A/N:

Warning: This is a very long Author's Note so feel free to skip it… but, you might find some of the info I give in it interesting …

Dear readers,

*drum roll*

I know that I have told some of you guys personally, so sorry if it might seem repetitive, but I might as well share this information with those that follow this fiction and with whom I haven't been in contact.

Fire and Ice always has been conceived as trilogy consisting of the following books:

Book 1: The Wielder, The Giver and The Heir

Book 2: Lord of the Wind

Book 3: Through the Awful Grace of God

I am more than pleased to say that we have officially entered the second part of Book 1. Every book will have around 20 chapters (plus, maybe, an epilogue)

I cannot tell you how pleased I am that I managed to update this particular chapter sooner than the last one. I also need to extend lots of thanks to those who have read and reviewed this story thus far:

Chrissiemusa,HBrules, PrincessSammi ,chocomoon,AleksandraHardbroom, melissaIvory, and LongVodka . They are all wonderful writers so I encourage you to go ahead and read their stories!

Special thanks to my sister and my rock during hard times: NextChristineDaae.

Once again I feel obliged to tell you that I am not neither a doctor /med student/nurse, nor do I have any medical knowledge whatsoever. Furthermore, the only time I have ever visited a hospital was a few weeks back to have an X-ray on my ankle. To cut a long story short, my real life knowledge of medicine is virtually non-existent. For the purpose of this fan fiction, I do research on what interests me and I do hope that all the medical information that I managed to gather and include in the present and past chapters is correct. Hence, I need to urge you to take my medical assessment of things with a pinch of salt.

Some things that I present in this chapter might seem impossible from a medical point of view. Yet, you need to remember that this is not a story about medicine but about magic. I can assure you, that what seems impossible now will be explained later through magical means. That being said, I do know that some of you guys are far more proficient with medicine than I am (which, quite frankly, is not really hard to be) so, if you spot any mistakes in the terminology, in the description of the conditions or in the descriptions of the medical environment and procedures, feel free to tell me and I will edit the chapter accordingly.

I hope you will enjoy this chapter.

Yours faithfully,

Lemondrop

FIRE AND ICE

BOOK I: THE WIELDER, THE GIVER AND THE HEIR

Chapter 11: Be with me always- take any form- drive me mad! Only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you! Oh God! It is unutterable! I cannot live without my life! I cannot leave without my soul! (Emily Bronte- Wuthering Heights)

Evan felt his stomach twist and turn and fought the urge to vomit when the academy entered in his line of sight. He had managed to appear out of view, close to Walker's Gate and had pondered for more than ten minutes if going inside the academy was indeed a wise thing to do. He didn't know what actually possessed him to go past the old wooden gate of the academy. He had always fancied himself a very rational man; a man who put sense over feelings and as such was surprised to find himself slowly approaching the castle. As he walked to the main entrance of the castle he was even more surprised to see the gym mistress waiting for him, arms crossed across her chest and an unreadable expression on her sharp features. Evan quickly deduced from her stance that she was angry and hurt and hoped to heaven that the woman would not see fit to confront him at that precise moment.

As for Imogen, as she stood in the doorway breathing in the cold November air and watched the man who was her boyfriend approach she could feel a myriad of emotions hit her. She was angry at him for simply disappearing, hurt that he would not return any of her calls, fearful because of what had been discussed mere hours before in the staff room and why not, worried. The latter was what confused her the most for she could tell that she wasn't particularly worried about what he may do, but that she was worried for him. The man who was approaching the academy despite retaining his Evan-like nonchalance seemed to be a broken man. His shoulders were sagged, his blond hair, always so neat, stood into an unruly mop at the top of his head and his furrowed brows formed a new line etched across his forehead. She could not see his eyes for he was keeping them downwards, apparently very interested in the stone floor of the courtyard, but she wasn't sure that she wanted to see them. As much as she resented the man that was coming towards the castle she wasn't sure that she wanted to see worry and hurt in his usually mischievous hazel eyes.

"Where have you been?" she demanded curtly, her voice despite being controlled and apparently cheerful carrying a certain edge to it.

"Imogen…" he sighed softly and rose his head to face the woman with whom he had slept on countless occasions during the past weeks. She took an instinctive step backwards because, as she had predicted, she hadn't been ready to face his gaze. The feelings that were embedded in those two pools of hazel were beyond what she had expected. His eyes seemed so sad, so desperate, so hurt and so tired, that she could immediately feel her anger melting and being replaced with compassion. Even if he was responsible for what was happening within the academy, she was fairly certain that he was more than remorseful.

"Are you alright?" she blurted suddenly before she could stop herself and the ghost of a faint smile appeared on his weary features.

"Yes, dear Imogen… I just had a trying week…" he answered, putting his arms round the shoulders of the gym mistress his entire being enveloping her into a warm embrace.

Imogen wanted to scream, wanted to punch him and most of all, wanted to slap herself, for when she had seen Evan come towards the castle from the window of the staff room she had decided to wait for him outside in order to confront him. She had firmly believed that he was the one responsible for the ongoing tragedy and she had naively thought that if she were the one to demand answers, he would be more likely to give them. Plus, hurt and angry as she had been, she had imagined the perverse pleasure she would have derived from seeing him squirm under the weight of the realization that his plot had been unravelled. Yet now, as she could feel those strong, warm arms circled around her she knew that her resolution was melting and that all those unanswered questions would die on her lips. It was way easier to feel betrayed by the man when she wasn't in his presence and he wasn't looking at her with those big, sad eyes of his.

Evan could unconsciously feel all the conflicting emotions that the gym mistress unknowingly gave off. They worried him for it meant that, despite his better attempts at concealing his identity, some things about him and about his family had transpired. Otherwise he wouldn't have been able to feel the waves of suspicion coming from her. He took a deep breath, held her closer and found that he didn't really care that his true identity might have been revealed. Oh, he was well aware that even if Imogen didn't have the power to confront him as she had intended, the others would have this power as they weren't in any way emotionally attached to him. But, even if the headmistress or the insane chanting teacher knew the truth, what could they really do about it? Yes, they could shout at him, call him murderer and even attack him, but he strongly doubted that any of their attacks would have an effect on his persona. After all, his power was beyond anything their little brains could process and if they had any common sense they would plaster a fake smile on their faces and pretend they knew nothing about him.

"Where have you been, Evan? We needed you here…" she whispered softly, taking in familiar the smell of expensive cologne.

