Chapter 6: Cottage in the woods

Disclaimer: I still own absolutely nothing. This is a work of fiction meant for non-profit purposes.

Boston-1890

Black cats were bad omens. At least, that was what his grandmother had told him. She'd always say that they were creatures of the dark side, meant only for those who used magic and other sacrilegious devices. "Never let one of those horrid things cross your path Jack," she'd told him, smoothing his hair away from his forehead, "They'll bring you nothing but misfortune."

It was blocking him, green eyes gleaming malevolently. Taking a step backwards, he swerved on his heel. He had enough bad luck in his life, he didn't need any more. Maybe he could double back at the apothecary and...Hurried footsteps that echoed in the early morning silence ended any doubts he might have had about that. There was no time to go back; besides, he'd done plenty of other things that would make his grandmother turn in her grave.

Taking his chances, he hurtled into the dark alleyway. In the shadowy abysses of his mind, he realized that this was all too familiar. Wasn't this how he had met Jyll in the first place? He turned right at the lamppost and nearly fell to the ground, almost tripping over something. Peering down closely, he swore, it was that bloody fur ball from before. It looked at him and mewled. "Get away from me, you feline menace," he swore and took off again.

She was definitely behind him, how could she not be? Jack had seen enough that night to know that nothing the Yard could do to him compared to what Jyll was capable of. There had been no time for meticulous planning. While he carried Lauren's body to the burial site, he had formulated a strategy in his head. Jyll went out for a walk in the mornings, he would use that time to escape. He's go to the nearest police station and turn himself in. She'd not be able to get to him then; the Yard would most definitely want him to be held in London. And once he got there, if they didn't execute him on the spot, he could find someone who'd listen and tell them about Jyll.

A voice at the back of his mind hissed at him mirthfully, mocking him. He knew that it was foolhardy but it was the only thing he could do. Sooner or later, Jyll would grow tired of him. But she wouldn't kill, no, from what he had seen, killing him would be far too merciful for Jyll Leigh. As soon as the woman was out of sight, he had grabbed his pistol and run. And now she was after him. But it wasn't to silence him, she knew that no one would believe him.

Jack had taken something before leaving, the book that lay open on her study table. He didn't know why he had done it, but he knew it needed to be done.

"Jack, you can't keep running forever!" That all too familiar screeching voice drew him out of his reverie. It was at that moment, when the clock chimed four that Jack knew somehow that she'd catch up with him. Running past the bookstore, he was surprised to see the door opening; a young man was entering the shop. Long blond hair tied up with a ribbon, bangs framing his face, that was surely Adalric, the German man who was close friends with that eccentric writer. The rumor mill had no dearth of scandalous whispers regarding the mysterious pair. As he watched the man fumble with the handle, a flash of inspiration burned brightly in his mind. Surely, she'd never think of looking there.

Adalric sighed, tiredly turning the handle. His hands were numb with the cold, it was far too cold and early to be up and about, but there were some books that needed binding and Aeulus was ill. He couldn't expect him to help at all. Maybe he could catch some sleep before the crowd came in. He was just about to set foot into his small shop when a rough grasp on his shoulder whirled him around. Gasping he opened his mouth to cry out, when something was thrust into his hands. "Keep this safe, where no one will find it! Get inside and don't come out! That woman, she's the one behind the sickness!" He was violently shoved into the shop and his strange attacker made his departure.

Latching the door, he peered out cautiously through from a slit in the curtains. "What in the world?" he murmured to himself. Through the thick fog that still clung to the earth, he could vaguely make out the silhouette of a cloaked woman racing after the man. As he ran his finger idly over the book, he watched enthralled as she passed under the light of a streetlamp. Adalric couldn't make out much, except that her cloak fell below her knees.

Rubbing his eyes, he took another look at her shadow, but she was already gone. Surely, he must have mistaken what he had seen. The lack of sleep and lighting must be playing tricks on him, because there was certainly no chance that he had seen correctly. The woman's shadow was not what he had expected, instead, in its place was a horned beast, with giants wings like those in the stories he had heard as a child.

Oh Aeulus would love this.

