There were inevitable consequences to growing up in possession of the bête noire.

When Calponia was eight, she befriended a new girl in the neighborhood, playing in the woods by her home. Their play ended when the girl stepped on a ground wasp nest, bad enough in itself, without her extreme allergy to stings. It was as Calponia watched the ambulance pull away, her new and brief friendship firmly snuffed as the girl fought for life, that her mother put a hand on her shoulder.

"It's not your fault sweet, but be careful how close you get."

She didn't understand the warning, not then, not when she was still young and hopeful. It took her more bad accidents, more mishaps, and suspiciously awful luck before she realized something was wrong. Calponia grew to understand she was unsafe to be around.

Between that stigma and her unfortunate habit of short circuiting technology in her proximity, Calponia had led a lonely existence.

The Edgewise had a knack for finding the lost souls. It could sense loneliness pouring off her, like stale beer, a thick foul aura that slowly ate her up. She needed the touch of other souls, to soak up the solitude.

She needed friends.

Calponia Anders had already begun to see the patrons as such. At the sight of Cesario covered in blood on the tavern floor, her reaction was visceral, her stomach bottoming out as she let out a choked cry.

She rushed to the group clustered around the figures on the floor, kneeling at Cesario's side as her hands fluttered, unwilling to touch them, afraid to make matters worse. Cesario rolled toward her, wincing in obvious pain as she grabbed Calponia's hand.

"It's not mine," said the woman, her face far too pale and pinched to lend truth to her statement. "Mostly," she ratified. She bit her lip as she lifted her shirt to reveal the wound in her side. "Bloody inquisitors."

Calponia itched to do something, anything, but she extricated herself from Cesario's grasp, easing away from the group she rashly approached. Cesario frowned at her as she pulled away, but Mack distracted her from the issue.

"Prospero?" The tavern master eased the old man onto his side, studying the wounds on his back. "What happened?"

Cesario forced herself to sit up. "They came out of nowhere, flooded into the realm like a tide of locusts."

The old man on the floor gave a rattling cough that made Calponia winced. Blood in the lungs. "Inquisitors," he rasped, seizing Mack by the wrists. "The Veil is gone, shattered. They took them, my sons, my sons are in their torturous grip."

Calponia could see the muscles of Mack's jaw clench at his words. Was this another incursion? Except this seemed much worse than a handful of werewolves left on a vampire planet. This sounded like a full scale invasion. What exactly were the inquisitors?

"Munch!"

The Munch squeezed himself into the group, much shorter standing that Calponia first thought. He made a clicking sound as he walked from the strings of teeth draped around his neck. Calponia decided she would rather not visit his realm. Ever.

"Wha'sit?" He mumbled.

"Fetch Lady Agatha. We are going to need her expertise." Once the little man nodded Mack rounded on the pirates. "You lot, carry Prospero to the second guest room upstairs. You ready for me?" He yelled the last at the ceiling. The Edgewise rafters groaned in response. Calponia could hear things shifting above them, her eyes glued to the ceiling when Mack's shadow fell over her.

"There's a first aid kit under the bar. Nothing fancy but enough supplies to clean up our little transvestite." He started to walk away when he caught the look on his apprentice's face. "You look like I just asked you to sew her guts back in. What's wrong?"

"I...I can't," whispered Calponia, hugging her knees, feeling like the biggest coward that ever lived. A fear she'd hadn't felt in a long time squat like a cold toad in her belly, wriggly, shuddersome, and generally unpleasant. Mack was silent for moment, studying her as the pirates shuffled and swore behind him, hoisting the old man up the stairs.

"The bête noire?"

Calponia nodded, unable to look him in the eye until Mack gently pinched her chin. "The Edgewise will not let that happen."

"It won't let my curse hurt her?"

Mack sucked on his teeth, rubbing the back of his neck.. "Well, it won't let her die, if that is what you're worried about. Look, she's bleeding all over my floor. Slap a bandage on it and get her a glass whiskey and mop the floor. I'll be upstairs for a while."

In his own gruff way, he was giving her an easy out. She nodded, offering him a weak smile and salute. "Sure thing, boss."

He got to his feet, heading for the stair.

"This one's a bad one, isn't it?"

He paused at her words, not looking at her as he gazed upward. "Quite." Mack stomped up the stairs, leaving the two woman alone.

"You're looking a bit fragile, my lady," said Cesario, using one of the nearby barstools to pull herself up with a grunt. A small gout of blood trickled down her side as she limped for the bar.

The whole situation was ridiculous, but after her little adventure in Sanguinheim, Calponia had a fresh reminder of how very dangerous being in her proximity could be. She frowned at her hands, the memory of the vampires impaled on branches and swallowed up by the ground replaying in her mind.

She'd been so hopeful only moments ago, of finding an actual home at the Edgewise and while Mack assured her, the tavern wouldn't allow her curse to inflict mortal damage on someone, she found herself scared to move during Cesario's long limp to the bar. The woman in drag snagged a bottle of whiskey, pulling the cork with her teeth before taking a long deep drink.

