"War, do not presume," Poisyn looked at her 'sister' in service and let her eyes slip into that cut gaze that made her appear almost as deadly as she actually was. "I have been given a mission; you are not invited to accompany."

The discussion had started with Poisyn stalking past War without so much as the base acknowledgement of a hello, too preoccupied with the request made by their shared master to even take notice of the other woman. War, of course, reached out and brought her 'sister' to a halt with one hand.

"Just where do you think you're going," she snapped unhappily. Bad enough that Poisyn had come into their little cadre and seemed to immediately outrank her, but now she wasn't even worthy of a 'hello'. That was not going to be allowed to stand. Poisyn had, of course, looked down at the hand on her arm and proceeded to pull away, though she wasn't strong enough to break War's grip.

"You detain me unnecessarily, War," said Poisyn, tone flat, level, and unpleasant. "I have a mission to complete."

"Well, then I guess we'd better get going then."

"War, do not presume. I have been given a mission; you are not invited to accompany," Poisyn's green eyes narrowed dangerously.

"What the hell makes you so important you get to go do things on your own," War let her go, crossing her arms over her chest, the tattoo on her face stark red against pale skin flaring to light with her displeasure. "Or he got you paying penance for something?"

"If he wishes you to know, he will answer your inquiries; I however will not. Go to him; I have a mission to complete." Considering the conversation at an end, Poisyn walked away, her every movement seeming clear cut as if they snapped through the air around her.

"Arrogant bitch," murmured War watching Poisyn leave. "If the Master weren't so keen on her, I'd snap her neck."

"From what I've heard, that wouldn't mean anything. She's survived having her body broken, her mind nearly destroyed, being burned alive, more gun shot wounds than any physical form should be able to support," offered the Chancellor as he stepped out of the opposing doorway into the room. "She is nearly as indestructible as you yourself, War."

"Nearly, that means she can be killed," War sounded almost hopeful.

"Yes, because so can you. Be careful of raising her ire toward you, War. She may decide to destroy you first." He closed the distance between them and gently took a handkerchief from his pocket. With it covering his fingers, he gingerly took a hold of War's chin. "I would not want to see anything happen to you." The kiss that they shared was so brief that it might not have happened at all.

"From what I've heard, you should be more worried about yourself. It isn't like him sending you as his messenger is endearing you to her."

"I am covered by being under the Master's orders to approach her. If you begin a confrontation, you have no such protection. Best to stay away from her for now. Something she has done has upset the Master greatly. No need for you to catch her taint. He will make a decision regarding her based upon her activities; we are simply to wait. Perhaps you will get your wish, lo.." War stopped him with her fingertips. He was never to use that word for her outloud. Not where anyone could possibly hear them. It might raise questions about their loyalty should they profess to love one another and not the Master and his dream. The contact was enough to send a small arc of power between them, causing them both to draw back slightly from the shock.

"You remember what I would forget," he said to her lightly, holding his eyes with hers. "I will not be so careless again."

"But you will, as you've been a hundred times before. So far you've been lucky."

"So far, we've been lucky," he corrected, pocketing the handkerchief again. That piece of cloth had a very exclusive purpose, shield his skin from hers. It never saw another purpose, nor would it ever again.

Nathaniel Essex looked at the clock across the room from him without seeing it. He had retired to one chair in his sitting room after the apparition that had been his wife disappeared through the open window. It was just as Remy had described, she was a perfect replica of herself, save for that horrifying tattoo; seemingly without any memory at all of what had transpired in the more than 200 years she had spent in life. One hand absently twirled a snifter of brandy that he hadn't really been drinking. He felt no need for it, yet for some reason he found its presence comforting? Since when had he needed some species of comfort given by a material object? Not since before she had entered into his world.

His recollection of her entrance was still crystal clear after all the years that had passed between them. All the times when she had threatened to never speak to him again. Something that neither of them ever put any stock in. He allowed such a threat to pass in one of his ears and out the other without making any impression at all on his consciousness. She would go and she would return rather like the seasons, when the time was right, she would simply be there. Just like the seasons, he had come to take her for granted it seemed.

Mortally wounded, he had cried out for her and she had come, the one he had turned into his angel of mercy and vengeance. She had born him strong children, children almost worthy of the Essex name with their power and ferocity. The greatest of those their eldest daughter, Raven. He detested the name that she had taken for herself during her younger years, but it was the one to which the girl clung and he allowed it to pass. Raven. Their eldest had fallen. Lenneth had nearly fallen with her.

