Closed The Gentle Art of Exorcism

[Madeira Dusk]

30th of Fall, 517

There were forty three steps from the second floor to the foyer in the Craven Manor. Madeira was intimately familiar with each of them. The young Spiritist had one hand wrapped white-kuckled around the bannister of the curving staircase, the other choked her silver headed cane, and on the step behind her dragged her dead left leg.

It had been weeks now, and those paralyzed by the summer plague weren't getting any better. Madeira knew the family was watching her, that they talked behind her back. What were they going to do with Madeira Craven? They hadn't called her into any sort of meeting yet. She probably bought herself time with that job she stumble into at the Crooked Playhouse several days ago. But she knew it was coming. Could a paraplegic keep up with the demands of the Spiritism profession? Was she now a liability to her family?

"Jomi", Madeira whistled for her ghost. She had taken to bringing her spectral servant with her when she had to visit the family manor. If only to weakly prove that she still had power, that she still had control over something. "See if you can open the front door before I get down the stairs. If you manage it I'll give you a jar of soulmist. The fresh stuff." she negotiated slyly, looking over her shoulder as she lowered herself to the next step. "You need the practise."

What were the Craven's going to do with her if they decided their youngest couldn't keep up?

These thoughts sprang up uninvited. Madeira looked to her feet and counted the steps as she dragged herself down. Anything to distract herself.

Twenty one.

She couldn't lose her career. She had Allister to take care of. And what of Emma and Jomi? Would they still stay with her?

Twenty.

No, the family wouldn't kick her out over this, not right away. She might just be forced to be a scrivener under Rune Craven.

Nineteen.

But she would have to prove to be smarter and more diligent than Einar to be the family scrivener, and she wasn't sure she could. Her cousin had been groomed for the post since he was small.

Madeira paused on the eighteenth step to catch her breath. Golden autumn light was pouring through the tall windows on either side of the heavy doors below her, even penetrating through the gloomy drapes that hung heavy over them year round. Dust glimmered in the air, moving in invisible currents around the dark antique furniture. She remembered a time, not too long ago, when the house felt too big. It's expectations sat too heavy on her shoulders, and she struggled with her place in it. She thought she would never live up to what it wanted of her. The house and the name still sat heavy in her hands, but she felt that maybe she was getting used to the weight. She was improving, nobody denied it. She was getting better at her craft, she had two servants who looked up to her, and a Kelvic that would do anything for her. She was getting stronger.

This leg wasn't a setback, she told herself. It was an adjustment. She was still moving, she just had to change her direction and keep going.

Madeira breathed deep and rallied herself, and was just about to resume her laborious descent when something out the tall windows caught her eye. She squinted through the glare, and could make out a portly man in a tall feathered hat coming down the long stone walkway to the front door. He was struggling with some sort of crate in his arms, and even muffled through the drapes and the distance, she thought she could hear him blubbering with snotty tears.

"Open the door", she told her ghost again, though now the sharp slice of a command ran through it. "Someone's coming."

[Jomi]

Jomi stood off to the side of the landing at the top of the stairs, quietly admiring a painting of a stuffy looking man decked in an impractical amount of jewels. He seemed to glower as the rest of the mansions spectral servants breezed past him like a particularly chilly breeze. Since the majority of the mansions residents don’t walk or speak the rhythmic thumping of Madeira's paralyzed leg cut through the deafening silence like a knife. Jomi found it difficult to watch her struggle and so had preoccupied himself with the mansions artwork of the various former heads. But her decent was slow and laborious, and he was quickly running out of things to pretend to be distracted by.

“Jomi, see if you can open the front door before I get down the stairs. If you manage it I'll give you a jar of soulmist. The fresh stuff."

Thank the gods, something to do.

The spirit breezed past the struggling woman. Following the stairs to the imposing double oak doors that served as a gateway to the mason proper. Four seasons ago the new ghost had been avoiding this place as it it were a living plague. It gave him a dark sort of amusement to think that he’d now willingly walk through it.