Boston-Modern Day

Arthur hated hospitals. Theoretically, he figured that no one really had any great affinity for the place but that didn't stop him from despising the white walls and tense environment. He had spent quiet a lot of time in hospitals, with countless doctors and psychiatrists trying to find out what was wrong with him. He absentmindedly rubbed a spot on his arm, where they had stuck an IV drip in him once during a particularly lengthy stay in one facility.

The receptionist looked bored and tired, he couldn't blame her, it was quite late. "Excuse me," he asked her politely, "Which room is Mr. Bonnefoy in?" She smacked her gum and stashed her magazine to the side with a sigh. Scrolling through some files on the computer screen, she asked him, "You related?" Arthur shook his head; he'd left both the boys back with Henry. "I'm a friend, there aren't really any relations of his in England." The receptionist looked reluctant, "Well…I'm not supposed to let anyone who's not related to him see him, but I suppose you can go. He's in room 412, you'll need to sign in."

"That's quite strict isn't it?" "Yes, well the police want to talk to him." His eyes widened, "The police? Whatever for?" The receptionist look faintly skeptical, "You mean you didn't hear? Well, the doctor will fill you in." Taking back the register from him, she picked up her magazine, apparently the conversation was over. Shaking his head, he made his way to the elevator; he'd make the right decision not bringing Alfred and Matthew here. But what had happened? Henry had only told him that Francis had been found injured on the road and that he'd been admitted to the Boston Health Clinic.

He flinched when he walked into the room. Francis looked exhausted and his hands were both bandaged. His messy blond hair was fanned out across the pillow and he lay quietly in his bed. He made his way silently to the man, not wanting to disturb him, idly he pushed a wayward strand away from his forehead noting absently to himself how restless the other seemed. The sound of someone's throat being cleared made him pull his hand away as though it had been burned and he flushed at the doctor's knowing smile.

"I'm dreadfully sorry to disturb you. I'm the doctor that attended to Mr. Bonnefoy." Arthur shook hands with the man who looked like he was in his mid-forties. "How is he? What exactly happened?" The grey-haired man shook his head, "We're not quite sure. He was found on the road, passed out. There's no serious damage mind you, but strangely enough his hands were burned. I've bandaged them, it's nothing too serious, you'll need to change them twice a day and I'll get you the salve to apply for the burns. I'd also like him to avoid any extra usage of his hands for the next two or three days just to be on the safe side. Bed rest tomorrow is a must, I'm afraid he's suffering from a mild concussion. But other than that, he'll be just fine."

There was something that the man wasn't telling him, Arthur was sure of it. Then the receptionist's words drifted through his memory. "I was told the police would like to interview him?" Shifting uncomfortably, the doctor adjusted his coat before replying, "Ah yes. There's that matter. Mr…" "Kirkland," he replied sharply, ignoring the fact that he was probably being rude. "Mr. Kirkland, does your friend have a tendency to indulge in alcohol?"

"Not that I know off. Why?" "That's what I suspected. According to the report that his friend filed, he was returning from a pub. But, the level of alcohol in his blood was too low to be a reason in this occurrence. But then, this doesn't answer your question does it? You see Mr. Kirkland, a witness, the same one who phoned the paramedics, reported seeing a young girl go up in flames immediately after talking to Mr. Bonnefoy. There's no trace of this child now."

"You can't honestly believe that he had anything to do with it!" "What I believe or do not believe is of little consequence. The police need to speak with him and should be arriving shortly." He excused himself and Arthur collapsed back into the uncomfortable metal folding chair. "I didn't do anything to her."

Arthur almost toppled off the chair as he whipped around to look at Francis. "You're awake!" "Oui, I am. But, you must believe me! I didn't harm her. Je pense que, she was like that woman I saw at the piano." "You mean another ghost?" "Oui," replied Francis, staring up at the ceiling.

"You shouldn't mention that to the police, it won't look too good. They're coming to interview you in a bit you know." Francis looked at him worriedly, "Arthur, tu…tu me crois non?" He jerked upwards, trying to pull himself into a sitting position and swayed unsteadily. "Whoa," said Arthur, hands clasping the man's shoulders, helping him sit upright.

