"Are you sure you saw him go in there?" Amy asked May while she opened the lean closet door by the dining room entrance, and they crowded in.
"Definitely. I thought he might've teleported," she explained. "But, why go in here if he did? And don't houses like these have wine cellars?"
"They do," Seir said, joining Amy in checking the labels of the stored bottles out of mild curiosity. "That's where all the good shit would be. Y'know, the really old stuff for special occasions. This stuff up here's for when you just wanna get ripped."
Amy discovered and pulled a fat bottle with a weathered neck and label from its space in the rack. "Then, why would this bottle be here? The year of this vintage is ancient. It should be below."
"Maybe it's like you said, for special occasions," said Mayberry, peeking at the container.
"Hmm. Too soon for his anniversary," Amy pondered.
May was surprised at that knowledge of the marquis. "He was married?"
"Yep, but it could be for...the day," Seir added.
"What day?"
Amy gave a hesitant look. "The day...he lost them. His wife and daughter."
Mayberry's heart sank. Death seemed to be the only constant, even in the afterlife. "I'm sorry. Now, I really wish I didn't go snooping around in his room. Or getting in his face, like I did. Well, one problem at a time."
As a gesture of respect, she reached over to accept the old bottle in Amy's hand. "May I?"
She took the bottle from Amy and returned it to its rack. Making sure it was secure, she slid it until its bottom connected with the back of its space. But, a loud click was heard instead of the quiet klunk of glass to wood.
"What was that?" she asked.
"Hold on," Seir said, stepping past her. He gave the shelving's side a look and saw a thin gap between it and the surrounding wall. "Ain't that a..."
He held the rack by that end and pulled.
The rack-fronted door swung freely from its portal, leading to a narrow foyer. The light tinkling of music could be heard faintly from an inner door beyond. Music that was familiar to May.
Seir opened the other door cautiously, and the trio was met by music and a sweet, heady scent creeping out of the secret room.
What they saw next questioned whatever they knew about the marquis Marchosias of the Ars Goetia.
To Mayberry's estimation, the gloomy, candlelit chamber was about the size of her small apartment. Built of stone and mortar, it had a more ancient appearance than the rest of the mansion.
By the door was a short table with a folded letter on it. There were no seats in the room, but an altar stood on the other end. On it was the open music box, playing its light tune.
The sepulchral setting was unusual enough, but the sight of Marchosias lying feebly on the stone floor beside a near-empty bottle of wine on its side stole their attention.
And hanging on the wall ahead, over the altar and dominating the focus of the chamber, was a large portrait of the marquis and his canine wife and daughter.
He looked as if he went prostrate before the painting. Their contented expressions seemingly looked down on the sad figure and contrasted against the unsettling context of the scene below.
As a witness to his host, Dark Mark stood several feet from the prone demon, arms held calmly behind him and noticing the newcomers.
"Why is he on the floor?" Amy asked the inner demon. "What's going on?"
The inner demon nodded in the direction of the table by the door. Being the nearest, Amy took up the letter and opened it.
"The weakness was mine. The fight was too much, and I proved to be the greatest chink in our armor. Carry on the fight without me," he read.
"A sad mystery that's been solved, I believe," the inner demon punctuated. "My foolish host, the master of the house, has let his grief get the better of him."
"I smell booze," Seir pointed out. "Is he drunk?"
"An occasional vice of his," Dark Mark shrugged embarrassingly. "Little wonder this room is next to the wine closet. For all his strength, the grip of his grief was stronger, still."
"What happened to him?" May asked, keeping worried eyes on the marquis.
The double regarded her. "Since you've unlocked his secrets, I suppose there's no point hiding the rest from you, Mrs. Mayberry. It was during a Cleanse. He was on his way home when a family was caught in the open with car trouble. He got them to a home and told the family there to let them stay until Extermination Day was over."
"When he returned home, he was ambushed by an Exorcist in the front yard. His wife and daughter, seeing the fight, opened the front doors to let Marchosias in. But, another Exorcist, on the lookout, took advantage and flew in. Marchosias dispatched the first one but was too late to save his family from the second."
