He grabbed her roughly by her biceps and pulled her through the doorway. Placing her hands on his chest, she shoved him back – or rather – he stood unmoving as she thrust herself back and out of his grasp. Before she could fling her accusations, he spoke.

"Looking for this?" To her complete surprise, his voice hinted amusement and even a familiarity. The words were slightly muffled by the cigar held between his teeth as he held up a small, iridescent glass box with a metallic lid. She tried to make out his face past the faint illumination of the flask and thick curls of smoke that bloomed around dark glasses.

"What? No! You –" she was cut off by the thing being tossed at her, barely catching it with her free hand before it hit the ground. It was unbelievably heavy for its size, but she refused to tear her eyes away to inspect it.

"You are now."

As badly as she wanted to smash it off the ground or hurl it back in his face; something told her she needed to hold onto it. Not that she felt she could trust this psychopath.

What was his angle?

She leveled her gun and words at him, not looking to find out. She kept her tone as firm and steady as the aim on his forehead. "Get out of my way."

She waited for him to show any signs of hostility or aggression, but he just stood there, arms folded smiling in a way that gave him a very human look despite knowing what a monster he really was. "I don't think you want to waste your bullets on me, sweetheart. In fact, I think you better get those pretty legs moving before my larger-than-life sister gets down here and slices them off for you."

"Why…" Trying not to look as confused as she actually was, Celia cleared her throat before continuing. "Aren't you working with Miranda?"

He shrugged, showing no emotion behind his reflective glasses. "I'm an opportunist. Name's Karl. Now, you better get a move on darling. This way." He smiled darkly at her as he gestured over his shoulder.

Was he mocking her? He couldn't be serious.

"You're a monster!" Celia shifted the flask into the crook of her arm, steadying it against her shoulder and continued, her tone rising with urgency. "I watched you murder a man in cold blood! What have you done with Rose!?"

"Ethan, dead? No sweet cheeks I think you have it all wrong. The guy is very much alive. And don't worry about his kid. I think she's in good hands." Something about the way he said that last part put her on edge.

"What?"

"Ethan. He's very much alive and with our beloved Mother Miranda! And the kid…" trailing off, the man pointed a stout finger at her shoulder. "Well, like I said. She's in good hands."

Celia followed his gaze to the flask she held tightly against her chest. Peering down at the lid, she could make out swords crossing over flowers. It was beautifully detailed.

"Like it?" He dug around in his pockets as he watched her inspect it.

Tilting the box, she tried to look through the dirt obscuring the fluorescent contents. It wasn't just dirt, she realized. There was a label. Rubbing it with the rolled-up fabric of her dead partner's coat, she nearly dropped the thing in shock of the words hand-written there.

"Rosemary W." "Head" "Eve" She felt the blood drain from her face. From her body. She felt cold. She was going to be sick.

"Hey kid, don't pass out on me. She's ok." He looked almost uncomfortable speaking the words to her, but she barely registered his attempt to bring her back from the brink.

"This doesn't fucking look ok to me!" she flung the words back at him, holding back the urge to vomit at the implication of what she held in her hands.

He spoke quickly. "She can be returned. You just need the other pieces. We all have one. This is [tall lady]. Mine is back at my factory. Donna has one at her place, and Moreau has his at the reservoir. We can talk about this later – right now I suggest you move your ass. I think I hear my big bitch of a sister coming."

"Why are you telling me this? Why do you want to help me?"

"I don't want to help you. I want you to help me."

"Help you do what?"

"I'll get to that. First, we need to get you out of here with all your fingers and toes."

"What does Miranda want with Ethan?"

"Million-dollar question, sweetheart."

"Stop calling me sweetheart."

He corrected himself. "Million-dollar question, babe. I have a feeling it's not going to be a pleasant surprise either."

"Why wouldn't she tell you?"

He spoke quickly now, with urgency. He grabbed her arm again and this time she let him lead the way. He led her to another door in the back of the courtyard and opened it, pushing her inside. "Let's focus on your current predicament. You need to get that…" He pointed to the flask in her hand. "…and yourself out of here without getting caught by her or those bat-shit crazy daughters of hers. I can't be seen with it. Go back through the Opera hall." He pointed inside. "There's an exit near the back by the stage. I'll try to work up a distraction. Meet me at the factory, southwest of the village. And for God sakes don't lose that flask. You met the Duke, right?"

Celia nodded.

"Ask him nicely, and I'm sure he'll take you there. The doors will be open. I'll fill you in on the rest there…if you survive."

With that, he moved past her through the open door, leaving behind him the musky scent of earth and smoke.