Letha first reaction was to run to the door, closing it as quietly and quickly as she could. Hadrian had paled, but rose onto shaky legs, casting Mickey a worried look.

“You can’t be here,” he said.

Mickey shrugged, “Parents love me, don’t worry about it.” He sounded nonchalant, but his eyes licked over Letha’s injuries in concern.

The girl in question turned back, “Hadrian’s right. Our Father will kill you if he finds you here.”

Hadrian’s eyes widened further, and his lips parted.

“He wouldn’t…” he mumbled.

Mickey didn’t hear him, “I don’t know how to climb down from your window anyway. I went out Hadrian’s last time.”

“Fine then,” Letha snapped, stepping across the room and hauling him to his feet by the arm, “we can accommodate that.”

Hadrian followed meekly as his sister hauled Mickey to the door, swinging it wide. She stopped it with her own foot quickly though, wedging her face in gap.

“Uncle Libido,” she said weakly.

Hadrian freaked out, jumping high in the air, and tore Mickey’s arm from Letha’s grip. He pushed the stunned boy across the room.

“Libido?” Mickey mouthed.

“Letha,” their uncle said outside, inhaling his own putrid smell like it was perfume, “Is your brother in there with you?”

She nodded tersely, “yes. He is.”

Hadrian flung open her cupboard, shoving the coat hangers aside and forcing Mickey in.

Lust pursed his lips, his eyes brightening, “And you are being promiscuous!”

Letha’s draw fell, and inside the room, both boys looked aghast, “Excuse me? No!”

“It is not your fault,” Uncle Libido sighed, “I told my brother he needed to bring in some … companionship for the pair of you, but he resisted!”

“I am not,” Letha yelled, her cheeks red, “promiscu-ating with my brother!”

Catching his niece’s chin, Lust smiled suggestively. His thumb ran across her cheek, hitting her bruises, but Letha refused to flinch.

“Don’t lie to me; I can smell the sexual tension,” he breathed deeply, his nostrils flaring, “And it smells good.”

In answer to Mickey’s raised eyebrow, Hadrian gestured between Mickey and his sister, and then formed a cross and gestured between him and his sister; you and she, not me and she. He seemed happy with that, grinning as Hadrian shut the door.

“My brother wants you downstairs,” Lust sighed, releasing Letha’s face, “Now.”

“Just give us a minute,” she replied, ducking back inside her room and slamming the door. Flicking the lock, she shuddered, shaking her hands and grimacing.

Hadrian looked offended, “Hey now!”

Putting her hands between them, his sister made a noise, “I’m not even going there, Hadrian!” she looked around, “Where’d you put the boy?”

Mickey’s muffled voice resonated as Hadrian pointed to the cupboard, “I have a name, you know!”

“Cattle stations have names too,” Letha muttered before turning on her brother, “Why is he in my cupboard.”

Unsure how to reply, Hadrian opened his mouth and took a breath. He then shut his mouth and swallowed, looking at the ceiling.

“I’m not sure,” he finally said, licking his lips, “It was a reflex.”

“Well, let’s get him out of my cupboard and out of your window.”

As they stepped closer to the door, Mickey muttered, “It worries me how calmly you say that…”

Wrapping her hand around the door knob, Letha turned and tugged, but to no avail. Using both hands, she tried again. Hadrian lumbered closer, pressing one hand to the wood.

“Mickey,” he called, “Is there anything stuck under the door on your side? Anything jamming it?”

“I can’t see the nose on my face,” Mickey groaned, as he head-butted something, “Do you have a light in here?”

Hadrian and Letha exchanged a glance, “Yes, because my clothes are scared of the dark and require a night light.”

“I was just asking!”

Turning to her brother, Letha punched him in the shoulder, “You locked him in my cupboard!”

“I didn’t mean to,” Hadrian cried, gripping his arm, “And you’re the reason he’s here, so technically it’s your fault!”