"We probably should have told you sooner," Amy confessed morosely. "But, it wasn't our place to say."
May nodded. "I understand. That explains the spearhead in the closet, at least."
"He kept it? The weapon that killed his family?" Amy gasped. "Why torture himself like that?"
Then, it clicked.
"Torture!" gasped May.
"What?"
She turned to her companions. "He said that grief created the curse of the mansion. What if it wasn't grief but guilt? What if he blames himself, or the cause, for what happened to his family that day? What if he's holding on to the spearhead...so he can die?"
Seir's skepticism was evident. "Are you high?"
"Maybe he couldn't go through with it at first. Because it had to be...special. Think about it," she pressed. "I heard you guys in the library the other day. You said that Marco told you that he was going to take the blame if you guys were found out. Why doesn't he just lie? I would."
"Marchosias never lies," Amy pointed out. "But, I never did understand why he said that. Was all this some ruse so he could go out in a blaze of glory?"
The young prince became animated with disbelief. "Do you hear yourself? You're telling me that he wrote the letter to incriminate himself, then had cold feet and stopped it from going out? C'mon, guys. You're reaching."
The sound of swift hoof beats heralded the arrival of an angry through the doorway. Her eyes launched poison-tipped daggers in May's direction.
"Glad you could make it," May greeted her casually. "You're walking kind of funny, darling. You need an ice pack?"
Treat hissed. "I'm going to-"
"Hold that thought," May interrupted. "Because, believe it or not, I need you."
Treat's eyes rolled. "The truth, at last!"
"Whatever." May went to the table and turned the suicide note over. Then, took out a pen from her inner jacket pocket and wrote Treat's name on its blank side.
"Write your name underneath where I wrote yours," she told her double while holding out the pen.
"No."
May sighed. Her inner demon proved to try even a teacher's patience. "Honey, don't make me kick your ass so hard, it turns into a fetish. Do as I say!"
Defiant, Treat planted her hooves into the floor, but then, she stiffened. A compulsion seized her by the guts. It was May's will to solve this problem, reaching across their mutual connection and the space of the room to bend her into obeisance.
"St-Stop...it!" She strove to fight and bared her teeth to it, but the drive to serve the host became too strong and soon drowned her rebellion. She finally gave in to the command, snatching the pen with a bitter sneer.
After her autograph was signed, May held the paper to the two royals. Both signatures were a perfect match.
She glanced at Dark Mark. "I bet you're handwriting matches Marco's, too. You wrote that letter. You wanted Marco to get caught so he'd be executed as a traitor."
"Why?" Seir asked in confusion. "If Marco dies, his bosom buddy goes poof."
"I don't know," Mayberry confessed as she approached the marquis and carefully turned him over, looking into his dark, incoherent eyes. The waft of wine struck her nose but didn't come from his breath. Leaning over his moist tunic and fur, it was clear; they were soaked with the beverage.
Another look showed a wet patch of fur behind one ear that trailed drops of black on the floor. "He's got more wine on him than in him, and his head's bleeding."
Dark Mark scoffed. "You and he did fight, remember?"
"That was a while ago. This is fresh. He was hit from behind and made to look like he was drunk."
"Attacked?" Amy asked, surprised. "One of the Ars Goetia's best warriors? Who could ambush him?"
She looked back into the other Goetias' eyes. "Someone he trusts."
"Or someone he knows." She glanced over to the wolf double. "Right, D.M.? By the way, what's behind your back?"
Dark Mark's face turned to stone. "You are a foolish Sinner, as was the very first, and you don't know what you're talking about."
"You probably didn't write around Marco if he didn't think you wrote the letter," she added. "But, in retrospect, he decided to take the blame if another letter did slip by him. He'd die heroically for the cause. But, by then, you'd moved on and needed to be more direct. Which brings us here."
"Absurdity from the queen of it," Treat sneered in his defense. "It's idiotic. If Marco dies, Dark Mark ceases to exist. Darky, tell them you only want to crush his resolve so you can take over his life like we all want to."
Her lover's answer was to stiffen suddenly once Marchosias roused from his stupor.
