Chapter Twenty

"Lenore"

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Outside the inn, Minerva pressed her palm against the empty air, then cracks of light formed in mid-air, outlining the shape of a door. The entrance to Minerva's prison.

She gestured for me to go first, so I awkwardly stepped past her and through the door-shaped outline. The atmosphere warped and distorted around me and I found myself passing through an invisible barrier into a room with glowing white walls on all sides. The edges had a very faint shadow, which was the only way to tell that this wasn't an infinitely expanding white void and was, in fact, a small cube-shaped room. 

In the corner of that cube sat Lenore, huddled small so she looked like a ball with a curtain of gray hair draped around it. She was in an almost catatonic-like state. Her dark eyes were vacant, emotionless. She barely even registered my presence when I entered.

She looked small and powerless. I couldn't help but feel bad for her.

I stepped back through the doorway, out of the pure white prison cell, and back to Minerva.

She was pacing back and forth, trying to wrap her mind around the turn of events.

"Who is she?" She demanded.

"Her name is Lenore Malin. She's my, uh, neighbor." 

Minerva shot me an odd look when I said this. I continued, "The backstory is she visits towns suffering from witches and demons and sells protective charms to the residents. But I think we found another reason she might be interested in these towns. "

After a long pause, Minvera finally asked, "How did you know it was her?"

"The smell on her hands," I said, avoiding her gaze.

Minerva looked confused.

"In the stable, while you were hiding, you thought she smelled like cleaning solution. It was the smell of ammonia. I noticed it the first time I met her. I think it's something to do with one of her protective charms."

Minerva nodded, understanding. But then she stopped and faced me, "I never mentioned the smell. How did you know what happened in the stable?"

I exhaled. There was no hiding it anymore. I had to come clean. Instead of giving a long-winded explanation, I simply brought up Minerva's log entries. 

[Minerva's Log: The servant took off on the horse to find a physician.]

[Minerva's Log: I finally let go of the wooden beam.  My hands are killing me...]

At first, she was confused. "What am I looking at?"

"It's an enhanced form of my Scribe trait. It lets me form partnerships with anyone I shake hands with ... I was using it to track you."

Minerva looked through the entries detailing her entire day, from the herbalist, to the manor's stable, all the way back to here...

[Minerva's Log: I stared in shock at the entries. Everything I've done today was listed here.]

[Minerva's Log: He's been tracking me this entire time.]

I stood there, the weight of my actions pressing down against me. I knew that if I had the option to do it over again, I would do it the same way. But still... This moment didn't feel good.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't know if I could trust you—"

Minerva slapped me across the face. My cheek stung from the hit.

"Never again," she said, her voice dripping with acid. 

I nodded, noting that she didn't argue with my decision. There was a part of her that knew she would have done the same thing.

"That's how you knew about lavender scent marker," Minerva said.

I nodded. "You marked me after Ulrich's execution. When I saw you visited the herbalist and bought the tincture, I put two and two together."

Minerva laughed in disbelief. "You really played me... I guess you were right. She's the only one that would have been targeted by the scent marker. My prison cell wouldn't have worked on her otherwise."

She gestured to the invisible prison, inside of which held Lenore. "What do we do about her?"

I shrugged. I had no clue.

"Do you think she's the witch?" Minerva asked.

Again, I wasn't sure.

"Why don't we just kill her?" Minerva said casually. 

A chill ran through my body. "What the hell are you talking about? She's just a kid."

"She tried to kill the one man tasked with trying to find the witch. That doesn't ring suspicious to you?"

"Earlier today, you suspected Hawkthorne of being a witch, and now you're saying it's her. So which one is it?"

Minerva grabbed me by the collar. My hand shot towards Quill and I held it up to her neck.

"She's not a real person," Minerva said. "Nobody here is. They're all just memories. You know that, right?"

"And we're all already dead. Living on borrowed time in Hell."

We stood there, glaring at each other, neither willing to give in. 

Finally, Minerva let go and I drew Quill away from her.

Minerva pressed her hand against the invisible prison, creating the doorway. She shot me an icy glare that I knew to mean, "Get in. Now."

Inside the prison, Lenore was still huddled into a ball, her knees clutched to her chest and her back angled towards us.