"I had to tend to some very important family matters, dear. A dear friend of mine died and I had to take care of his affairs…" he said softly. It wasn't exactly a lie. After all, even if his "dear friend" wasn't dead yet, she would be soon.

"Oh… I'm so sorry for your friend…" Imogen replied evenly, trying to decipher if what he had said was the truth or not.

"I'm sorry that I was unable to come, dear… but I am here now" he released her from his embrace and could see the hopeful look in her pale blue eyes. Somehow it pained him to be deceiving her while she was looking at him that way. "Shall we go see what the matter is?"

"Evan… you should know that… " Imogen wanted to tell him that while he was gone they had suspected him to be behind the whole blue field affair. She wanted to warn him but something inside her made her bite back her words. How could she admit to such a betrayal? Even if what their suspicions were true, was it prudent to make the suspect aware of what they knew? No it wasn't.

"What?" he asked simply, once again feeling her aura giving off suspicion and a certain amount of fear.

"No… nothing. I'm just glad you are here. Maybe you will be able to do more than we did and manage to free Miss Hardbroom and the students" she lied quickly, deliberately leaving the name of the student potions teacher out.

As they walked inside the castle and were greeted by the headmistress and, to his surprise, two wizards who recommended themselves as Egbert Hellebore and Algernon Rowan-Webb, he could feel the waves of apprehension directed towards him. He had been right. They knew something about him and the fact that he didn't know what was slightly bothering him. Yet, when both the headmistress and Imogen directed him towards the potions lab and he could see the blue field of magic all those thoughts left him and he felt like he had been punched in the gut. His masterpiece was glowing brightly, and he could fell the power of the essence of water envelop him. He touched the field, the two women by his side watching his movements carefully and for a moment he felt like he his heart had stopped into his chest and he couldn't breathe. She was just behind that thin yet powerful layer of water, not only in spiritual form but also physically. How close to the breaking point was she? Was she about to give up? Was she still holding on, grasping life within weakened fingers? It was so stupid, so irrational. How could he be concerned with Hope's health and welfare when it was he who had willingly put her in that position?

He opened his mind and his hands trembled. He was half agony, half hope. He desperately wanted to feel her there, to know that she was alive and well, and to know that she was still trying to find a way to get out of her prison. Evan realized that he could stand anything but the thought of her giving up. He did not want to see her blue eyes dull, with no sparkle of hope or life. He desperately wanted to feel the fire of her being come to life behind the thin lair of water and he wanted her to fight back. Yet, no matter how hard he tried to identify her presence he could not. He couldn't feel her energy; he couldn't feel her thoughts and that made his knees weaken. He was hers, body and soul. She had trapped him in her web of lies and deceit and no matter how hard he had tried to give up on her, to set himself free, for the past ten years he was aware that a look, a word, a thought from her would be enough and he would fall onto his knees and beg for her forgiveness while he professed his undying love. He abhorred his weakness. From the first time her blue eyes had pierced his soul she had shown him that he was incomplete. And now, as he couldn't feel her resented yet beloved presence behind that wall, he couldn't help but think that his plan was successful and that his soul would be incomplete forever. The thought of her lying dead or dying made him sick. It made him physically ill.

"Please, my love…" he whispered softly to himself, touching the wall of energy, knowing that she couldn't hear him "Tell me to stop…"

Both Amelia and Imogen exchanged a worried look as they watched the young man touch the field and go as pale as a sheet. They could see his lips moving without any sound reaching their ears and a look of agony etched on his features. His entire being seemed to be shaking and his hands were trembling uncontrollably as he touched the field. Imogen felt her heart break at him being in such obvious pain and even the headmistress, who was apprehensive of their patron, could not help but feel a certain amount of pity for the man. Ironically, for both women, that blatant display of weakness seemed to absolve Evan of any guilt. After all, if he had been the one to cause that mayhem, he wouldn't have seemed so affected by the blue field, would he? Plus, all their suppositions against the school's patron were based on a legend and as, the Grand Wizard himself had said, legends were just that, legends and weren't necessarily the truth.

"Mr Mallard, are you quite alright?" the headmistress asked her voice gentle and grandmotherly and the man turned to face her, his eyes appearing more tired and weary than they had been when he had first arrived.

"Yes… this is quite an impressive bit of magic, isn't it? It seems to drain your energy…" he said tiredly, voicing the first plausible excuse that came to his mind for what he was sure must have been quite an impressive show of emotion.

"Shall we go to my office then? I will have Miss Tapioca bring some tea and scones and we can discuss more there…" Amelia nodded sympathetically being quite worried for the young man as he seemed to be getting increasingly pale.

"Yes of course…" He answered absentmindedly, tearing his gaze away from his masterpiece while taking Imogen's extended hand into his. "Imogen, wait!" he followed in a strangely strangled voice because no matter how hard he tried, his legs didn't obey him.

"Evan… what's wrong?" the gym mistress asked in a voice higher than usual.

"I don't know" he whispered trying to force his legs to carry him away from the blue field. Everything was incredibly fuzzy, and the edges of his vision seemed to blacken while the entire hallway started to spin out of control. He could hear both Imogen and the headmistress say something to him as he felt his knees weaken and buckle, but his mind couldn't process what they were saying. The air was thinning around him and no matter how hard he tried he seemed to be unable to force it into his lungs. He knew that he had somehow collapsed and that his back must have hurt from the contact with the stone floor but he couldn't feel it. The only thing he could feel was his heart beating madly, his chest being in unbearable pain and cold sweat falling on his forehead. The last thing he saw before darkness claimed him was Imogen's panicked face swim in and out of his line of sight.

Hope looked at the crimson blood that now flew freely from her left palm. It was a beautiful colour, the vivid proof that she was alive and she could not help but try to choke back the urge to hysterically laugh. Yes, she was alive. She, death personified, the mistress of the underworld, the person who carried the souls of the living to their impending doom, was alive and proof of that was in the small stream of crimson that was now staining the stone floor. Tears streamed down on her face and she found that she could not control them, myriad of bottled emotions coming out at once. The pain of the past days, the frustration, the anger and the feeling of betrayal were contained in the salty droplets of water that were making their way on her cheeks. She tried to clear them away and realized that she had used her injured hand to do so, blood and water now mingling on the pale skin of her face. Blood and tears on her face. Blood and tears on her hands. Blood and tears everywhere around her. How befitting.

