Play dead

NINETY-SEVEN

5:45 AM

Swann stepped into the great room. On its tattered carpeting walked the specters of the past, the many treacheries of his childhood. On the worn, sturdy furniture reposed his victims:

Elise Beausoleil with her literary ramblings; Wilton Cole and Marchand Decasse and their thieving schemes. So many had come here, prying, threatening to expose him and the many riddles of Faer- wood, so many had never left.

Swann heard conversation in the main hallway. It was not some phantom of the past. It was happening now. Before he could enter, a figure turned the corner. It was Odette, wearing her scarlet gown. She was as young and beautiful as ever.

"Are you ready?" Swann asked.

"I am."

"Tonight it is the Fire Grotto. Do you remember it?"

"Of course."

Swann offered his hand. Odette took it, and together they headed for the stairs.