"Don't overdo it, you're still weak, you need to be careful. Of course I believe you thick-headed fool. Haven't you been paying attention these past few days?" Francis flushed and it was then Arthur noted their proximity. He could see his reflection in the Frenchman's deep blue eyes. Slowly, he began to bridge the gap between them, finishing what they had started in the hotel room.

It wasn't great. Arthur was nervous and Francis' lips were more than a little chapped, there was also the slightest coppery taste of blood. He'd hardly imagined that their first kiss would be here of all places (not that he'd been imagining this moment, of course not!), with the smell of disinfectant lingering in the background and some awful soap on the telly. The cold metal of the chair was pressing into his back in a very uncomfortable manner and his arm was going numb. No, it wasn't great, yet the single slice of heaven that the instant provided, it was nothing short of perfect.

Knocking on the door yanked away from his bliss, and he pecked the injured man's lips once more. They'd need to talk about this later he thought ruefully, but for now he'd be satisfied with what had happened. "Come in," he called, at Francis' nod. The door swung open and a tall, blond man walked in. Oddly enough, Arthur thought he looked vaguely familiar.

"Good evening Mr. Bonnefoy, I am with the local police. I hope that you are feeling well enough to answer some questions." The man had a strong German accent and Arthur racked his brain to figure where he had seen him before.

"Yes, I will do my best." Francis answered. "Excellent, now if you'd be so kind as to recount what happened to your best ability?" Francis did, explaining everything that he could. At the end of the narrative, the officer, who'd been jotting down notes tapped his pen and said, "You'd never seen this girl before?" "Mais non! I'm new to this area. I just arrived a week ago." "How much did you have to drink?"

"Monsieur, I assure you, I had half a mug of beer. I wasn't even, comme vous dites, tipsy! I am most certain of what I saw happen." Francis looked indignant and Arthur couldn't blame him. Sighing, the man rubbed his light blue eyes tiredly, "Ja there was a witness whose account is very similar to yours. And this is not the first time." He cut off awkwardly, apparently having forgotten that he had an audience. "What do you mean?" asked Arthur suspiciously. "Nein, it's nothing." he said, trying to feign nonchalance. Francis snapped, "Mon Dieu! What is going on? You come here and interrogate me like I am some common criminal, yet you won't give me even a little information. How do I know that my sons are safe? I don't even know your name! Je ne sais pas si you are with the police!"

The officer colored, "I'm sorry, I did not mean to offend you. My name is Ludwig, Ludwig Beilschmidt." That's when it hit him, "Hang on, do you have a brother?" Ludwig looked at him confused, "Ja, an elder one. Why?" Grinning, he said, "So you're the famous 'West' eh? Nice to meet you. The name's Arthur Kirkland, I went to university with Gilbert."

Ludwig's bright blue eyes widened, "You are the one who helped him when his bird was ill? And threatened to throw him out of a window?" Francis looked at the now blushing man then back at the officer. "He showed me a photo of you, but I did not recognize you. Your hair is different now."

"Yes, well, I was going through a phase in those days." he said scowling. "Look, you need to tell us what in blazes is going on! I know that it may seem like we're complete lunatics but in all honesty I'm sure that there's something that you're not telling us. Something that's most important in all of this."

Diverting his eyes from the blond's furious gaze, he said, "You did not hear it from me, but his account," he said, jerking his head towards Francis' direction, "Is not unique." "You mean there are other people whom this has happened to?" "Ja. There have been reports of people seeing young children like this, mostly in the same area disappearing in a similar manner. What's more, there have been instances off late where some of the city's children have gone missing. But none of them are the ones spotted on the streets. More bizarrely, every one of the reports mentions some sort of fire, and Bonnefoy isn't the first one to end up in medical care after such an encounter."

"Do you have any idea why this is happening to us?" "No. There hasn't been the slightest hint as to why this is happening at all. We tried looking for precedents but we haven't been able to find anything in the town's local records." Inhaling sharply Arthur gasped, "The fire! There was a fire wasn't there? One that wiped out a good deal of documents." Surprised, Ludwig inquired, "How did you know about that?" "I have my ways. But what happened to these people? The other ones like Francis."