Stopping the self-depreciatory train of thought before it became too much, she instead focused on the matter at hand. With a deep breath to still her nerves, Hope pressed her trembling right hand into the deep gash in her palm and soaked her fingers into the liquid. Even though she knew that it was the only thing she could do, there was something that made her hesitate. Something that made her fingers tremble and right hand to shake uncontrollably. Was it truly the right thing to do? Was it worth it? Was she prepared to give up the most important thing she owned in order to get herself and the others out of the hell-hole they had been trapped in? The background noise of Mildred's screams and wails gave her a new motivation. Had it not been for those screams maybe she would have hesitated more. Yet, she soon found herself doing what she was supposed to do in the first place.

Fingers soaked in her own blood she first drew the familiar Ankh on the stone floor and on top of it she created the symbol of the scythe. Both drawings seemed to look at her mockingly, challenging her to do what she was supposed to do, questioning her resolve. With a resolute hand she circumscribed them in a perfectly formed circle. Life and Death blended together restricted by the symbol of perfection. Proud of her handiwork she smiled at the drawing. That was it. The moment had come. The moment when she could truly gain access to the powers she had been denied. She placed her steadier than ever hands just over the symbol, trying to block the awful sound coming from the other room. Under her fingers she could feel the familiar energy of her elements come to life; she could sense the soft and weak pulsations of Fire and Earth come together to create both death and life. In a sure, resolute voice she started to chant the only spell that had been forbidden to her:

"IIHT HNEO EVSF ROPF EKII BERR YTIE

TREO OWSF GIPE ETIA THRR HTIT EHTH

TMWI OEEN GTRE RHTE AEHD NPAT TOTO

DDYO OIAR TNNS HGC, EOEA BFSN IMTD

TEHY OSTE GTON IRVE VEEM ENRY MGM.

FIURIS ORIYHT RESTOD TLHHLE HIEIDA INVNMR SQEGO:"

Had it not been for the obvious build of energy under her fingers she would have stopped, for the next part of the chant was the hardest to perform. Yet the magic was flowing and she realized how much she had missed that particular feeling, so with newly-found energy she forcefully declared:

"TROLCON HTFAHSD EAMNALE ILYDNEA MISTCET MTOHEPH OYUETI."

For a moment everything seemed still and Hope wondered if she had failed, and if her fate was sealed for ever and ever. But then something wonderful happened. The Ankh on the floor seemed to come to life, the crimson with which it had been drawn turning into deep black. She watched in fascination as the entire circle started to burn and she couldn't help but place her hand in the flames. The energy and the heat were so welcoming and so familiar that Hope's eyes threatened to spill tears of happiness. For a moment that familiarity and euphoria made her forget the price she had paid to regain her power, but she was soon reminded of her bargain by pain.

A thousand little needles were piercing every inch of her flesh as her body, hungered by its lack of magical energy, stared to regenerate its magic. While Evan's initial spell had been perfected to attract energy from things that were positioned around her aura of fire, her own spell wasn't and, as such, she could feel her entire being the focus of the energy of the largest thing that surrounded her: the castle.

Mildred once again woke up crying and she couldn't understand why. She couldn't remember the content of the dream , she couldn't comprehend why she felt the urge to scream until her throat was raw and she certainly couldn't understand the feeling of terror that seemed to have entered her heart and seemed reluctant to disappear. All that she did know was that crying and screaming offered a cathartic experience and that, with every tear that rolled on her cheek and every shout that left her throat, she could feel her nerves settling slightly. Thus, eyes closed and mind stuck in the strange realm between sleep and consciousness, the girl cried and yelled to her heart's content.

"Mildred! Mildred!" she felt the touch of a thin, firm hand being placed on her shoulder and for a moment the girl relished in the familiar and comforting hand.

It reminded her of something. She didn't know what it reminded her of, but that small unassuming hand felt good on her back, for it seemed to give her a sense of security. It made her feel protected and cared for and Mildred involuntarily felt how her sobs stopped in her throat and how her body involuntarily leaned towards the person that was touching her. She could then feel two long arms enveloping themselves around her shaking frame and all her tense muscles relaxed. She would have liked to stay in that protective motherly embrace forever but Millie, with a supernatural effort, decided to open her blue eyes and was confronted with a sight that surprised her. Her three friends, for she had several days ago decided to include Ethel in this category, were looking at her with a mixture of terror and astonishment on their features while Miss Hardbroom was holding her gently. What surprised the girl wasn't the fact that her form tutor had allowed her to once again invade her personal space, but that she, Mildred, the worst witch in the school, didn't mind being hugged by HB. If more than two weeks before, after a similar incident, she had avoided her form tutor for almost seven days, at that particular moment she didn't feel the need to hide from her teacher.

The girl stopped crying and looked up to her form tutor, gratitude plainly clear in her blue eyes. Allowing her long arms to drop from around the girl, Constance made her way towards her desk, giving a nod of understanding to Mildred. Ethel watched the exchange with mild interest and wondered what the world was coming to. Mildred Hubble being hugged and comforted like a five-year-old by none other than Miss Hardbroom? If someone had told Ethel that a few days before, she would have simply burst into laughter. Of course, if someone had told her that she would, at any point in her career at Cackle's, befriend Mildred Hubble and her friends, she would have called that person insane and possibly transformed him or her into a frog. Things were different in that room. Ethel didn't know whether it was because death was an invisible, perpetual, unacknowledged presence among them or because being stuck in a small space with other humans made one actually get to know those humans better. She couldn't understand why, but she did know that things had changed and the strangest part of that change for Ethel was that she actually enjoyed it.

In a situation so dire that petty school squabbles and rivalries meant absolutely nothing, the Hallow heiress had learned that she didn't have to look down on people to both feel good about herself and to maintain status. With what she hadn't even perceived to be a burned lifted off her shoulders, Ethel discovered that it was much easier to interact with others if one considers themselves their equal. She had also discovered that her feelings towards and perceptions of those she currently shared a room with had considerably changed. Maud Moonshine wasn't only the pathetic bookworm who despite her considerable efforts couldn't surpass Ethel academically. She had proven herself to be a kind and smart person who had a certain wisdom about her. Enid Nightshade wasn't only the annoying tomboyish trouble maker that seemed to always find a way to thwart Ethel's plans. She was a really fun person to be with, who, no matter how hard the situation was, seemed to enjoy making others laugh, even if it was at her own expense.