Jomi reached for one of the stylized brass handle and wrapped his ghostly fist around it. He concentrated his soul mist into the top of his hand creating a resistance to push the handle down. Once it was vertical the ghost switched his direction, he concentrated hard and focused his mind on the force of his soulmist and began pulling the the door to him.

And pulling.

…And pulling.

Jomi hissed like an angry teapot as the door refused to budge an inch for the struggling ghost. The dark stained wood that towered over him might as well have been made of solid lead for all the good his pathetic attempts at projection were against it.

"Open the door, Someone's coming."

"Just give me a petching chime!"

No sooner had the words left his mouth before the heavy doors swung towards his face as it they had been made of paper mâché. The ridiculously feathered and blubbering man with the screaming crate elbowed his way inside without missing a step. Jomi instinctively flinched as the door passed through him and crashed into the door stop, alerting all within a fifty foot radius of their rather ballsy guest.

[Madeira Dusk]

For one wild moment Madeira thought Jomi had revealed some habito unknown superpower as the heavy oak door was blasted open. But almost immediately, as if the door was a cork in a bottle of pressurized noise, a sobbing wail spilled into the stately manor and the man who had shouldered open the door stepped into view.

A stocky man with skin the colour of burnt toast and eyes swollen with tears stood in the middle of the foyer. The peacock feather in his hat, set at a jaunty angle on his densely curly hair, quivered as he sobbed shamelessly. The crate in his arms was sturdy wicker and held closed with a green crocodile skin belt. Under all the noise Madeira could have sworn the crate was hissing.

Summoned by the commotion, ghosts, living servants, and a few Cravens’ appeared around doorways and from the top of the staircase. Sensing the drama and attention Madeira could not afford to be a part of, the youngest Craven struggled to turn around and try to flee back up the stairs. But the press of people was too dense, and she was too slow. In a tick the crisp, clear ring of Minerva Craven's voice cut through the confused mess of noise.

"What is the meaning of this?"

The grey thundercloud of Minerva's hair was visible from Madeira’s high vantage point as her aunt came through a door on the ground floor. Though she could not see her face, Madeira knew the look that would be on it- a mix of hot anger and steely disapproval that could dissolve even the most self assured brute.

"I ne-ne-need help!" the man hiccuped. He had stopped his wailing at once, but tears and mucus continued to pour down his face. "It's my cat, Peter Pepper, I think he's possessed!" The box in his arms gave an angry yowl. "He's always so sweet to me. But last night he went mad as I put him in his pyjamas, and he hasn't stopped. Not even his favourite steel cut tuna will calm him down! My Peter would never do this, never!" Sure enough, dozens of shallow scratches showed slivers of pink and red in his dark face and arms

Madeira was sure Minerva would turn him away, perhaps with a kindly word to take the cat to Impawsable Pets and not bother the Craven house with his inane problems. Instead there was a gentle, professional smile in her voice as she said:

"Our Miss Madeira should be able to help you. Let us take the cat from you and you can come to the kitchen for a brandy to steady yourself.” Then she turned, and look up the stairs. Her eyes locked with the young Spiritist like she knew she was there all along. "You will be able to take care of this, won't you, Madeira?"

Cat exorcism. The family was going to test their paraplegic ward with the exorcism of a cat which may or may not even be possessed. Humiliated, every eye on her now, Madeira returned the plastic smile.

"Of course, ma'am."

From behind her came a loud guffaw.

"Is something funny, Everard?" Minerva's voice turned back to that steely ring, and people and ghosts alike cleared the space around Madeira's cousin for fear of being the next ones sliced by her clear bell tones.

Tousled and carelessly handsome, wearing last nights shirt and leaning on the railing, Everard alone seemed immune to the force of her glare.

"Not at all, ma'am. Madeira is a fine choice for such a responsible assignment." Madeira was not the only one to see the snideness in his casual smile.

"You are quite right. And since you could stand learn a thing or two about responsibility, you will be glad to help her."

