thwarting everything one plans.

Well? Well? Weren't expecting that, were you, new readers? Or maybe you were. I hope not, though, I like to surprise people. Was it a good surprise?

Since FateMagician's too busy to work on this story right now, I only have two edited chapters left. I'll be posting them at three weeks intervals, and after that I'm afraid you'll have to wait. I won't give you unedited work.

Only twelve reviews left until I hit one hundred... Tell me how I'm doing, yes?