Then there was Mildred. Mildred Hubble. The worst witch in school and her sworn arch-enemy. She couldn't even begin to comprehend how and why her feelings for the girl she had hated with a stubborn passion for almost three years had changed. The truth was, she still hated Mildred. How could you not hate someone who reminded you, with every breath they took, that you were a lousy human being? She hated her for being so kind without wanting anything in return, for assuming that there was good in everyone and everything and most of all, for being so naïve as to believe in infinite second chances. What she hated most about the girl was that she liked and, why not, admired Mildred. For all her academic and magical shortcomings, Ethel liked her because she represented something that Ethel wanted to be. She would have liked to have Millie's inherent kindness, her uncanny ability to understand what other felt and her knack for saying or doing the right thing at the right time. She was also well aware that, no matter how hard she tried, she would have never been able to poses any of Mildred's redeeming qualities. She too spiteful to forgive and her first impulse would always be to seek revenge. She was too proud to extend the hand of friendship to everyone regardless of their status. She was too realistic to not assume that people had hidden agendas. All in all, Ethel was aware that she was too little like Mildred and that, surprisingly for her, hurt.

Everything was eerily silent for a moment and Ethel looked at the face of her companions who all had, at one point or another, seemed to gravitate towards Mildred. The girl's eyes widened in surprise when the shrill sound of a bird singing flooded the room. She recognized that song. She wondered for a second why the other people didn't react to the agonizingly sharp, unpleasant sound. Then the entire world started to shake, the walls of the castle violently started to tremor wildly and, in no time, the girl found herself on the floor trying to regain a semblance of stability. She could faintly hear Miss Hardbroom encourage them to get under their desks and she did so, her entire frame quivering with both fear and a sudden jolt of adrenaline. She closed her eyes and stopped dead in her tracks.

With her mind's eye she could see something she had seen only twice before in her life. The beautiful bird with red feathers, the phoenix she had last seen in the courtyard of the academy merely two months before, was spinning madly against the black canvass of her mind. The same beautiful bird, with the same horribly painful yet beautiful song twisted and turned leaving a trail of fire behind its wings and tails. If at both previous encounters the bird's song had been frightening to listen to and its flight had been terrifying to behold, at that moment it was slightly different. Both the bird's flight and shrill seemed to have an undeniable note of finality to them. The bird was singing its last song. In spite of this sad realization, Ethel refused to open her eyes. Instead she kept them tightly shut and allowed her mind to follow the glorious and grotesque spectacle of the bird auto- destructing itself. Sure enough after mere seconds, the song became more intense, much more pained, and she could see the flames produced by the bird engulf its graceful, red body. The bird flapped its wings madly, desperate sounds coming from its throat. As before, the bird burst into flames and was reduced to ashes.

She knew that phoenixes were reborn from their own ashes, but as she watched the sad remains of the bird fall in a heap of dust she knew that this time it was different. She couldn't explain how she knew it, but she did. This time she was fairly certain that the phoenix was gone forever. Ethel opened her eyes, a fleeting regretful smile on her lips, wondering if any of her class mates had also witnessed what she had just seen. When the beautiful bird had disappeared in a ball of flames, the castle walls had stopped shaking.

Every single cell in her body was screaming in pain and yet Hope refused to make any sound. She could feel the blood in her veins flowing much quicker. Her slight frame was bustling with energy and she felt more alive than ever. Even the unbearable pain and the awkward way in which her hands trembled made her feel alive. Made her feel happy. Something was finally happening. She would soon be able to do something to escape from the horrible limbo in which Evan had locked her and the other four people for seven days. Only thinking about the man made her body shudder with anger and she promised herself, then and there, that she would find a very creative way to get back at him.

Amelia took a deep breath and sat at her desk, a steaming mug of tea in front of her, trying to shake the occurrences of the past hour. All in all, the headmistress was quite proud of how she had conducted herself. After Mr Mallard had collapsed in the hallway, she had firmly asked the two wizards to help Imogen carry the poor man into the staff room and asked Davina to contact Doctor Elwood and tell him that they had an emergency on their hands. After the good doctor asked what were the patient's symptoms and the then-barely-conscious Evan tried to describe in a weak, wheezing voice what he had been feeling the doctor concluded, to everyone's surprise, that the man was either having a heart attack or about ten other conditions that Amelia had never heard of in her life. Yet, as even if Mr Mallard had been having one of the other conditions there was absolutely nothing they could do before Noah would have arrived, he ordered, to be on the safe side, that they gave him an aspirin and place a pill of nitro-glycerine under his tongue. While the aspirin had been quickly produced by an almost crying Imogen the other medicine had proved to be more troublesome for two reasons: Amelia had never heard of such a thing before and as such she was pretty certain that they didn't have it in the scarcely-supplied Academy first aid kit. It was at that particular moment that the headmistress was proud to say that she had a moment of lucidity and that her brain, instead of succumbing to panic, rationalized. She knew that if Noah had asked her to give Evan something, he must have been pretty certain that they had it and as such, he might have prescribed it. Thus, while Imogen held the patient's hand and whispered encouraging words and Davina, for some sort of unknown reason, was motherly placing wet compresses on his forehead, the headmistress made a dash towards Constance's room.

Going into the room of her deputy had been hard, not because it was locked but because ever since the blue field incident had happened, Amelia had been avoiding that particular door like plague. After a few seconds of staring dumbly at the door and a deep breath, the headmistress finally put an unsure hand on the doorknob and opened it. The room was exactly as Constance had left it, albeit slightly dustier, and the woman could feel tears prick at the corners of her eyes. Had it not been such a dire situation, maybe Amelia would have spent more time in that relatively small room, basking into how Constance-like it was. But the situation was dire and with superhuman effort, the headmistress pushed at the back of her mind the feelings of regret and sadness that threatened to overwhelm her and tried to ignore the pleasant smell of dried herbs which lingered in the room and which characterized her deputy. Instead, she made her way to the small desk where about ten bottles of pills were predictably arranged alphabetically. Finding what she had come for, she made another dash for the staff room, securely closing the door and promising to herself that, until Constance wasn't out of the damned potions lab, she would not return.

After she had given the pill, like Noah had instructed, to the young man who had then started to sport an unattractive grey colour and who seemed to slip in and out of consciousness, Amelia's control of the situation was transferred to the doctor who had finally arrived in mere seconds. With a firm voice he had ordered the two emergency medical technicians he had brought with him to give the man oxygen, put him on a gurney and to do some other things to him, which the headmistress didn't understand, but they involved syringes and a strange-looking machine. She could finally then relax a little for, as always, the doctor seemed to know what he was doing and seemed to have swiftly taken charge of the situation. He had even been so kind as to offer a ride to the hospital to Imogen who at that point had been an emotional mess.

