“Oh my! Did I catch you at a bad time, my dear brother?” Countess Fernigan hid her sly smile behind a fan, but Baltimore knew it was there. His sister was like a cunning fox, always scheming. 

“What do you want, Selene?” he asked warily. He could never be sure if she was using him, but when she did, it was always with disastrous consequences. 

“I simply wish to speak with my little brother, whom I completely adore,” she replied mischievously, “why are you always so suspicious of me? It hurts.” 

“I wouldn't be suspicious if you weren't so inscrutable,” he countered. 

Selene sighed. “Samuel, my dear brother, do you even know what that word means?” 

“Of course I do! I wouldn't have used it otherwise.” 

Selene waited patiently, one eyebrow raised quizzically. “So?” 

“What?” 

“What does it mean, brother?” 

“You want me to explain?” 

“I believe that was my question. Unless you'd like to contest that matter as well?” 

“No need, dear sister. I trust you on that. Would you care for some wine?” He flagged down a servant without waiting for her answer and requested a bottle, then sat down to wait. Selene joined him, contemplating her brother carefully. 

“Did you know?” she said, “you're quite an enigmatic character.” 

“What does that mean?” 

“Think of it as being inscrutable,” Selene replied equivocally. 

“Ah. I know what that means.” 

“Oh, do you now? I should like to hear your definition, if you would be so kind.” 

“Of course, my dear sister. I'm always willing to enlighten feeble minds such as yours. But first, wine.” He stopped another waiter and requested a bottle of wine, seemingly oblivious to the fact that the first had yet to arrive. 

Selene smiled thinly. “Sammy, if anyone here is truly feeble-minded, it would be you.” 

Lord Baltimore cocked his head. “And why is that?” he asked, feigning ignorance. 

“That was the second time you requested a bottle of wine so you could avoid answering my question.” 

“What question was that? It appears that I am indeed feeble-minded.” 

Selene was about to reply, but a squeaky, lovable voice interrupted her. 

“Aunty Selene!” Angelina squealed, jumping into her arms. 

Countess Fernigan set the girl in her lap, smiling fondly at her. “Do you think your daddy knows the definition of inscrutable?” 

“Of course he does! Daddy knows everything!” 

Selene looked at him triumphantly. “Well? You know everything. What does it mean?” 

Samuel gulped. He should have just admitted his ignorance to begin with, but he'd dug himself too far in to jump out now. “Well,” he said hesitantly, “it means… the quality of being… er… enig… enigmatic?” 

Angelina sipped the tea she'd brought over. “Are you being serious right now, daddy? Even I can do better than that.” 

The Baron raised his eyebrows heavenward. Angelina had another sip of tea. 

“What does it mean, darling?” Selene prompted. 

Angelina took a deep breath. “If something is inscrutable, it means that it is unable to be scruted.” She placed her teacup down with a slight clack, giving the statement an air of finality. The table was struck with a stunned silence. Samuel stared at her, speechless. 

Selene hugged her tight. “You're adorable,” she whispered. 

“I know,” Angelina replied, “there’s nobody as cute as me.” 

Selene chuckled and set her down on the ground. She stood up gracefully and beckoned to her brother. “Come along, Samuel,” she said, "I need to have a word with you.” 

Lord Baltimore furrowed his brow. “What's wrong with this table?” he asked. 

“Too many ears,” Selene replied, and she stared directly at Angelina. 

“What are you looking at me for? I won't tell!” 

The two of them laughed. Angelina pouted again as they headed for a side door. 

“Why am I always left out?” she wondered dejectedly. She took a furtive look around, and when no one was watching, ducked through the same door her father and aunt had just traversed. She caught sight of them just as they were entering a sitting room, then walked up cautiously to put her ear to the door. 

“You know how it looks, Samuel,” Selene was saying, “adopting Shana was a foolish move.” 

“I did what I felt was right,” he stated. It was obvious he would not be swayed. 

Selene frowned. “And in the process, you've endangered the lives of nearly your entire family. Do you know what they'll do once they find you? I can assure you, it will only be pretty if you have a weird skin peeling fetish.” 