“My fault? My fault? He’s the one who came here! And you’re the one who encouraged him!”

“How did I do that? I was just trying to be polite. Do you know that word, Letha? Probably not, since it’s the foundation of simple etiquette!”

Inside the cupboard, Mickey groaned. Thumping his head against what he thought was the door, assuming he hadn’t gotten turned around, he put his hands to his face.

“Guys!” they shut up, turning accusatory stares to his direction, “I hate to interrupt, and truly I do because I’m not a huge fan of small spaces, but don’t you have somewhere to be – say, downstairs?”

“Damn,” Letha spat, massaging her chin as she met her brother’s eyes, “ok, well….we both have to go down, but one of us will be back as quickly as possible to get you out. And by out, I mean out of the window. If the whole wall has to go with you, it’s a sacrifice that has to be made.”

She couldn’t see him poke out his tongue.

Storming over to the door, Letha jiggled the handle. She glared at it.

“I hate doors!”

Hadrian stepped up beside her, hiding a smile, “You…um… you locked that one before, so it’s actually…” he trailed off when she turned to scowl at him. Leaning forward, he unlocked it, and Letha turned the handle slowly.

“All better,” Hadrian mumbled as his sister stamped out. He looked over his shoulder at the cupboard, “We’ll be back soon, Mickey.”

Inside, the boy crossed his fingers.

Brother and sister made their way down the staircase in silence, both with their eyes fixed on the kitchen arch. As Letha passed the entryway, she looked at the coatrack; seven trench coats hanging in a row.

“And that would make it,” Letha muttered, “A full house.”

They stepped around the corner, standing in the archway. The men in the kitchen didn’t look up. Their uncles and father picked up plates from the table, as their servants doled food out, brushing passed Hadrian and Letha to sit at the dining table. Three men remained in the kitchen.

Scipio and Deacon were Wrath’s. He had owned them since the early nineteen hundreds, and had tortured them into submission. Scipio was practically lifeless, carrying out the tasks demanded of him without conscious or conscience, but Deacon had thrived. Masochistic and sadistic, he smiled at the pair now, flashing rotten yellow teeth. Both were pale and scrawny, with drawn cheeks and stringy hair.

Scipio passed between Letha and the wall, carrying wine for the table. Deacon followed slowly with glasses, shouldering Letha into her brother. That, for him, was loyalty to their father.

The final man to draw their eye was tall and solid, his eyes fixed on the roof. No doubt he knew they were watching, but he refused to look at them. He was dressed in simple black pants and a t-shirt, with his hands clasped in front of him. In the fleshy part of his hand between his thumb and forefinger, there was a series of pale marks, whiter than his skin, that formed a semi-circle; teeth marks.

Cringing, Letha’s hand rose to her incisors, “How’s your hand, Archer.”

The man lowered his head, looking at her through black eyes. Even after all these years, seeing his eyes, iris-less, was startling.

“It’s fine,” he swallowed, the rest of him completely still, “I’m…”

Letha cut him off with a wave of her hand, “There is no room for apologies, Archer. You were following orders, I was fighting for my brother’s life. Those are both situations where biting and restraining are permitted.” She raised a narrow brow, “Not biting on your part, though.”

With a smile more closely related to a grimace, he nodded.

“Hello Archer,” Hadrian said quietly, breaking the silence.

“Hadrian,” the man’s nod turned to one of greeting. His head jerked to look over their heads, his giant pupils noticing something they didn’t. Or, Letha thought, perhaps it was just because he was facing the right way. She cocked her head so she could see over her shoulder as her father yelled.

“Children! Get in here.”

Exchanging a look, Letha and Hadrian filed in. The dining table was made of old oak, with seven seats stationed around it. When it had been procured, Letha was sure her father had never bought anything in his life, it had come with eight sturdy chairs, but Wrath had carved the extra into less fun things long ago. He sat at the head of the table now, his elbows resting either side of his plate, and his eyes on his children. The others, excepting Gluttony who was shovelling food from the mountain on his plate to his mouth, were watching them too.