Ludwig's grip on his pen tightened, his knuckles turned white with the pressure. "Many left, not wanting to tempt fate. I've heard that in most cases, distance was the only cure." "And those that didn't leave?" "They were found dead."

The ride back was uncomfortable at best. Arthur didn't know what to say and Francis didn't want to say anything. He was content with staring out of the window, every so often muttering under his breath in rapid French that Arthur couldn't even begin to fathom. Arthur was very happy that the bus wasn't crowded. "How are Alfred and Matthieu?" he asked suddenly. "They're alright. I left them with Henry. They were worried sick about you." Laughing bitterly, Francis said, "I suppose that they should be non?"

"Don't be like that! You heard Ludwig, the people that left escaped whatever this is." "I can't leave Arthur. It was hard enough to find a job after Marie…" he cut off, biting his lip. "After Marie passed away?" Arthur guessed, "The boys told me." He slung his arm around Francis' shoulder for support, smiling with pleasure when Francis unconsciously leaned into his embrace.

"It was an arranged marriage, our parents knew each other and we were both of the marriageable age. Neither of us opposed it, we were friendly enough and I had never truly pictured settling down with a man. Then we had Alfred and Matthieu and we thought that would cement our relationship. But, things got harder as the days went by. We could not see eye to eye, whether it was about where to raise the boys, where to eat, who was not doing enough at home. There was never a spark to begin with so I don't suppose I could say that it fizzled out. We didn't want to file for a divorce but eventually, we both needed some time away from the other.

By this time, Alfred had started seeing things and Marie, she was not emotionally equipped enough to deal with that. So she thought that it would be better to separate the children. She would take Matthieu and go to Canada where she had family whereas I would remain in France with Alfred. The boys were devastated at the separation but she felt it was for the best at least to protect Matthieu. We went to the United States for a year, to see a doctor there about Alfred but nothing worked. One day, while we were talking on the phone, we had an argument, a bad one. I… we both, said things that never should have been said. After that, she was livid; Marie always had a temper on her. She went out for a drive to calm herself. It was raining, the roads were slippery and she was not in her senses… I picked up Matthieu a day after that.

The boys don't know and they don't need to yet. They know she went to heaven but…" "Francis, do you really think that it's ok for them to continue carrying feelings of dislike against their own mother?" He leaned his head on the other man's shoulder contemplatively. "This job, it was the first one I'd managed to obtain after everything. That's why I can't leave. I may not be able to get another job after this and should I prove unsuitable to care for them, social services would have no problem in taking them away from me. I can't lose my sons, I just can't!"

Arthur let his chin rest on his head, "I know, and you won't lose them. I won't let you."

He didn't sleep that night, spending what was left of it sitting near the window. Francis was fast asleep with Alfred and Matthew safe in his arms and that was enough for him for now. Silently, he ran his fingers over the buttons of his cell phone, the glow from it casting eerie shadows over his pale face. His finger hovered over the call button as he stared at one number on his call list. Llyr wasn't exactly someone he talked to on a day to day basis but maybe he'd know what to do. He was the only other person he knew that could use any form of magic. But calling him would mean that Arthur was too weak to do anything on his own and his brothers would never allow him to live it down. True his relationship with Iain had improved over the years but that didn't mean things were wonderful with the others.

He glanced at Francis again, the stark white bandages stood out against the deep blue of the bedspread. He looked again at his face and remembered their kiss in the hospital. This wasn't the time to be too concerned about his pride; there were bigger, more important things at stake. He pressed lightly on the button, almost enough to call but not quite.

"Shit," he swore, nearly dropping the phone when it began flashing. He stole out of the room silently, "Hello?" he asked. "Arturo! ¡Gracias a dios! I thought that you'd be sleeping." Arthur scowled although he knew that the other man couldn't see him. "Antonio, do you have any clue what time it is?" "Si, I'm sorry amigo, but it's about that book you gave me, I think I might have found something!" "What? Are you serious? That's wonderful! What is it?" "I pulled off the cover and checked, I can't find any mention of the author's name, but there was this map that was hidden under the back of the book."