“You don't have to tell me that,” Samuel said bitterly, “I know very well what they're capable of.” 

Selene's expression softened, and she took her brother's hand in hers. “Elinor’s death was not your fault,” she whispered, “she chose her own fate. She chose Angelina.” 

“I know,” the Baron replied, “but that doesn't make it right. They took her from me, and I still haven't paid them back.” He clenched his fist, digging his nails into his palm. 

Selene released his hand and leveled her gaze. “Patience, dear brother. We're not strong enough yet. We must avoid Tacitus’ gaze at all costs, or else…” She let the sentence hang. Both of them understood the gravity of the situation. A stifling stillness hung over the room as they reflected on their choices. 

Angelina, who had leaned closer to hear the whispered conversation, lost her balance and tipped forward, pushing open the unlatched door with a loud squeak. She fell to her hands and knees, staring at the floor in a daze. 

“Momma's… dead?” she said incredulously, “but daddy, you said… she was on a… trip.” Her tears spilled over, and she turned her furious eyes towards her father. “You told me she'd be back!” she accused, “you promised she would! Bring momma back! Won't you do it daddy? For me? If she's on a trip, all you have to do is go find her…” 

The sorrow and frustration in his daughter's pleading gaze tore Samuel in two. He didn't want her to know. Not like this. His daughter's anger filled him with anxiety. He wanted to go to her. Hold her in his arms. But he felt that he hadn't the right. When faced with his wife's death, he'd been too afraid to be honest, as if by telling the truth, he'd be admitting to the horrible reality he had buried all this time. He'd failed as a husband, and he'd failed as a father, and he was certain he'd do it again. 

“I'm sorry,” was all he could say to his daughter's terrified expression. Then he coughed violently into his handkerchief. 

Selene ushered her niece out the door, but not before she caught sight of something that harrowed her more than anything she just heard. 

There was blood on her father's handkerchief. 

*** 

Othello scowled darkly at the young noble ladies surrounding him. Angelina had disappeared, and he was going to find her when a flock of mangy vultures descended, ruining what had so far been quite a delightful evening. As the unwelcome pests pressed closer, he cast a small blur spell and dashed away from the crowd to hide in the empty corridors beyond. He leaned against the wall and sighed in relief, taking in the silence like a breath of fresh air. 

“Enjoying yourself?” 

Othello jumped at the distinctly feminine voice that spoke from the shadows of the dimly lit hallway. 

“What do you want?” he said irritably. 

“You're always so cold, Othello. Why don't you warm up a little? I know exactly how to ease the burdens of your troubled mind.” A shadow reached out and began massaging his shoulders. “If you'd just let me in, I could–” 

Othello brushed it away, stepping into the light from the open doorway. “I've told you before. I don't need or want your help. Stay away from me!” 

The voice switched to that of a man’s. “Oh, but that's no fun! You know just as well as I that our futures are inseparably connected. You couldn't get rid of us even if you wanted to.” The last sentence was spoken by both voices, with whispers of mana weaved into the sounds of each word. The tattoo on Othello's chest burned as his contract spirit expressed their discontent. The large door to the ballroom slammed shut with a hollow boom. He clutched at his heart, breathing heavily in the darkness. 

“Why do you do this to me?” he panted. Sweat dripped down his neck, soaking the gold dress shirt he was wearing beneath his white, double breasted waistcoat. 

“Do you know what it's like to feel abandoned?” the first voice asked. Two faint stars of light circled him, whispering in the silence. “Hiding in the shadows for months on end, not knowing when you'll see the light of day again.” 

Now the second voice took over, and Othello cringed as he felt his breath on his ear. “I want you to feel the pain of neglect, the terror of dismissal, and the despair of worthlessness. I want you to feel what I felt all these years, neglected by the one who should have accepted me.” 

“Remember this feeling,” the first voice said, “this is my every moment. This is what we feel every hour of every day.” 

The stars faded, disappearing into the contract symbol hidden beneath his shirt. Abruptly, the door flung open, and Othello staggered into the blinding lights, back to the clutches of the waiting vultures. 

“I wonder what that was about?” Everit mused to himself.