“Hello,” Wrath said politely, bowing his head ever so slightly, “how were your respective days?”

Letha wanted to laugh hysterically, but bit it down, staring off over his head. She refused to speak.

“My day was fine, Father,” Hadrian stuttered, glancing between his sister and Wrath. Archer strode past them, meeting Hadrian’s eye quickly, and took his station behind Gluttony’s seat. This drew Wrath’s attention to his brother.

“Edacitas!” he snapped, “Stop! I’m trying to converse with my children.”

Gluttony mumbled something, but the food in his mouth made it unintelligible.

“Imbecile,” their father muttered. He looked at his daughter, “And your day, Letha?”

Ignoring his question, Letha met his eye, “What do you want?”

“I want to know about your day, prodigal child!”

“You quoting the bible,” Letha muttered, “is just wrong.”

Wrath shrugged. He picked up his fork, skewering a piece of chicken, and held it up before him. It was barely cooked, and pink juice dribbled down the metal and then his hand. There was a grumble from the left side of the table.

“What’s wrong now, Invidebit?” Wrath snapped, glaring at the man.

As a maggot wormed its way under his eye, Envy pouted, “You’ve never asked me how my day was.”

Across from him, tale flicking about his head, Uncle Fastus laughed, throwing back his head.

“What’s so funny, reptile?”

Pride’s tale and claws were imbedded in the edge of the table within seconds, his eyes narrowed at his brother, “Why would anyone want to know about your day? You don’t do anything!”

As angry shouts erupted, Wrath sank back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest as he chewed on the chicken. Gluttony was still eating, but the rest were squabbling, screaming insults at each other.

Letha leant across to her brother, “And they’re  not petty.”

Hadrian snickered under his breath.

After a few moments, Wrath rose. The brothers feel silent instantly, not wanting to anger the volatile creature, but he glared at them anyway.

“Now that you’re done,” he thundered, “Perhaps you’ll let me speak.”

No one dared interrupt, and he continued, looking at his children but not lowering his voice, “In a few minutes, the sun will have set entirely, and the ghosts that you have repeatedly failed to get rid of will start wailing and throwing things. I want them gone!”

Letha stepped closer to her brother, making sure she was between him and their father, “We can’t help you.”

“Not you perhaps,” Wrath yelled, raising a finger to point behind her, “But my son can. And he will.”

“Why don’t you just move house again,” Letha stalled, pressing a hand behind her to force her brother backward, “It always takes them a few months to track you down.”

“I’m tired of running from spirits when I have a son who can see them.”

“He can only see them when he’s dead!” Letha cried, taking a slow step away.

Wrath walked around the table, drawing closer to them ,”So?”

Letha bristled, but kept moving, “And I can see them too.”

“But not all of these ones, and not all the time,” their father paused, as if puzzled, “Why do you think that is.”

“It takes a lot of energy to maintain their somewhat-corporeal form, and it requires great determination on the part of the ghost,” Letha rambled. Hadrian was biting his lip, frozen in place at the mention of his death, and she raised an arm to force him to back away. “They can rarely maintain it for a long period of time, and some, it would seem, can never reach that state. Hadrian can see them because he travels to their plane, while I just see them in ours. When not dead, Hadrian is the same as any of you; blind.”

As soon as she said it, Wrath’s face darkened, his eyes on fire. Letha winced, regretting angering him further when he was about to kill her brother.

“Letha,” Hadrian cautioned, grabbing her upper arm. His fingertips dug into her flesh.

“Blind, hey?” Wrath grunted, stepping forward again, “     let’s see what we can do about making you blind, Daughter.”