At this both Madeira and Everard stiffened. Filled with dread and a fresh wash of embarrassment, Madeira nevertheless held her tongue. But the hot headed Everard fired up immediately.

"My skills-"

"-do not make up for your attitude and disrespect!” Minerva cut him off, and the air seemed to cackle with energy around her. "You will do as you are told or you may find work elsewhere."

The air around them turned cold. Madeira dared not turn to look at Everard behind her. As if on cue people and ghosts started to file away, back to their business in other parts of the manor. Soon all who were left were Miverva, Everard, the weeping man, Madeira and Jomi.

Within several chimes and with her gentle coaxing, Minerva pried the squirming box from the man and pushed it into Everard’s arms with a darkly significant look. Madeira had pulled herself down the stairs as fast as she could, and landed in the foyer sweating in her high collar and her good leg trembling with strain. Then, much to soon, Minerva was leading the weeping man away by the arm.

"I expect good work from both of you", Miverva said encouragingly from behind his trembling shoulders. Both of them saw the sharp curve of her smile, and each one felt a thrill of something quite like fear.

And just like that, Madeira found herself alone with Everard, Jomi and a hissing cat.

Not looking at her cousin, trying to delay what she knew was coming, Madeira waved them all forward. The tapping of her cane sounded like a gunshot in the new, prenatural silence. "Let- lets use the drawing room in the south wing. It's almost always empty... Come, Jomi."

The look she cast at her ghost was almost pleading.

word count: 934

[Jomi]

The tension that lingered in the cavernous room was almost suffocating. Jomi had the sense to make himself scarce as Minerva Craven stormed towards the blubbering man. Dematerializing himself until he was no more than a jittering shade beside the blown open door. But as the show ended and the Cravens and servants filed away, Jomi focused again on the heavy oak door. He drew soulmist into his side and concentrated it into a physical force, pushing into the door. With the help of a couple of the mansions lingering spectral servants they managed to swing the door back into its proper place.

With a last remark that seemed to hit the remaining Cravens like a physical force Minerva lead the feathered man away. Leaving the trio alone in the hall.

Now alone with the young Cravens Jomi was gripped with a sudden stabbing sense of fear. He had never had any fondness for the Craven line, being a family of ghost hunters and all. But Everard was a whole different breed of dangerous. And from the pleading look Madeira gave him, it was safe to assume she had her own concerns about the situation they found themselves in.

Everard stormed away with his hissing crate, heading for the designated meeting spot, giving the ghost and the cripple a brief moment of privacy. Once he was out of sight Jomi began to reconstruct himself, concentrating hard he pulled the dense mist towards his core and shaped it to his likeness.

"I did not sign up for this bullshyke." Jomi hissed directly into Madeiras ear as she had begun to make her slow, laborious trek to the south hall.

"Seriously, I've heard some shyke about that guy. The ghost here have some horror stories to tell about the things he does. They said he revives dusted ghost just to dust them again!" The words seemed to spill uncontrolled from the ghosts mouth as they neared the drawing room, betraying his nerves.

[Madeira Dusk]

As Everard stormed off ahead, Jomi materialized at her side. She felt the cold current of his soulmist pressed against her side as he hissed in her ear. His voice was tight and fast, absent of all sarcasm. With startling realization she realized she had only ever heard him sound like this once before, when she threaten to take his bondmate’s necklace away. He was scared.

Was his fear enough to override whatever authority she had over him? Undoubtably so. Her hold over him was tenuous to begin with, and with Everard... He was right that her cousin had a reputation. It was said nobody in the history of the Cravens had dusted as many ghosts as him.

No, she couldn't lose hold of Jomi now. Now that she was crippled and humiliated and dragging herself to the lions den. If she couldn’t hold him with loyalty she would just have to be the bigger threat.

"Don't you leave." she snarled out of the corner of her mouth. “Don't you dare leave. The moment you do, what we have is over. You can take your necklace and ask one of this city's many other Spiritists for help. I hear they’re a friendly bunch.”