"Oh, I hope Mr Mallard will soon be well…" Davina's voice interfered with the headmistress' recollection of the recent events and she was surprised to see that the chanting teacher was now holding a stripped blue piece of cloth in her hands. "His tie… whatever shall we do with it?" she further explained and the headmistress nodded her head in acknowledgement.

"I'll put it in one of my drawers and Imogen or Mr Mallard himself can collect it" Amelia answered offering a kind smile, the silk object being promptly put into her extended left hand.

"I must admit, the occurrences within Cackle's are becoming stranger and stranger…" the Grand Wizard declared as he entered the staff room, Algernon close on his heels.

"You can't possibly mean that what happened to Mr Mallard has to do with the blue field, can you?" truthfully with the excitement of the day, Amelia hadn't taken the time to ponder the implications of the situation. She had been far too focused on keeping their patron alive than to rationalize the events that had led to the collapse of the man.

"A healthy, young man coming close to death after touching the field? Don't you find that suspicious?" Egbert said while sitting on the old arm chair he had claimed as his own ever since he had arrived at the academy.

"But Egbert, you surely see that your theory is faulty. We have all touched the field and nothing of the sort has happened to us… "Algernon contradicted his friend, helping himself to one of the biscuits that Miss Tapioca had brought earlier into the staff room.

"Then there must be something special about Mr Mallard that made his body react in such a forceful way…"the Grand Wizard said with conviction

"Seriously, Egbert, I think you are so keen on having your legends and stories proven right, that you see evidence everywhere!" the other wizard replied being fully aware of how much his friend liked conspiracies and mysteries.

"Then how would you explain it, Algie?" Egbert asked a little bit more forcefully than strictly necessary. He knew that his theory was weak at best, but he also knew that something strange, something beyond what they had ever experienced, was happening within the academy. And he wanted to understand what was happening.

"Maybe Mr Mallard has a weak heart! Occam 's razor, Egbert! Occam's Razor!" Algernon answered calmly, a fleeting victorious smile appearing at the corners of his lips.

"Do you think that in this particular case the simplest explanation that makes the least new assumptions is the correct one? We have seen things that we have never seen before, Algie!" Egbert replied, his temper rising slightly at how dismissive his friend seemed to be of what he felt to be a very important to elucidating the mystery.

"I think that we shouldn't make assumptions that have no proof whatsoever!" the other man said equally undone about how the grand wizard seemed to see mysteries and conspiracies everywhere.

"Can't we ask Noah?" the chanting teacher's shy, dismissive voice, put a stop to the argument between the two wizards who looked at her strangely.

"I beg your pardon?" Egbert asked, his mind trying to figure out what she was talking about.

"Noah Elwood… the doctor that came here" the headmistress explained and looked at Davina encouraging her to continue her idea.

"Well, you want to know if what happened to Evan is because of that horrible field, right?" Davina followed simply as she was munching on one of the delicious chocolate-chip biscuits that were innocently standing on the headmistress' desk "We could ask Noah if something had been wrong with Evan before today. If he says that nothing had been wrong with him, then the Grand Wizard is right. If he says that Evan had been sick before, then Mr Rowan Webb is right" the chanting teacher offered a beaming smile to the two men who were stunned that her simple train of thought had put an end to a discussion that would have taken hours.

"And will this Dr Elwood know?" the grand wizard asked haughtily feeling quite undone that a witch had put an end to his argument.

"Oh yes… he is a very good doctor!" Miss Bat answered with an enthusiastic nod.

"And is he trustworthy?" Algernon inquired.

"Yes… he likes Hope…" she answered as if her answer gave sufficient proof of the doctor's trustworthiness.

"How do you know that he likes Hope, Davina?" Amelia turned her head from her cup of tea to her teacher, shocked the remark issued by the other woman

"Oh… I saw them in Cosy's together… they were sitting really close to one another and were talking quietly, like lovers. I thought I told you that…or maybe it was Constance…" she replied dismissingly unaware of the way in which the headmistress was looking at her.

"Are you alright, dear lady?" Egbert asked seeing that the headmistress was no longer paying attention the conversation and was once again paying particular attention to the cup of tea in front of her.

"I think the problem is slightly more complicated than we expected it to be…" Amelia declared softly and three pairs of eyes turned to look at her and wait for explanations. "Three people came to Cackles in the past month. The first one was Mr Mallard who offered to sponsor the academy. The second one was Dr Elwood who started to treat Constance and the third one was Miss Hawthorne who came as a student potions teacher. We knew that there was a connection between Mr Mallard and Miss Hawthorne, but now, if what Davina says is true, there is also a connection between Dr Elwood and Miss Hawthorne…"

"Why was Dr Elwood treating Miss Hardbroom? Was she sick?" Algernon asked the headmistress, baffled at the new turn of things.

"Yes she was. Very sick" Amelia answered regretfully wishing to respect her deputy's privacy and thus not really wanting to go into more details than necessary

"Everything seems to revolve around this Miss Hawthorne…whenever we manage to get her out of the potions lab, she will have a lot of questions to answer to!" the Grand Wizard replied, deep in thought.

"That's it, Egbert. Miss Hawthorne!" Algernon said calmly "They are both here because of her. Tell me, is Miss Hawthorne good looking?"

"Oh yes… she is very pretty. She has this beautiful curly black hair, and big blue eyes that sparkle and always dresses like the girls in Imogen's magazines." Davina answered quickly but the two men turned to the headmistress.

"Yes she is quite good looking" the headmistress replied not exactly understanding where Mr Rowan-Webb was going with his rational

"Why would two men follow a good-looking woman, Egbert?" Algernon rhetorically asked.

"I know where you are going with this, Algie and I think you've read one too many romance novels. Plus, didn't you hear what Miss Cackle said? Miss Hawthorne was the last one that arrived at the academy" he would have continued to berate his friend's idea more but then the castle gave a low grumble and the Grand Wizard could feel the earth shaking under his feet.

"Earthquake!" Davina squealed and proceeded to walk towards the door.

"No!" Amelia shouted and the chanting teacher stopped in her tracks.