Letha had heard enough, “Run, Hadrian!” she called, and they turned and fled into the hallway. Feet pounding on the tiles, they careened towards the front door. Something locked around Letha’s ankle and she tripped, landing heavily on her knees. Sucking in a breath, she rolled onto her back, glaring up at her uncle. Fastus grabbed her upper arm, his tail releasing her, and pinned her against his chest with an arm under her throat.

“If you didn’t have that damn tail…” Letha whispered, struggling to breath. She brought her elbow down hard into his ribs, and the pressure released enough for her to yell, “Go!” to her frightened brother.

He had paused at the door, looking back in distress, but as his father strode forward, he made up his mind and reached for the door handle.

At that point, the doorbell rang.

It took Letha a few moments to realise what it was. Hadrian had withdrawn his hand from the doorknob in shock, staring with wide eyes, and her father took the opportunity to wrap his hands around his neck. He pinned his son to the wall a good foot off the ground, kneeing him in the stomach for good measure.

Wrestling her neck out of Pride’s hold, Letha called loudly, “Daddy!”

Her father turned slowly to look over his shoulder, glaring at his daughter.

“There’s someone at the door,” Letha yelled, panting.

Wrath lowered his son slowly to the ground, releasing his throat. Hadrian keeled over, dragging in choked breaths. Turning to his daughter, Wrath ground his teeth.

“I’d better answer it then,” he muttered. He hailed Archer, getting him to take hold of Letha instead of Fastus. His tail whipping in annoyance, Pride shrugged.

“What do I do now?”

“Go back to your meal,” Wrath snarled, “I’ll handle this.”

Archer had Letha in a headlock, firm but gentle, and Wrath glared at him.

“A natural position,” he snarled as he hauled Hadrian to his feet, tucking him under his arm. It could have looked fatherly, but it didn’t.

As Archer rearranged so that he was standing behind Letha, his elbows resting on her shoulders, Letha tried to move. With all his weight pushing down on her, it took all her effort not to buckle at the knees. The doorbell rang again.

“Damned impatient, aren’t they?” Her father muttered, before plastering a smile on his face and pulling the door open.

“Hello,” he said by way of polite greeting.

Slicking his black hair back, Azrael turned and startled, as if he hadn’t expected the door to open, “Hello…” He noticed Letha and startled again, “Hello, Letha!”

“Hi,” Letha gasped, trying not to crumple. Her father shot Archer a warning look and the pressure released enough for her to breath easily. On her sigh of relief, Letha said, “It’s nice to see you again Azrael.”

Her father flinched at the name, “Azrael? Angel of death?”

With a small frown, the man nodded, “That’s right. Letha said the exact same thing when we first met.”

“Well,” Wrath said slowly, “like daughter like father.”

Biting her lip, Letha nodded, “This is my father, by the way Azrael; Ira Antitheus. Father, this is Azrael White. And this is my brother Hadrian and my … cousin, Archer.” She hoped Mickey’s foster father hadn’t noticed the pause.

Azrael offered his hand, “It’s a pleasure.”

As they made contact, Letha could have sworn she saw a flash of light, could have sworn she felt heat radiate, but their hands fell to their sides and no one said anything. Letha squirmed under Archer’s arms.

“What can I do for you, Mr White?” her father asked tersely. Hadrian was still under his arm, breathing more easily now, but his throat had grown red.

Azrael smiled at him, not picking up on the tension, “two things. Firstly, I believe my son is here.”

Letha went cold inside. She could feel Hadrian’s startled stare boring into her cheek, but she refused to meet his eye, smiling instead at Azrael. Her father looked at her too, his eyes an ocean of rage.

“Zach?” Letha asked with a laugh, “We haven’t seen him since before school.” Letha’s smile was bleak but it was the best she could do. Her jaw was clenched so tightly that she was lucky to be getting words out at all.

“No,” Azrael pushed his sunglasses further back into his hair as he spoke, “Not Zach. Mickey. The boy you went to breakfast with this morning.”

Unable to breath, Letha managed a sound, “Ahhh, Michael? Oh, we just ran into him at the café this morning. He was chatting up Sarah Cordell. Why ever would you think he was here?”