"Calponia," she said, holding tight to the bottleneck as she eased down on the bar stool. "I am going to need your help after all."

The words drew her attention to Cesario's hand, firmly clamped on her thigh to stem the spreading stain. "Oh, bother," she muttered, forcing herself to her feet. She watched her steps as she approached, fetching the first aid kit from where Mack told her it would be.

She stared blankly at the rolls of gauze, suture thread and needles, antiseptics, and other, odder things she didn't recognize. This was basic? Calponia shook her head, placing suture implements and gauze on the stool next to Cesario. She had a feeling the wound was a deep one.

The scissors shook in her hand as she gripped the wet velvet covering the woman's leg. "Just get ready to duck if anything snaps," she said.

"What?" Cesario blinked rapidly at her, swaying slightly in her seat.

Calponia bit down hard on her lip and cut until she could peel the fabric away. The two of them stared down in silence at the wound for a moment. Cesario swore.

"Maybe I should get Mack," Calponia faintly remarked, a moment before the older woman splashed a healthy amount of whiskey on the wound.

She gripped the bar and grunted, her face bleached white but her voice was strong as she spoke through her teeth. "Don't you dare. Prospero needs all the help he can get to survive the night." Her eyes were pinched with pain as she caught Calponia's look. "If you are feeling squeamish my Lady, I may be able to sew myself--"

"You're swaying," Calponia snapped, far more angry with herself than she realized. She took a breath, her hands somewhat steady as she broke out the suture needle and thread. It only took her three attempts to thread the eye, succeeding when Cesario wrapped her hands around her wrists.

"What's wrong Calponia?"

Bleeding profusely and barely managing to keep her feet, Cesario still asked what was wrong. Calponia forced a smile on her face. "It's alright, I'm alright." She'd be damned if she let the béte noir step a toe out of line. Tucking her tongue against her teeth, she carefully began to stitch's her friend's wound.

Mack stared down at the limp figure of Prospero. Healing the multiple wounds would be....troublesome. He'd strained himself in his session with his young apprentice, he shouldn't have leeched off so much of the bête noire's noxious energy but the curse's human vessel could only contain so much before it started leaking through her pores. He didn't need the whole of the Edgewise's energies devoted to keeping it contained. That way lay disaster...

He caught the pirate captain's sleeve as he filed out of the room with his men. "Would you keep an eye on Calponia?"

One of Ravelock's sleek eyebrows rose, his expression pointed until Mack snarled.

"If you would oblige, Captain."

"But of course, old man," the bastard clapped him on the shoulder. "Need to send the rest off to ready the ship though, my scars tell me a storm's coming."

Mack couldn't argue with that feeling. The way events were unfolding it was only a matter of time before some other epic disaster befell another unsuspecting realm. Though it was probably safer for Ravelock's men on their ship than in the common room with a nervous Calponia. What he had to do next would keep the Edgewise slightly distracted. He'd rather not make a liar out of himself if the béte noir got antsy.

For a moment the captain looked pensive before he gave Mack a leer. "Whiskey on the house?"

"If you drink anything over two decades old I will burn off your eyebrows," said the tavern master.

The pirate answered with a grin and sauntered down the stairs while Mack dragged a chair to the wounded Prospero's bedside.

This was the other troublesome issue. Prospero was strong, his family was strong. How had they been overwhelmed like this? The Veil shattered? Unheard of. Inquisitors flooding the streets of fair Verona? He'd believe a zombie apocalypse first. Another world bleeding over to where it didn't belong...

He inhaled deep through his nose, taking Prospero's hand in his. Minutes passed in silence before a warm fizzing filled the air, the sharp sweetness that bubbled in the nostrils after uncorked champagne. The wetness evaporated from the old man's lungs as his breathing turned easy.

The old man's eyes fluttered open, his wrinkled features lined with the pain of his near brush with death.

Mack squeezed his hand. "What happened in Verona?"

"Never saw the bastard's face. Never saw him coming. He simply appeared. Traced symbols in the air and brought the Veil crashing down. The Inquisitors were waiting en masse. They knew it was coming down. Caliban held them off, but they were too many. They captured Ariel just outside London. I would have fallen if young Cesario hadn't found me." Prospero wheezed, coughing at the end of his speech. He took the water Mack offered him.

"Your daughter?" Mack posed the question in a quiet voice.

"Away on an errand, thank the bard," rasped the old magician.

Mack breathed a sigh of relief, grateful for small miracles. "Did this mystery figure give you anything? A reason? A snide comment?"

Prospero's grey eyes met Mack's. "It wasn't so much what he said as how he concealed himself, how he moved, how he left."

Mack felt tension settle in his shoulders. The rafters shivered overhead.

"His face was obscured by fog, a shroud of mist. He moved with his hands in the air, swiping, as if trying to catch something invisible to the eye. He was searching for something."

"And how did he leave?" Mack had a feeling he already knew the answer.

Prospero mirrored his expression of deep seated dread. 

"He drew a door."