She hadn't threatened him in a long time. The words seemed to hang between them in the empty hall.

"Everard won't hurt you", she muttered, her voice gentler but no less hard, "not while I'm there. He knows you belong to me."

Her slow journey to the drawing room seemed to take no time at all. Soon her and Jomi were stepping over the threshold of the richly appointed drawing room. An empty gated fireplace dominated one wall, with dark upholstered chairs grouped in front of it. A short drinks cabinet and a wardrobe full of dusty old clothes stood against the far wall, while a embroidered carpet and heavy tapestries added colour to the scene. Gaslamps on the walls cast a yellow glow.

Everard stood in the middle of the room, arms crossed and the hissing wicker crate at his feet. There was something malicious in his easy smile.

"'Bout time, Maddy, dear. Please get the door, will you?"

"Jomi, get the door", she said clearly, her head high as she swept into the room with as much dignity as she could manage.

"Ah, yes," Everards handsome green eyes found Jomi, and he regarded the spirit like he was looking at a mildly interesting painting. “I heard you had a new spirit. Good for you, Maddy! I do hope this one still has all his marbles."

"His name is Jomi and he has been invaluable." she said stiffly. “And so has Emma, for that matter. We should open the crate and see what we're dealing with", she tried to deflect the conversation.

"As you wish", Everard winked cheekily at her, bent down, and unclipped the belt from around the crate.

Immediately some whirling dervish of fur and claws shot out from under the lid. Madeira got an impression of a sandy orange coat and stripped blue pyjamas before the thing shot under the wardrobe and out of sight.

Even Everard forgot his cruel smile and aloof stance in the wake of the angry spitting cat. Both humans looked quite windswept as they stood there, looking warily at the dark space beneath the wardrobe.

[Jomi]

There was a moment of stunned silence from the ghost as he drifted along beside Madeira. He was use to her abolishments and threats; they had been at each others throats since they met. But she had never given him such a final ultimatum before. And she had never stooped so low as to threaten to abandon the search for his bondmate.

Her tone was high and sharp, but it softened as she told him that Everard wouldn't hurt him. It did little, however, to quell the rise of bitterness in Jomi. Forced to go along with her plan with that ultimatum hanging over his head, he was silent as they came to the drawing room.

When Madeira told him to close the door he did so immediately, making a point of not make eye contact with her. He reached out with his spectral hands and braced them on the back of the door. Focusing on guiding his soulmist to his palms, he used the sudden burst of energy to push the door closed aggressively. The unnecessary force sent the oil lamps sputtering at the sudden breeze.

As Everard gave him an appraising look Jomi returned it cooly. The normally mouthy ghost kept quiet when the Craven made a shot at him, not brave enough to risk his ire. But he was mildly surprise when Madeira quickly jumped to his defence. Jomi swelled with pride despite himself. For a former Kelvic, being called invaluable was the highest compliment one could receive.

No sooner had the older Craven unclipped the belt from around the basket when a streak of orange and blue shot out like a spring loaded toy. Claws whirled through the air as the cat hissed and spit at no one and everyone before finding refuge under the wardrobe.

"...The cat was wearing pants..." The ghost supplied, unhelpfully. Too caught up in the sudden flash of commotion to even realize he had said it out loud.

But as the humans tip-toed around the furniture warily, Jomi saw an opportunity to demonstrate his invaluableness.

"I could possess it." His voice was strong, despite his sudden uncharacteristic shyness. "Once I'm in the cat I'd be able to tell how many souls are present, and if its possessed or not. Should make your job easier."

The air shimmered as the ghost began to dissolve. His form became an undefined mist as he settled on the floor, now eye level with the cat. It's large yellow eyes shone out from the corner it had tucked itself in and darted around it's little hideout franticly. A deep low hum emitted from it's belly with such force that the cat seemed to vibrate.

Slowly Jomi slithered towards it, wary of the cats heightened senses. But as soon as soulmist brushed against the ends of it’s fur the cat yowled loudly and fled the underside of the wardrobe. Jomi quickly gave chase, passing through the wardrobe and tackling the cat as it made its escape across the floor.