Minerva stepped towards her and spoke in a soft voice, "We're not going to hurt you." But as Minvera got close, Lenore instantly shuffled closer into the corner. Her head was buried in her knees, but I could tell her breathing had gotten faster.

I whispered to Minerva, "You're scaring her."

"Well, what do you want to do then? We have to talk to her to find out why she did it." Her voice got lower, "We have to explore the possibility that she might be the..." Minerva mouthed the word "witch".

Dante wasn't convinced. It was possible that Lenore was the witch and had attempted to kill the High Inquisitor in order to eliminate the threat. But then why would she go through this entire charade? Why not just target him with a demon? The Beast and Bloody Mary would be more than enough to kill the Inquisitor.

Minerva took a seat in the center of the prison, a safe distance away from Lenore. She held out her hands to indicate she wasn't a threat. But of course, in this prison, Minerva had all the leverage.

"Why did you attack the High Inquisitor?" Minerva asked. 

Lenore said nothing.

"Who's Ian Ford? Why did the Inquisitor leave that name behind?"

Lenore's head slightly turned. She reacted to the name, but it wasn't one of recognition. She seemed confused.

Minerva's nostrils flared. She was getting frustrated by Lenore's silence.

"Here, let me try," I said to her. 

Minerva begrudgingly rose to her feet as I took a seat before Lenore.

I didn't want to speak first. If I did, she would interpret it as us forcing an answer out of her. She would clam up and go silent. I had to make her lower her guard, even if it was just a little bit.

So I waited. A long time passed. There was no clock so none of us was sure exactly how long, but it felt like eternity. I heard Minerva shuffling her feet behind me, uncomfortable with the vacuous silence.

Finally, I saw Lenore glancing at me, out of the corner of her eyes. She cleared her throat to break the silence. 

That was the opening I needed.

 "Is that discount still available, by the way?" I asked. "You know, for the doll. You said you could make me one." 

The question surprised her. It wasn't what she was expecting. She didn't respond, but I could tell she was curious. Engaged. 

I turned to Minerva, "She makes these dolls. They're great for personal protection. They're made from hemp but they have a lot of detail—"

"Linen," Lenore said in a flat emotionless voice.

Minerva and I both went quiet, surprised by Lenore's voice.

Lenore went on, "They're not made from hemp. They're made with linen. It's nicer."

"Oh, right... And the fabric for the clothes?"

"Felt." 

"Right, of course... They're pretty good, anyways. I'm surprised how much detail you're able to get on them." I turned to Minerva, "She did one of the innkeeper and his son, and I think there was one more that I recognized, but couldn't quite place..." 

I turned back to Lenore, "Do you know which one I'm talking about?"

Lenore's eyes glanced in my direction. "What gave it away?"

"It was the little black hat. Only our High Inquisitor could pull something like that off."

Lenore let loose a small, almost imperceptible grin. I wanted to pull out the big guns, but I had to hold back. I just had to peel back the layers a little bit more. 

"Do you like reading?" I asked. 

Again, the non-sequitur put her off guard. She simply nodded her head.

"When did you learn? It's not a common skill to have."

Lenore stared at me. Her large, gloomy eyes trying to pierce through my facade and see my true intentions.

"My mother," she said. 

"You're lucky. She taught you when you were young. It gets harder once you're older. Letters all blend together, e's look c's, and r's look like n's. You could even mix up an I and an L, and Ian Ford might actually be... Lanford."

Lenore's eyes widened when she heard this. I was right.

"Lanford... That's a town isn't it? I might be remembering wrong, but I think Hawkthorne passed through there at one point. Do you know anything about—"

I stopped when I noticed Lenore was trembling. She clutched her knees so tightly that her fingernails were digging into her skin, drawing blood.

"Lenore?" I called out. But she was unresponsive. The word had triggered something in her. I reached over to set my hand on her shoulder, ground her somehow. But as I held my hand out, Lenore's hand shot out and grabbed me by the wrist.

[You have formed a partnership with Lenore Malin! Her experiences will enter into your log for the next 24 hours.]

Lenore's hand held onto my wrist with an iron grip. Her entire body had gone rigid, her mind elsewhere. Her thoughts came in as entries, but unlike any I had seen before. The entries popped up endlessly, obscuring my entire field of view. They formed a collage, a tapestry of memories that consumed me until everything went dark.