A Seed of Evil

Havermouth, Present Time

Embroidering living human flesh was somewhat harder than Meguitte had anticipated, but the challenge was very absorbing. Midway through the first flower, she realized that she wanted the knots required every stitch to cluster at the center, so she snipped and undid what she had started, much to Bianca’s distress.

Meguitte was tempted to stem the witch’s complaints by explaining that it was becoming obvious that the stitches were not causing enough pain to override the wards, and her choices had become doing greater, potentially maiming, harm, or being patient and hoping that a lot of small agony would eventually become enough.

The second attempt turned out better, and by the time she had completed the third flower and created a stem to connect the three, she was quite proud of her efforts. The blood kept getting in the way of her design, however, and she paused a moment to suck her fingertips.

“I do believe I understand Mercy’s aversion to magical blood,” she noted. “There is a subtle tang. My palette does not object, but if I were somewhat of a connoisseur, or perhaps devouring meat, I can appreciate that it might be objectionable. It does also explain how Mercy can find vampires unpalatable, but werewolves acceptable.”

Bianca sobbed wetly.

“Please stop,” June pleaded from where she was bound. “This is… inhumane.”

"The rumours are true."

Meguitte looked up. Abigail stood in the doorway her eyes fixed on the table where her brother's head oozed slowly into the tray Connery had set it on. The shewolf stepped in, her path across the room slow and weaving although her eyes remained on the head as if she were both irresistibly drawn and repulsed by the sight.

Meguitte inserted the needle into Bianca’s skin and stood, wiping her hands off on her skirts.

Connery had gone on some Connery errand, leaving her briefly alone in the torture chamber - except for Bianca, June, the two policewomen, and the cage of survivors, but none of them would be able to aid her or want to, if the shewolf attacked. Meguitte mentally reviewed her spell options were the shewolf to become hostile. She did not want to kill Abigail, but she was also wise enough to know she might not have the choice.

"I appreciate that this may seem disrespectful," Meguitte started and then paused. What did she care for the feelings of the werewolves who had attacked Harry and Jules? "It is disrespectful," she amended without apology. "And it is intended to be. But that disrespect is not aimed at you, and not aimed at werewolves - just those who thought to harm my loved ones in seeking to return this man to power."

“I understand that to lead, sometimes messages must be sent, and I can see and appreciate that you are a very thorough messenger for Talen Gawaine, Aislen Carter, and the Triquetra,” Abigail reached the table with her brother’s head and reached out gingerly, stroking her fingers through his hair. “He died in agony,” she said softly. “I can tell from the colour of his skin, the way the lines are set into it, and,” she breathed in. “The linger of scent.”

“I did not kill him.” Meguitte said. “But I would have.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Abigail murmured. “He was the sweetest little boy. He used to rescue creatures that he found around the estate. His bedroom was always a recovery ward for the strangest of patients – baby mice that he found in a nest somewhere and was feeding by hand, a blind kitten, insects and…” She broke off. “He was always manipulative. He had our mother wrapped around his finger. He always got his own way, in the end.”

“I’m sorry,” Meguitte recognized grief, and this grief was far older than the death of August.

“We make our men into strong leaders, but in the process shape them into monsters. We take the soft-hearted little boy and crush him into manhood. It is really not surprising how they turn out,” Abigail turned away from the head. “When it’s the pattern we, ourselves, insist upon.”

“He deserved to die,” she met Meguitte’s eyes unwaveringly. “He deserved to die in pain. I know what he did. His role in this war, and the choices that he made since its start were all to further his goals, and not to help his people. He was every bit the leader that our predecessors thought would be strong, but greed and ambition are not strengths, and compassion and mercy are not weaknesses. My brother died when our culture crushed out the light of that gentle-hearted boy. This is just the shell of him. However, I would appreciate it…”

Meguitte picked up the eskie that Tony had brought the head in. “Of course. He is all yours. I will ask Tony to bring you the body.”