Jomi gathered his soulmist to create a dense pressing force on the cats back, forcing it to lower its belly to the scrubbed wooden floors. A few tense ticks passed as Jomi laid over the cat as it cried and raked its claws across every reachable surface.

But he couldn’t hold it for long. The cat squirmed out from beneath him and continued it’s rampage pursued by an increasingly enraged ghost. Knocking over chairs, end tables and books as the duo chased each other up walls and into furniture.

[Madeira Dusk]

"No, Jomi, you really don't-" Madeira began desperately, but it was too late.

The wardrobe toppled with a resounding crash. The ghost and the cat in striped pyjamas chased each other around the room, causing spindly end tables, expensive leather bound books and ruined throw pillows to fly across the room while feathers and loose parchment erupted into the air.

Everard was doubled over with laughter at the carnage. Tears squeezed from the corners of his eyes and great barks of laughter echoed off the high ceiling. He fell back against the leaking setee, sending a great plume of goose down into the air.

Hair fraying from her chignon, red faced and wobbling where she stood, Madeira roared with all the force she could muster:

"Jomi! STOP!"

The huge orange cat in his blue pyjamas ran into one last pedestal, and had already taken shelter halfway up the heavy velvet drapes over the window when the vase on top fell and shattered on the floor. The tingle of smashed porcelain like an exclamation point to the Craven’s brittle, disease wracked voice. Everard was still howling with mirth.

"He's trying to help! What's your brilliant plan?" she snapped at her cousin, knocking debris aside with her cane as she stalk to the couch. "I seem to remember both our reputations being on the line here, Everard."

Something flashed in the young man's eyes, too quick to read. Though for some reason the expression left her cold. But before she could puzzle out what it was, he had recovered from his fit with great gasping breaths and was wiping his eyes on the corner of his sleeve.

"There is a simple answer here, ward", he straightened up, picking down out of his tousled brown hair. "We shoot the cat."

"What?"

"A souldart straight through the back should do the trick."

"That would kill the cat!"

"I seem to remember the goal was find out if the cat is possessed, and to remove the ghost if it was. I heard nothing about saving the cat, did you?"

Madeira's mouth worked soundlessly, caught between incredulous and shocked. What was wrong with him? They were given this job, the lowest of the low jobs, to save their reputations in this family, and he was making jokes. But another part of her, the part that recognized that flash in his eye, wondered if he was joking at all.

“Don’t you think that saving the cat was sort of implied?!"

"I've always hated that about you." he chuckled, looking her up and down. "You're so quick to get into line. I'm not the only one who thinks perfect little Maddy gets off on being told what to do.” Turning in his seat, he winked salaciously at Jomi. "Or is she more of a 'giver', eh, ghost? Does she get hot bossing you around?"

He's baiting you, she told herself. Closing her eyes and breathing through her nose, Madeira struggled to remain in control. She was not going to let Everard sabotage their second chance.

At that moment there was a soft rapt at the door, and a maid in a stiff white uniform edged into the room with a heavy basket in her arms.

"Madam Minerva sent some supplies, sir, miss", she announced. She picked her way around the feathers and ruined furniture, showing no shock or surprise at the state of the room. "I'll just leave this here, shall I?" she set the basket on underside of the overturned coffee table, curtsied, and left. There was a soft click as she shut the door behind her.

A quick rummaging revealed that their 'supplies' were cheese, flour, eggs, a wicked looking dagger, a wooden bowl and a length of unfamiliar soulbeads. Lowering herself awkwardly to the floor, Madeira immediately set about the task of making soulmist. She adjusted her dead leg by hand to sit cross-legged, and primly smoothed her long skirt to cover her feet. Sitting straight-backed a stiff, she piled the ingredients into the bowl while carefully avoiding Everard's gaze in her peripheral vision.