"Map? What does it lead to?"

"I did some research, this book helped a lot. From what I could find, about a hundred years ago, children started getting sick and no one knew why. Some woman looked after them, but no one ever saw them after that. One of the townsfolk must have wizened up to her after awhile, because they took a book from her. Whoever that person was gave it to the person who wrote this book. It must have been really important because she chased the guy to some bridge and then no one knows how it happened but he died. Before he did though, he told everyone around them that she was a witch. The people believed him and I think they burned her at the stake. That's where the story ends."

"That's interesting Toni, but what does that have to do with the map?" "This person was smart. He realized the importance of the book, it couldn't be kept in the city, in plain view. There's a cottage somewhere, where they've kept it and this map will lead us to the cottage." "Not 'us' Toni. There's no way I'm getting you and Lovino any more involved in this mess. That's strange that you should mention the children though." "¿Por qué"

Quickly, he filled his friend in on what had happened. "Arturo, this sounds dangerous. Maybe you should just leave it be." He bit his lip; he knew Antonio was probably right. After all, he had enough paranormal activity in his life without this but, "Toni, I can't." "It's this Francis person isn't it?" "Yes."

Antonio sighed on the other end, making Arthur wince at the rush of static. "He'd better be good-looking amigo." Grinning he said, "Oh trust me. He is."

The good thing about the weekend was that Francis had some time off. Francis agreed without the slightest bit of hesitation that they'd need to search for the cottage. Arthur was a little worried, after all Francis had just been in the hospital not a day ago.

And so it was decided, Alfred and Matthew would be under the care of Antonio and Lovino. Arthur and Antonio had pored over the map, discerning that the cottage was located in the Bradley Woods. "Figures that they'd have their cottage in a haunted wood."Arthur murmured. Once the issue of location had been sorted out, there was the problem of transport. Railways would only get them so far, it was about a two hour journey to Bradley. But they were on their own in the forest.

While Francis was in his room, he packed every day, ordinary things for their journey. A spare change of clothes, some food, a first aid kit, but when he was gone, he stuffed in the important items. A few spell books, chalk, holy water, some dried herbs and an amulet. Arthur knew better than anyone else, one always had to be prepared.

"Do you think we'll be able to find it?" Francis asked softly, watching the countryside whizz by outside. Arthur shrugged, "We'll never know unless we try."

The forest wasn't as thick as he'd expected, but then again they were only at the edge. The map was clutched firmly in his hand and the amulet was slung across his neck, unseen by his companion. Crudely drawn, he'd only just managed to find the start of the trail. Moving quickly, so as to cover as much ground as they could while it was light, he idly wondered if they'd ever bring up the topic of what had happened in t he hospital. Things were slightly different now though, if the lingering touches and fleeting gazes were anything to go by.

The deeper they went, the thicker the woods got. Arthur caught Francis just before he tripped over a root and fell. "Merci," he said tiredly, sweeping his hair from his face. Noting the slightly worried look on Francis' face, he took the man's hand in his own and squeezed it lightly. "It's going to be ok. We'll find it."

Their progress slowed as they went further, coming to a crawl as the woods began to darken. Arthur knew that it would get dark faster because the trees were blocking the sunlight, but he hadn't expected it to happen so fast.

Soon, it was pitch dark and the still air around began to become cold. There was no sign of the cottage around them anywhere. "Arthur," Francis ventured tentatively, "I think we have a problem." "I know there's no point continuing like this, is there? I can barely make out anything from this map even with the flashlight. Maybe we should just stop here and start again tomorrow when we have more light. What's wrong?" he asked, noting the fear in Francis' eyes.

"This tree, does it look familiar to you?" He nodded at a gnarled oak near them. Arthur studied it closely and then shook his head, "No, why? Should it?"

"Arthur, we've passed that same tree three times already. We're lost aren't we?"

A/N: There are no translations for this chapter because I think that I've used the words before and most of it is self explanatory.

Adalric is Germania and Aeulus is Rome.

There really is a ghost in the Bradley Woods apparently, the Black Lady of Bradley woods.

Well, that's it for chapter 6! Don't forget to review you guys, even if it's a smiley face!