Four of their five children had fallen before his fall. He could still remember Lenneth kneeling on the floor surrounded by their photographs. She made no sound, but the soft tapping against the photograph paper said that she was indeed crying. Nathan closed his hand over the feeling of her hair in his grip.

"You're going," she had asked him, looping one arm around his legs.

"Yes, I am."

"Nathan is going with you?"

"He is."

"Take care of him, Nathan, please," her tone was only just shy of begging. "He's all we have left."

"Lenneth, that is not true. He is the last of those who have come so far. But there will always be time for more," they had eternity given Lenneth's rate of cellular breakdown and his own lack of any true mortality. There would be time a plenty once the humans were put in their place.

Or there would have been, if she had not died only to be resurrected by his greatest enemy. The snifter shattered. Nathan shook glass shards and brandy onto his carpet seemingly without caring. If it still mattered to him later, he would clean it up.

Once again, he replayed what Remy had told him about Lenneth holding her grandson. Lenneth had always been terribly attached to their children, so much so that the only greater devotion in her body was to him. She would slaughter her children for him, but against anyone else, they would find their death quickly against her wrath. Nathan levered himself up out of the chair, once again looking at the clock. It was too late for anyone to be at the hospital where he worked, which suited him fine. The night nurses knew better than to disturb him when he chose to come in.

He nearly left his coat on his way out. It wasn't cold to him, but it still would not do for him to draw unnecessary attention.

Poisyn crawled back in the window that she had exited previously, somehow knowing that the occupant of the house was not actually home. Well, that did nothing to help her current predicament. The Master had requested that she kill Nathan. This Nathan who felt so inexplicably familiar and called her by a name that she did not own but felt some kinship to. Once again, she found herself drawn to the dressing table and the silver hairbrush set on top of it. Lightly, she touched the article in question, closing her eyes and letting her fingers wander across the surface. It was nearly as if she remembered the pattern on the back of the brush, flowers and vines.

It couldn't possibly be a memory. Yet as she looked around, she had a feeling of certainty that if she opened the top drawer of that very same vanity, she would find a string of pearls with an onyx pendant in the shape of an eye attached. Just to test her hypothesis, she opened the top drawer of the vanity.

The necklace was not there.

Her mind scoffed at her earlier certainty. She had been wrong. There was nothing familiar about this place, only the sad delusions of a creature who had allowed someone to come between her true self and her purpose. The vanity drawer was slid shut with a light thump. If he was not there, then there was no reason for her to linger. Her mission had been to find and kill Nathan for daring to try and draw her away from the Master's dream.

Now the question became where to find him? He was not home, so by all rights, he had to be somewhere else. Poisyn strode out of the woman's room and into the hallway of the house. There were no pictures lining the hallway as was so often common in other homes where people lived. What photographs there were of the Essex family were all in Australia in a locked case in Lenneth's rooms there. She had always kept them there, Nathaniel was never so sentimental as to care for pictures of either his wife or his children. Yet the lack went unnoticed with just the simple remembrance of walking down this hallway hundreds of times. 30 steps from the door to the curve in the hall that lead to the stairs. 20 stairs from the second floor down to the first where you were immediately confronted by the front door with the kitchen to the left and the sitting room to the right. Or backwards if you happened to be coming in from outside.

At the bottom of the stairs, she looked into the sitting room, her sight overlaid with the memory of the position of the clock. The clock had been moved, probably by some careless housekeeper. Lenneth had always kept that clock in the center of the shelf upon which it sat. Not a single centimeter to the left or right. Centered. And now it was off. Crossing the room, she noted the glass on the carpet and the stains left behind by the brandy that had already soaked in. Had a bottle been broken on the floor? Since when would anyone be drinking in this room of all places? Brandy was best had at the dining room table, directly after dinner. Reaching up to move to clock back to its original position, Poisyn stopped herself. How had she become so distracted? This did not help her in her search for him at all.

Caught in the motion of moving the clock, she startled when Nathan's cellphone, forgotten in spite of his remembering his jacket began to ring. Turning from the clock, she moved toward the offending object, reaching out to pick it up.

"We shall see if you truly have the strength to keep her," said Nathan triumphantly.