"Aw, Mads. I'm just teasing, you know that." Everard sounded oily and contrite as he slid in beside her. He picked up the knife and gallantly cut into his own wrist to supply the blood for the ritual. He held the trickle of ruby red fluid over the bowl, darkening pristine white flour. Across his exposed arm she saw the thatch of scars so similar to her own. "I never get to talk to you since you moved out. What's going on in your life? We need to catch up."

"No, we need to deal with this.”

"I hear you've gone and gotten yourself a Kelvic", Everard went on remorselessly. "That's some exciting news! When are you going to bring it around to visit? What was the name... Alvin? Alistair?"

"Allister", she intoned stiffly. Not him, she pleaded in the privacy of her mind, leave my bonded out of this.

“Ah, that’s right. Are we going to be getting some happy news soon?" Everard leaned forward, eyes hungry and trained on every twitch in her composure. "Got some, ah... pups in the kennel, as they say?" he coughed to cover up a sudden case of giggles.

She pushed the mixed dough into her mouth and turned her focus inward, away from the hissing cat, Everard's malicious little smile and the lingering betrayal in Jomi's eyes. She swallowed thickly, feeling the sliminess of it slither unpleasantly down her throat. From deep in her core she pulled at her soul, willing it to infuse and transform the dough into something new. As soon as a portion of her soul broke off from the rest to inhabit the dough, it started to die. A coolness invaded her belly, and she knew she had successfully created with her living body the dead shroud that the ghosts were made of.

She gave a hard, hacking cough, and the off white mist, neither gas or liquid, fell from her lips to coil languidly in the bowl. She pushed it to Everard.

"Imbued the beads, please. Jomi, lets see if we can get that cat down. Carefully."

[Jomi]

"Jomi! STOP!"

Jomi froze in place, half of his dematerialized mist wrapped around the puffed up tail of the yowling cat as it hung off the expensive velvet drapes. His frustration faulted and died at the sound of his masters broken, raspy voice, but he made no move to remove himself from the cats tail. Instead choosing to keep a tentative hold of his prey while hovering directly underneath the spitting devil.

He continued to quietly observe as the two Cravens hotly debated how best to deal with their family obligation. Watching as Everard quickly devolved to thinly veiled insults and cutting word bothered the Kelvic Ghost in ways he didn’t understand. The master servant duo had never held any affection for each other, they had simply come together for their mutual benefit and would part once one party was of no use for the other. Or at least thats what Jomi continued to tell himself.

"You're so quick to get into line. I'm not the only one who thinks perfect little Maddy gets off on being told what to do.” Everard snapped, his haughty tone settling over the ghost like a wet, musty blanket. The older Craven turned as if to gage Jomi’s reaction “Or is she more of a 'giver', eh, ghost? Does she get hot bossing you around?"

Jomi hovered silently, to cowardly to rebuke the spiritist. But Madeira seemed to be taking it in stride, instead choosing to focus on the basket of supplies that was hastily delivered by one of the mansions many servants. But her movements were stiff and strained, and Jomi had a feeling that it wasn’t the sickness that caused it.

But Everard continued to poke and prod at the cracks in Madeira’s composure, pulling Allister into his cutting remarks. Jomi found his mists vibrating with suppressed anger. A bond between a Kelvic and their master was sacred, and for Everard to ask such loaded questions was to stomp past every boundary and flaunt the trespass.

Luckily Madeira saved him from the dark thoughts that edged their way into the ghost fractured mind. Instead insisting that he help corral the cat.

Jomi took a moment to rematerialize, he pulled his mists back into himself and shaped them into his likeness. The mist surrounding the cat condensed into a closed fist as Jomi worked to sculpt his spectral body into the young dark haired man he once was.

“Alright,” Jomi addressed Madeira as his mists settled, his voice uncharacteristically hard. “You move that basket under the cat and I’ll pull it in. Just get ready to place the lid over it once he’s in, we’ll only get one shot.”