When the walls of the castle started to shake, Amelia's first impulse was to hide under her desk. But two things stopped her from going with her instinct of self-preservation. The first one was the look that the Grand Wizard threw her. It was a knowing look, a look that told her that Egbert Hellebore could feel it wasn't a normal earthquake. Secondly, the castle itself was urging the headmistress to stay put. Yes. As strange and absurd as it might have sounded, the building itself, filled with ancient magic, was making the headmistress remain in the staff room. She could feel the Castle fighting back. She could hear how the magic within the bricks was fighting. And most of all, she could sense that all the magic was going towards one place: the potions lab. But then she also knew that it wasn't enough. She didn't know how she knew it, but she knew that all that ancient magic wasn't enough to fill the void that the field had created inside the castle.

"She's fighting back… but it's not enough…" Amelia said in a strangled voice, not exactly knowing what had possessed her to say such a thing.

What baffled her more was that she immediately knew what to do. She didn't know why or how she knew it but she felt like an invisible force was guiding her towards the wall. She placed her hands on the wall of the staff room and could feel the small flow of magic leaving her fingers. Taking their cue from the headmistress, the three other people in the room placed their hands on the closest walls as well, and Amelia felt their magic being absorbed by old stone. They magic was like a catalyst for she could sense that the flow of energy had increased and that the void inside the potions lab was filling quickly. After a few seconds the ground stopped shaking and after dismissing Davina to check on the girls, she looked up to meet the gaze of the two wizards who were tiredly slumped on the two staff room armchairs.

"What was that? What does it mean?" Algernon asked tiredly looking at the other two occupants of the room.

"It means, dear Algie that we might get to meet that extraordinary good-looking Miss Hawthorne sooner than expected…" Egbert answered with irony exchanging a knowing smile with the headmistress.

Constance started to tell the girls to hide under their desks but found that she was unable to find her voice. A sharp pain, unlike anything she had ever felt before, pierced her chest and before she could do something about it, her knees felt the cold stone of the floor. Her body was violently protesting at the lack of air and, under the frail, pale hand that was now desperately clutching at the material of her dress, she could feel her heart beating madly. Her lungs burned, hungry for air and she could feel tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. Was this it? Was this the end of her miserable existence? For a second she hoped that it was for the pain was intensifying each and every time she tried and failed to force some oxygen into her system. Her vision swimming and dimming slightly she looked at the stunned faces of the four students in the room. They were scared, that much was obvious. And then something quite extraordinary happened. The ground stooped shaking, and for the first time in days Constance could feel the air of the potions lab enter her lungs freely.

She gracefully rose to her still-wobbly feet and took a surprisingly deep breath. Although her chest still slightly protested in pain, the feeling of stifling heaviness, of tightness and the pressure that seemed to always be building in her chest with every breath she took now seemed almost gone. Without really understanding what was happening, the deputy unconsciously flexed her fingers and had yet another surprise, for she could feel the familiar build up of magical energy within her fingers, waiting for her command to be unleashed. She pointed a slightly trembling hand to the nearest object and with a flick of her wrist the innocent mini-cauldron disappeared from existence in a wave of orange energy. Tears of happiness were threatening to fall and had she not had four pairs of eyes watching her intently, she would have allowed them to spill freely. But as it was, she did try to maintain some composure and instead urged the girls, in a no-nonsense voice to also try to check whether their magical powers had returned.

As the girls were chanting levitation and transformation spells under their breaths, Constance decided to check on the only person that was unaccounted for and who, if her suspicions were correct, was responsible for that favourable turn of fate. Her legs feeling much more stable than they had felt in weeks, she purposefully strode towards the supplies cupboard and, with a still trembling hand, swung the door open. There, inside the dark, small room the young woman was sitting on the floor leaning on one of the shelves for support, her long legs indelicately sprawled in front of her, her hands gripping at the dark material of her skirt.

"Miss Hawthorne, are you alright?" Constance said in a slightly worried voice and approached the woman to check whether she was responsive or not

"Yeah…I am…" she said in an apparently nonchalant, yet slightly strained voice raising her head to face the gaze of the deputy.

"Our magic is back…" the deputy's voice faltered slightly and she fought the urge to move a step backwards.

There was nothing technically wrong with Miss Hawthorne's face but Constance couldn't help but feel apprehensive while looking at her. Her face was pale, paler than it had been before, and her skin seemed to emit a soft glow which the deputy dismissed as a trick of the light. The smudges of what appeared to be dyed blood on her cheeks offered a gruesome contrast to the whiteness of everything else. And then there were her eyes. It was those eyes that made Miss Hardbroom want to run away from the room in an uncharacteristic display of cowardice. Although they were the same dark blue they had been mere minutes before, the woman's eyes seemed empty. Almost lifeless. Twin treks of blood were falling from the corner of her eyes as if the woman was crying.

"What have you done?" Constance whispered slightly. It was true that there had been no love lost between herself and the younger woman, but she supposed that living in the close proximity of someone did something to change someone's feelings.

The best word that Constance could find to describe Hope was "cold". In spite of the appearances she put on for others, she wasn't excessively affectionate, she was calm to the point of seeming indifferent and she could be incredibly stubborn and hurtful at times. There was absolutely nothing about her that would have made Constance, under normal circumstances, wish to associate with her. Yet, what they had been through could be hardly considered as normal and despite her undesirable traits, Hope had weaselled her way into the deputy's heart because of one thing. She was the only person on whom Constance had ever learned to rely on implicitly. In spite of her callousness, she had been the one person in the potions lab that had held everything and everyone together. For what end, Constance did not know. Their situation had been, maybe it still was, so dire, that despite her better judgement Miss Hardbroom had been forced to trust the other woman to do the right thing. She had unwittingly placed her own life, and more importantly, the lives of the girls in Hope's hands because at that time she had no other alternative. And now, even if their situation seemed to have greatly improved, the bond that had been formed during the past few days was still strong, because Miss Hawthorne had done nothing to violate the unconscious vote of confidence the deputy had given her. That cold young woman, one of the few people she had truly been scared of, has seen her at her weakest, had stubbornly refused to leave her side when she had been expelling her own blood in that very room, had surprisingly been one of the few people in the world with whom Constance hadn't put on a mask.

"You are worried about me?" Hope gave a throaty laugh "Seven days ago you thought that I was some psychopathic murderer, and now you are worried for me?"