"I'm afraid I...have to disappoint you, my dear," he said, moving his arms from behind him. A hand held out the spearhead as it glinted in the candlelight.
For the first time since May met Treat, her double looked absolutely stricken. "Darky?"
"Although meeting you was a bright moment in my life, he truly wants to die. You felt your host's command just now. I...cannot deny mine."
Treat took it all in, but instead of still being troubled by the situation, this time, she softened, and her eyes shone with genuine affection. "Suicide by subconscious, manifestational proxy? I think I love you."
Dark Mark favored her a gentle smile before he and his host muttered solemnly, "Pax in morte."
He raised the spear, but before he could rush over and strike the Goetia, Amy raised a quick hand, casting a protective shield around Marchosias and Mayberry.
With a murderous glance at their savior, Dark Mark turned to rush for him when a whirlwind of punches, blows, and frantic kicks bombarded him to a distracted stop.
"Drop the blade, man!" Seir's voice seemed to come simultaneously from every side and angle around the inner demon.
"You'll have to stop to have any hope of disarming me," the wolf double snarled. "If you do, I'll gut you where you stand! Can you outrun true death, little prince?"
May thought about what she did to Treat. What Treat called Dark Mark; a proxy. No different than a robot if his master's applied will compelled him, either on a conscious or, in this case, subconscious level. There was only one way to resolve this.
May called out to Amy, whose round face was a mask of genuine fear. "Amy, drop your shield! I don't want him coming after you again! I've got this! Trust me!"
"But..." Despite the incredulous doubt on his face, her eyes told him that she had gifts and would again confidently put them to use. Reluctantly, the magical ward went down, and he backed away.
"Seir!" she yelled to the prince. "Stop fighting and get by the doorway! You're our witness if things go south!"
The thrashing cyclone circulated for another five seconds before the young royal broke away and stood defensively on the threshold.
Dark Mark, still gripping the blade, sauntered back to the Goetia and the Sinner. "Step away from him, hero."
Ignoring dark notions of permanent death, May fearfully saw the leap of faith she had to make and turned her back entirely on the would-be killer.
"I'm no hero," she spoke, but only to Marchosias. "And I'm not talking to your puppet, Marco. I'm talking to you! I don't want you to die, and I don't want to die. I don't think your family wants you to die, but if you're not strong enough or brave enough to live, I'll have to force you to."
"Wonderful!" Treat said with worry and fear for her existence. "They say the first time's not the greatest, so you want to kill yourself again?"
"Fuck off!" May yelled back.
"Get out of the way!" Dark Mark commanded, although his drive to kill felt muddled with spots of coming indecision. "He wants this! He's...wanted this...forever. He doesn't...need to...kill you."
"Then, make the right choice, Marco!" she argued. "Choose to live! For your family's memory, your cause, your friends! Anything! Just so it means something to you! Look at me!"
The past lanced into her heart as if the spear had struck home, but she warned, sadly and resolutely, "Don't let despair win...Don't lose heart...like I did."
"He...He..." Dark Mark struggled.
"I can't live...like this," Marchosias finally croaked, his voice broken with self-loathing. "My family...Was my cause worth my happiness? Was it worth their lives?"
Mayberry glanced over her shoulder. His double hesitated, and she breathed a little easier. She was reaching him.
"I don't know," she said softly. "I can't even ask myself that and have a good answer. If they knew what you stood for, then maybe they thought so. Goodness isn't a guarantee for an easy life. That's the lesson. It never made that promise, and we can't fool ourselves into thinking otherwise."
She held his heavy hand in hers, eyes trying to light his way out of the darkness. "But, I don't want you to damn yourself. Find something or someone to live for. Please."
"Stop," he said. "Now."
"I don't-"
"Not you," Marchosias muttered to May, looking up at his double. "Myself."
The holy blade fell from Dark Mark's loose hand. Seir caught it before it hit the floor.
Feeling far, far older than he was, the wolf looked at the Sinner with weary eyes brimming with shame, pity, and deep, thoughtful gratitude.
"Thank you...Mrs. Mayberry. I've been weighed as a teacher...and found wanting."
"No," she sighed, hugging him with a tired smile. "Just needing."