Jomi gave Madeira a chime to work the basket underneath them before he began to work his mists into his hands. The dense mists inside his hands vibrated rapidly as he focused on the energy stored inside them. His grip on the cats tail tightened earning him another round of spitting howls from the ginger cat. But It didn’t move from its position on the drapes, claws creating long tears as the cats heavy body pulled down on the fabrics; the beast was tiring. Jomi reached his spare hand up over the cat tentatively then, easing his spectral digits until they hovered directly above the cat. And in one swift movement brought his hand down with a punishing force on the cats face while his other hand pulled down on the cats tail painfuly, using their combined weight to pull the cat off the thick fabrics and down into the waiting basket.

[Madeira Dusk]

Nodding along to Jomi's plan, Madeira grabbed the lidded wicker crate and moved it under the yowling cat. Then she watched, lid in hand, as her ghost pulled the cat down. The sound of tearing fabric made her shiver. Gods, they were going to catch Hai for destroying the drawing room. Suddenly Jomi grabbed the cat from the front, and the beast was ripped away from the curtains. With perfect aim on the ghost’s part, it hit the bottom of the basket with a muffled whump. Madeira slammed the lid over top before the spitting dervish even realized what had happened.

"Good work!" she huffed, relieved. Making sure to keep her body weight over the crate, she cinched the belt back in place. Finally the cat was contained. Yet they were still no closer to exorcizing it.

Behind them Everard was giving the ghost a standing ovation, the sound laced heavily with mockery.

"Yes, good work Jomi."

Madeira turned back to him, composed and ready to ask if he was done with the beads. But she saw that the beads were still curled in the basket, but the knife was missing and the soulmist was gone. Mouth suddenly dry, she looked Everard in the face. He was smiling that famous, careless smile. But a Spiritist could see the lingering trace of soulmist in the panes of his cheeks. He was Lying, and she could make a guess who he was impersonating.

"Everard..."

"Hush, Maddy, I'm trying to prove a point. Lets see if he can spot the difference, eh?"

He turned to Jomi, his chin up and his back straight, his hips cocked to suggest a limp. He screwed his face up to look painfully contrite and spoke in a high, quavering voice.

“That’s a good boy, Jomi. Good little pet, doing as you’re told. Why don’t you come here for some soulmist. Then maybe later you can watch me and Allister work out my dominance fantasy. You’d like that, won’t you? Is that what your bondmate did to you? That’s why you stick with me, isn’t it. Your old owner bit the dust and now you like watching Allister and I reliving what you can't."

Something deep in Madeira’s gut was growing tight, wound around and around like a guitar string. It vibrated through her bones, her muscles, and every inch of her soul. She hated him. Oh gods, she hated him. How dare he rip into Jomi’s grief, how dare he belittle Allister, how dare he mock her. Her knuckles pushed white through the back of her hands as she wrung her cane between her fingers.

"Well I for one am glad you're finally removing that stick from up your ass, Maddy.” He chuckled as he turned to her, amused to see her wide-eyed and bloodless. “And this whole time, who knew the key to the heart of our beloved little prude was beastiality-“

CRACK

Everard went down hard, clutching his jaw. Madeira stood over him with her sheathed cane in her hands, winding up for another swing.

"You do not-" She was breathing hard through her nose, her eyes burning with apoplectic anger. "You do not speak to me like that. You do not speak to what's mine like that. You vile- You evil-"

Instead of getting louder, her anger had turned her voice soft. It vibrated through the cavernous room, as quiet as her speaking voice, yet it seemed to reach ever corner.

"I know what this is!" she hissed, revelation pulling at the corners of her lips. "Oh my poor Everard. I'm climbing this ladder and you're barely hanging on. You were favoured. You had everything. Now the dust count is running high and Madara is wondering if you're even worth it anymore. The heads know it. They see it. You're a liability to this family. And here comes that meek little ward, the startup, daughter of the failure, and she's better than you. She's disciplined and trustworthy, everything you're lacking. You're scared I'll replace you, is that it? I know what this is!" she laughed, and the sound was high and cutting. "Everard Varlet-Craven, is jealous!"