“Urnest suggested it actually,” Azrael pondered, scratching his chin, “And he’s rarely wrong about such things.”

Wrath interjected, “Well, your son is not here, regardless of what Urnest said. What was your second point?”

Azrael swallowed heavily, “I need a lawyer, heard you were the finest in town.”

“There aren’t any others to choose from,” Letha muttered under her breath.

A genuine smile appeared on Wrath’s face; a genuinely cruel and vindictive smile, “Of course you have, Mr White. My brothers and I are very good at our jobs.”

As if he were watching, Letha could feel Mickey’s presence above them, and it was starting to annoy her. She met Hadrian’s eyes as her father spoke, and smiled brightly when he finished.

“Why doesn’t Hadrian run and get you an Antitheus brochure.”

Wrath’s grip tightened on his son, but before he could respond, Azrael agreed, “I’d really appreciate it.”

Grudgingly loosening his grip, Wrath allowed Hadrian to duck out from under his arm. The boy looked at his sister and nodded, darting away. Letha turned back to Azrael, feeling her father’s eyes, once oceans of anger, turn into rapids.

“He won’t be a moment.”

For several awkward moments, they stood in silence, awaiting Hadrian’s return. Part of Letha hoped he didn’t, that he climbed out the window with Mickey and she never saw either of them again. But, eventually, her brother clattered into the main hall, a piece of paper in his hand. He grinned at Letha, and offered the sheet to Azrael.

“Here you go,” he smiled.

Relieved, Letha let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.

“And now,” Wrath snapped, raising his head, “call if you’re interested in our services.”

And with that, her father slammed the door.

There was a few seconds of silence where no one moved before havoc broke out. Wrath grabbed his son’s arm as Letha lunged out from under Archer’s. She staggered, but latched onto her Father, slamming one hand into his stomach and digging the nails of her other into his skin. He gasped, but threw her loose, pushing Hadrian against the wall. The boy’s head knocked the plaster with a crack, and he collapsed in a heap. Wrath ignored him, giving his daughter a kick in the chest.

“Archer,” he ordered, giving Letha a murderous look, and turned to his son.

Hands grabbed her upper arms, lifting Letha to her feet, and then holding her back as Wrath approached her brother. Outside, Azrael had turned, slightly stunned, from the door, and was making his way back to the car. Shaking himself, he began to hum lightly, in a happy way that made Letha want to be sick.

Just before he was too far away to hear, he added lyrics to the tune, “…cinders and snow, where did they go…”

With a head jerk that nearly sent her flying out of Archer’s arms, Letha’s eyes flew to the door.

“What?” she mouthed, suddenly out of breath again.

With renewed vigour, Letha kicked out at her father.  She caught him on the back of the head as he wrapped hands around Hadrian’s throat. Using Archer’s weight against him, she caught him around the back of the neck, lifting her legs and kicking again. Her father had turned his head to yell at her, and received her right foot to his face. He stumbled back, dropping her brother, and had to lean a hand against the wall to stabilise himself.

Letha threw her head back into Archer’s face, breaking free as his grip relaxed the slightest bit. She grabbed her brother’s hand, pulling him along the tiles until he scrambled to his feet. When her finger’s locked around the doorknob and she reefed it open, Letha hauled them into darkness. Stumbling along the path, Hadrian collapsed after a few steps, and Letha stood in front of him protectively.

Wrath appeared in the doorway, his eyes glowing with hatred, “Get back here!”

Adamant, Letha shook her head. In the corner of her eye, she could see Azrael’s car driving down the road. She pulled her brother to his feet again, looping his arm across her shoulder and keeping her mouth close to his ear.

“We’ve got to follow that car.”

Wrath didn’t move as they stumbled off, preferring to call sinisterly, “You truly are the prodigal children. You will always return to me; you have nowhere else to go.”