Constance chose to ignore the younger woman's mockery and instead went to the back of the supplies cupboard from where she retrieved a first aid kit. Wordlessly, she took Hope's left hand, cleaned the ugly gash in her palm and gently wrapped the hand with a clean white bandage. She spared a glance at the floor where a most unusual symbol had been drawn, presumably in the girl's own blood. She had never seen such a symbol before. She had no idea what it meant or what it had been used for, but she did know that Hope had decided to do some sort of ritual in order to break the magic-less vortex that had been the potions lab. Why has she waited until then? Again, the potion mistress was slightly at a loss, but she did have a pretty good guess. Although they were expressively forbidden by the Guild, she had read about blood rituals. The reason why they were frowned upon was the great cost at which they were performed which could range from a considerable shortening of a person's life to pain and even to a loss of magical power. She looked again at the symbol and could not help but wordlessly wonder what price had Hope paid for their potential freedom.

"Miss Hardbroom, when we get out of here, I would prefer if you kept to yourself all that has trespassed between us these past days… it would not do if too many people knew too much about me" Hope said calmly, flexing the pale fingers of her left hand and testing the strength of the wrapping.

"Are you going to remain at Cackle's?" Constance asked in a serious tone after nodding to the girl's request.

"I still haven't completed my potions apprenticeship, have I?" she replied in the same derisory tone and Constance fought the urge to scoff in return. "I think it would be best if I remained, until matters settled, don't you think?"

Constance gave Hope a long, hard look and considered what she was saying. If asked the same question a week before, she would have gladly told Hope to pack her bags. But everything had changed in less than a week and she had become aware of things she had never known they existed. Hope, regardless of her intentions when coming at Cackle's, hadn't hurt any of the students and had promised to keep the girls safe. On the other hand, the other Elemental Master, Mr Mallard, had been more than content to lock them into the potions lab. As the girl herself had said, she had been the one towards who the attack had been keyed as such, if she left the threat would be removed.

"Miss Hardbroom, there is something here, within Cackle's, that is very precious … I cannot tell you what it is, but I can tell you that I cannot leave without making certain that Evan cannot touch this thing…" she interrupted Constance's musings, her tone, although apparently calm, laced with a certain degree of panic.

"I see…" Constance said more to herself than to Hope and once again pondered the implications of what the woman was saying. If what she said was true, and she suspected that it was, it seemed that within the academy there was something that Mr Mallard wanted. What it was, she did not know. But what she did know was that Hope, although she could not claim that she fully trusted the woman, could protect both the thing and the girls from Mr Mallard. "As you wish, Miss Hawthorne. Yet, if you want to pretend to be a potions teacher we need to have a serious discussion about safety measures"

"I fully agree, Miss Hardbroom…" Hope answered, relieved that the potions mistress gave into her demands and surprised that she seemed to have some sort of an ally in the deputy. She fought back the urge to laugh for, unknowingly to him, by locking them in the potions lab, Evan had done her a very big favour.

The spring air enveloped them in a gentle embrace and the rays of the weak sun caressed their skin. Under the oldest of the cherry tries in the orchard of the mansion stood a couple, him holding her into a tight embrace from behind and her leaning into him as if they were one. The girl was at that age when every girl dreams of being a princess and finding prince charming and her appearance seemed more than suited for the role. Her hair, black and wavy, reached her waist and her skin was so white that one could barely distinguish where her skin ended and her white silk dress begun. Her eyes, big and blue, full of sparkle and laughter were glued into the young man's hazel ones and her red lips, the only spot of colour on her angular features, were parted into what seemed to be a perpetual smile. If the girl fit the role of a fairytale princess, so did the young man for he was tall and broad-shouldered, with a lean frame and tanned, healthy skin. His hair, the colour of honey, was ruffled by the wind and her left hand which seemed to be continuously caressing his scalp. The only thing that did not fit the picture of perfection and unity the couple seemed to portray, was the look in his eyes. His eyes, big and hazel, with fine traces of gold in them, did not share the girls' mirth. They were sad and regretful, as if the man had lost something very dear to him. There were lines on his face, lines that did not match his tender age of seventeen and had it not been for the shy, slightly strained smile at the corner of his lips, he would have seemed much older.

"Do you love me, Evan?" she asked in a childish voice that unsurprisingly suited her well.

The young man did not answer immediately. Instead he took the time to look at her and caress her pale face with his slightly calloused hands. He kissed her forehead and her hands and for a second his eyes seemed to be filled with tears. He placed his hand under he chin and raised it slightly. While he looked into her big eyes, as blue as the clear summer sky, he could feel a piece of his soul shatter. He placed a gentle kiss on her lips and she unconsciously leaned into his touch, her hands gripping at the back of his blue shirt. She closed her eyes and placed her head onto his chest listening to the rapid pounding of his heart and clinging to his shirt for dear life.

"More than you will ever know, my love…" he finally answered in a strained voice, his hazel eyes taking in the beauty of her pale features.

"Then why are you so sad?" she asked in an innocent, child-like voice and Evan chose not to answer "I will miss them too, you know? Papa and everyone at Hawthorne Mansion… But I am glad that we are doing this… all those stories… they are silly anyway"

Evan nodded his approval and once again kissed her fully on the lips, taking in her trademark smell of scorched, dry earth combined with expensive perfume and the wave of heat emanated by her body. He circled his long arms around her small frame and held her close to his heart, which was currently breaking in a million pieces. Whispering some words under his breath, his irises turned brilliantly white and she held the girl closer to him. At first the girl thought nothing of it and did not struggle. But as she could feel her energy leaving her at an alarming rate she instinctively knew that something was wrong. Her eyes turned blood red and her small hands struggled to push him away. He held her closer in an embrace that would bring her death, not allowing her to summon her elements. She tried to scream but could only produce a feeble grunt of pain and she tried to raise the flames she usually commanded to no avail. He was bigger than her, physically stronger and had much better control of his elements than she did. For a moment, Hope thought that it would be a fitting way to die: in his arms, out of love and a healthy dose of naivety. But she refused to go at the tender age of fifteen. She refused to give him the satisfaction of winning. She once again tried to produce her flames and could see that small patches of the grass in front of them were already alit. He forcefully released her from his embrace, pushing her back making her fall on the green grass. She raised her head, anger and hurt bubbling in her veins, to see him look at her sorrowfully, his arms limp, his head inclined in shame.

"How could you?" she whispered rising to her feel, tears falling from the corners of her eyes.