Everard was on his feet in an instant. He wrenched the cane out of her hand with one hand and flung it across the room. His other found her throat. White lights exploded behind her eyes and she was pushed against the wall.

Tears squeezed out of her eyes as she choked, her fingernails scrapping uselessly at the back of his hand. He was leaning in, all traces of carelessness burned away to reveal a snarling rage underneath. He pointed the knife casually at the ghost, a threat laid across the glint of soulmist in it’s curved edge.

[Jomi]

Jomi watched distractedly as Madeira wrestled with the wicker box. His mist flickered with a nervous energy as she folded herself over the rough material in order to secure the belt holding it closed. Out of the corner of his eye Jomi kept tabs on Everard, the energy in the small stuffy room was toxic and the ghost was ready to bolt at the first sign of danger from the hostile favoured Spiritist. Behind his Mistress, Everard sat dutifully in front of the wooden bowl, he palmed a generous helping of the mist she had created for him and reached for the string of jade beads, pulling them into his lap. But instead of rubbing it onto the beads he locked eyes with Jomi, a malevolent grin creeping across his face as the spiritist smoothed the pale mist over himself.

And like a toddler that lacks object permanence Jomi started in horror as he watched Everard blink out of existence and a duplicate Madeira took his place.

"That's a good boy Jomi."

The ghosts already weak and fragile mind succumbed easily to the Spiritist magic. Tearing itself apart to justify the existence of two Madeira's.

"Everard..."

"Hush, Maddy, I'm trying to prove a point. Lets see if he can spot the difference, eh?"

Confused and scared Jomi twisted around in a panic between them both. Eyes wide and movements choppy and stuttered as his fractured mind, unable to make the decision to fight or flee instead kept him rooted to the spot.

"That’s why you stick with me, isn’t it. Your old owner bit the dust and now you like watching Allister and I reliving what you can't."

The ghost crumpled to the floor and clutched his head, howling in agony. The small, rational part of his mind that hadn't been eaten away by his ghostly quasi-existence knew that wasn't Madeira saying those awful things about Edith. But he struggled to hold onto that thought, his mind wanted to believe the Lie.

"No. You’re wrong. That's not real. YOU’RE NOT REAL."

A sudden crack pierced the air, and as Everard fell, so did his Lie. And Madeira, the real Madeira, stood over him clutching her cane in a white knuckled fist.

Jomi hovered on the floor, eyes screwed shut and mists undulating and twisting as if wracked with great heaving sobs. Everard had managed to pull each of his darkest thoughts that he couldn’t even admit to himself and display them to the world. His seething contempt of Allister and Madeira and the bond they shared, and the possibility that Edith was already dead, that he was too late and his bonded had faced her death alone.

Madeira tore into the Spiritist as he lay flattened on the floor, laying his intention and motivations bare with harsh, cutting words as Jomi struggled to recover from the shock. Her voice becoming high and mocking as a realization dawned on her.

"Everard Varlet-Craven, is jealous!“

Everard rushed Madeira, throwing her into the wall and holding her neck with crushing force. Jomi reflexively rushed forward as his Mistress was pinned, but hesitated as the knife was levelled at him. The pearlescent sheen shone evilly in the dusty light, daring him to interfere. But there was no room in his heart left for fear or self preservation, all that was left was a white hot burning rage. He had attacked his mind and the memory of his bonded and was now holding hostage the only one that still treated him like a person. Jomi wanted, with all his being, to watch Everard suffer.

The ghost dropped to the floor, out of range on the imbued knife and rapidly drew all his lingering soulmist into his palms. Jomi’s form seemed to vibrate with energy as he formed a solid barrier in his hands, turning his hurt and rage into a physical force as he threw his hand into the hollow of Everards knee with all his might.

The leg buckled, and as the Spiritists dropped Madeira in order to brace himself Jomi used the last of his energy to grab a hold of his hair and pull Everard backwards and head first into the floor.

"Madeira, RUN!"