“Thank you,” Abigail carefully picked up the head and placed it gently within the container. “I want you to know,” her jaw was set as she looked back at Meguitte. “That Havermouth is back under control. The rebellion against the leadership established during the retaking of this town has been suppressed. No werewolf will act against the good of us all, again. And Aislen and the Triquetra are what we need in order to win this war. I have not always been a supporter of Aislen Carter, in fact, for a long time I believed that she was a cancerous growth that had attached itself to our Triquetra, but I see now that the Moon Goddess had a plan all along and that I was wrong to question her wisdom.”

“Thank you,” Meguitte inclined her head.

“I have spoken with the other werewolf leaders, for what it is worth. We are not a species that respects female authority, but I am as highly ranked as a woman can be. I believe Aislen Carter will find them more receptive to listen and follow her directives. There is another, from Havermouth, that has been claiming to be sent by the Goddess, an Emissary. I wonder if you have the pretender in this room,” she looked from Bianca to the women chained to the wall. “You may do us a favor if you found out, so that we may set that rumor to rest.”

It was permission and approval of her torture activities. Meguitte nodded. “I will.”

“What is it that you seek to discover from them?” Abigail wondered. “Havermouth is back under control, the rebellion has been squashed, and yet, you would not be continuing your torture… Or maybe you would,” she amended, raising her eyebrows. “I did not consider revenge.”

“This witch,” Meguitte gestured to Bianca. “Did not do this of her own accord. She was set to this task by her coven’s priestess, Stella. Both of them have been Aislen’s friends for the past five years, and more recently have fought at her side. I want to know if I am correct, and this has always been a masquerade, and why. What it is that they seek to achieve through both the pretence and the betrayal. I need to understand what their plans are so that I can decide whether to interfere.”

“Torture has always been an effective means of extracting information, but that information has not always been truthful,” Abigail commented with a hint of caution. “Pain will make people confess to all sorts of things if confessing means an end to their suffering.”

“She’s telling the truth,” Bianca whispered through wet, trembling lips. She was pale and shocky after the hours of pain. “I’d confess to anything at the moment.”

“Unlike many torturers,” Meguitte replied, resuming her seat. “I can tell truth from lie. I am using pain to overwhelm the wards that Stella has placed on Bianca. I will know when the wards are permeable, and I will know if she speaks the truth because I will use a little magic to ensure it.”

“Hmm,” Abigail frowned down her nose at Meguitte thoughtfully. “I find it interesting… Nevermind,” she decided and started to turn away.

“What?” Meguitte asked, intrigued. “What do you find interesting?”

“Nothing. Just…” Abigail hesitated. “I am aware that you had a mate bond with the Van Helsing’s torturer Sparrow.”

Meguitte’s tongue went dry, and she swallowed thickly. “I’m not entirely sure it was a…” She broke off because it would have been a lie to deny the bond. “What of it?”

“I just… found it an odd thing,” Abigail said reluctantly. “That he was the Van Helsings’ torturer, and…” she gestured to the room. “It appears that you are ours. That is all.” She left before Meguitte could frame a response, escaping Meguitte’s reaction.

Meguitte sat, stunned, and looked around the room with horror, her hand drifting down to touch the swell of her stomach. She had always been a healer. Before becoming a vampire, after it. She had tended to births, and healed hurts. And yet, there she was… harming.

It was as if Logan had sowed a seed of evil within her as he had sowed the baby withing her womb.

She was shaking as she rose to her feet. “I… I need to… Eat,” she said to the prisoners in the room. “Stay right here.”

“Sure,” Bianca drawled. “Like we can go anywhere.”

Outside the room, Meguitte braced a hand against the wall and sucked in air to lungs that felt starved of it. The phone that Tony had brought her began to ring, and she reached into the pocket of her skirt and placed it to her ear. “Hello?”

“Meguitte,” it was Tony. “I just got home, and I have the most… incredible news. Jules Edison is alive.”