"Please don't leave…" Evan replied slowly

"You tried to kill me…" Hope almost shouted, her small frame shaking with anger

"I couldn't do it… I tried… Everything in my blood, my ancestors, my brain, my power, told me that I need to kill you. But I couldn't…Every drop of your blood, of your power, should have been mine. But I couldn't…" he whispered, his own voice a mixture of confusion, anger and weakness. "What have you done to me, Hope?"

She didn't answer. She couldn't answer. All the kind words that she wanted to say, all the words of forgiveness that she wanted to express were stuck in her throat. No matter how much she tried, there was something inside of her that was preventing her from being kind to him. His words were foreign to her. She couldn't understand him. Anger was dripping in her blood like poison and she couldn't find a way to comprehend what he was saying. She couldn't find a way to forgive him.

"Don't leave, Hope… Don't leave, my love…you are the only one who can help me… you can make me do the right thing… don't leave, my love… "he pathetically sobbed, falling to his knees in front of her.

Hope took a deep breath and looked at the sad pathetic show that was unravelling in front of her. With a sure hand she cleared away her tears and smudged mascara. They had all been right in their warnings and she had been stupid enough not to listen to them. She had been stupid enough to believe that Evan and herself could beat thousands of years of animosity between their families. She had been a fool and she could see it now. She would no longer allow herself to be a fool, she would no longer allow herself to be a pray. Instead, she was resolute to become the hunter.

"Rise" she commanded softly yet firmly and he heeded her words promptly, a pained expression gracing his handsome features. "From this day on, we shall forget all that has happened between us. You are nothing to me but my enemy. Forget all the words that I have said to you. Forget that I ever loved you. Forget it. " she followed in the same controlled voice, her expression too stern for a fifteen year old.

"From the moment I turn my back on you, I will be gone forever, and I will only be the life that you have left behind. Nothing more" she continued, hardening her heart against his utterly shattered features and the tears that were freely flowing on his cheeks. He was broken.

"One word of advice before I leave, Evan: don't love me. For your own good, don't love me. Because the next time we meet there will be nothing left between us to stop me from wishing you dead…"

Evan sluggishly opened his eyes and took in the white walls and the smell of disinfectant of the room he found himself in. It took him a moment to understand that he was in a hospital room connected to various IV drips and machines. The sound of her voice still lingered in his mind, her cruel, cold words making his skin crawl. For a second he pondered turning the heart monitor off because its annoying beeping was drowning out the sound her voice. Had he been able to move, he would have probably done so. But, to his surprise his body seemed horribly unhelpful and even the small feat of turning his head to observe his surroundings made him feel weak and dizzy. He wondered what had happened to him, the pain in his chest, probably dulled by morphine, giving too little a clue. He tired to raise his hand to push the call button in order to get some answers, but once again he found that he did not have the strength to do so. Had it not been for the impressive amount of drugs in his blood stream, he would have probably panicked at his feebleness. But, as things stood, he meekly decided to give up and closed his eyes. He would once again loose himself in dreams of her. His Hope. His downfall, his greatest weakness, and his love…

With the aid of the potions mistress, who for once seemed quite stable on her legs, Hope was pulled up to her feet. She took a moment to smooth the crease lines in her cream blouse and dark skirt. With a flick of her wrist she made the symbol on the stone floor disappear taking a second glance at the exact spot where the ritual had taken place. She once again tried to tell herself that it had been for the best that she had had no other choice, but, the feelings of guilt her words were supposed to abate seemed oddly absent. Instead, she felt oddly energized, as if something had given her a new hold on life. Yes, she realized that she had a new opportunity, a second chance to do everything right. She offered a kind smile to the deputy and walked from the supplies cupboard in silence.

As she entered the room that had been her prison for more than a week, she gave an encouraging smile to the girls and slowly walked towards the door. She took a deep breath and easily opened the wooden thing that had refused to budge for the past week. Then she was confronted with the blue field that was the product of Evan's magic. Hope could not resist touching it and for an instant, a mere second, she could feel the signature of his magic; that both wonderful and awful energy that had both protected and threatened her so very long ago. She refused to reminiscence. It would do her little good especially as she had made her mind to destroy the man once and for all. Instead, she focused her own energy in her palms and , with a swift move, she dispelled the blue field. As the field crumbled into nothingness she couldn't help but smile at the incredible sense of liberation that overtook her.

The hospital room was poorly lit and would have been strangely silent if not for the steady annoying beeping of a heart monitor. The man who entered the room was tall, with broad shoulders and a relatively small waist and was wearing a dark suit covered by a black travelling cloak. His dark hair, reaching the nape of his neck, was partially hiding his handsome, strong features. He took a moment to look around the room, his vividly blue eyes pausing slightly on the form of a blond woman who was uncomfortably sleeping in one of the hospital-provided armchairs and he wordlessly wiggled his fingers towards her. She suddenly seemed much more comfortable and in a deeper sleep than before. Then, in long strides, that were uncommonly graceful for his strongly-built frame, he made his way to the hospital bed where a blond, young man was sleeping peacefully. At the sight of the man he offered a chilling smile to no one in particular and conjured a chair next to his bed. For a moment he sat in his chair soundlessly but then, as if what he was seeing amused him immensely, he could no longer contain himself and the throaty sound of his laughter filled the room.

"Poor, poor Evan… if only you could see yourself now…" the man said in a mocking child-like voice, his hand ruffling the blond dishevelled hair of the patient "Do you think Hope will be grateful to me for what I did to you? I think she will be more than grateful… I think she will be ecstatic… " he chuckled lightly his blue eyes sparkling with mirth. "I really thought I would be able to finish you off… your pain, your foolish pain, made you vulnerable, you know? But you just wouldn't die, would you? You stubborn, stubborn boy!" his voice held a maniac trace of anger and he once again looked at his surroundings "But I could do it now… it wouldn't take much…I could just shove a syringe with air in one of your veins, or I could disconnect one of those blasted IV's … But no… I will let you live. Do you know why?" he asked in the same cold, sarcastic voice undisturbed that his interlocutor was in a drug-induced sleep and was unable to hear him, a sadistic smirk appearing at the corners of his mouth "Because I will enjoy watching her do it. I will enjoy watching you squirm as the only person you have ever loved kills you in cold blood…"

AN: So we've once again reached the end of the chapter. You know what to do if you wish to contact me. I look forward to your comments (seriously, they make my day and give me a warm fuzzy feeling ) )

*gives away enough chocolate brownies to last everyone until the next chapter is posted*

Sneak Preview: The Grand reunion at Cackles is not as happy as some might expect…