Calponia stood in front of her door, tapping her feet as an internal debate raged. She wanted, no needed, to get out of her room. She really didn't want to encounter Mack just yet, not until her opposing argument was ironclad. For that she needed a weapon. Maybe curry, she made a mean curry. On occasion, her curry persuaded reluctant employers not to fire her, at least until the next catastrophe invariably struck. It was the closest to divine intervention she could manage. Did the Edgewise have a back stairs to the kitchen?

It occured to Calponia that if she voiced the desire, the tavern might reshape itself to comply and with the aftershocks of the dream still crackling through her mind, she found that unsettling. She didn't want the Edgewise to change for her.

Right, she needed to woman up. Squaring her shoulders, she opened her door and marched to the top of the stairs. It was too quiet, but she could hear muttering voices.

Abandoning the high road, she sank to her knees and crab crawled down the first few steps, peering over the rail at the sparsely populated common room. Prospero, his sons, and Miranda were huddled in a whispering mass with Cesario near the fireplace, though they left the Munch's vacant seat open. The sight pinched her heart, a visual reminder bigger things were happening. No sign of Mack; he assured he wouldn't leave without seeing her settled first. To her great disappointment, she didn't see Eugene either.

The depth of that disappointment was another thing she was not ready to examine too closely, not that she could totally keep herself from dwelling on it. After spending a solid hour wigging out over the dream, she'd distracted herself by recalling their brief encounter in the cave. What did she really know about the guy? And she used the term 'guy' loosely here. He wasn't someone she'd exactly ask to go grab a coffee sometime. He was a patron of the Edgewise; she was technically an employee. He was a vampire from Sanguinhiem, that awful, awful bucket of trauma. How did he even survive there? Not like he came for her while she was trapped there. Why was she still salty about that? She doubted he was more than a lowly soldier there, and after seeing how his world operated, she totally understood why he didn't show up when she was strapped to that table. At least, she thought she did.

And yeah, his timing was amazing on Arden, but not like he just showed up for her. He did say he would join them eventually.

It was likely she was reading too much into their interactions. More than likely, since her experience with men and people in general was limited. The bête noire saw to that, like the blind date whose car caught fire while they were at a drive in theater. Or an old coworker that took a chance and asked her out. He even held the door open for her as they left work that night, only for the automatic handicap button to mysteriously malfunction. The door slammed shut on his right hand, and broke all his fingers.

After that, she decided dating wasn't in the cards. Best not to dwell on what ifs. Eugene might be hardier than her previous dates but the thought of the bête noire lashing out at him made her feel sick inside. Plus, there was that whole vampire issue.

She'd never pegged herself for a #TeamEdward kind of gal, though Old Sparkles would probably piss himself if he ever set foot on Sanguinhiem. The thought made her smile as she attempted to sneak through the common room behind the bar. Her footsteps were silent, padding across the floorboards without a single creak.

She forgot the bête noire wasn't dragging on her every step. The group didn't notice her progress, engrossed in whatever they were discussing as she backed her way into the kitchen, easing the door shut behind her with no one the wiser. She sighed, leaning back against the door as she turned around.

Eugene stared back at her from across the room, sitting on a low stool with his elbows resting on his knees. He held a plain coffee mug in his hands, with a blood stained bendy straw, completely at odds with his austere black long coat and boots. That was an expression of resigned mortification on his face as he set the mug on the counter with an audible click.

"Bugger." He ran his hands through his hair, leaving an unruly, delightful mess.

A high pitched giggle escaped her. Calponia clapped her hands over her mouth. "I'm sorry," she said, muffled by her fingers.

Eugene visibly swallowed with a flash of shame and rose to his feet. "Pardon, I will leave you to--"

"Don't leave," blurted Calponia. Her cheeks grew warm. She spoke with much more vehemence than she intended. The vampire froze, tilting his head like a great big cat, quietly puzzled. She fidgeted, tugging on a loose curl. His gaze followed the movement with rapt attention. "Please, don't leave," she whispered.

He blinked at her, holding his body high and tight as he settled back on the stool. "Okay." There was an awkward beat of silence as neither of them moved or spoke.

"Um, I was going to cook something. Do you, uh... eat?" Calponia faltered, briefly closing her eyes as inner Cal called her nine shades of stupid.

"Yes, I do consume actual food," said Eugene, sounding faintly amused. She released a breath. As a pro at putting her foot in her mouth, she'd take bemusement over insulted any day. The vampire glanced around with a small frown creasing his brow. "Are you certain I won't be in the way."

"You'd never be in the way," she said, not meeting his gaze as she peered around the kitchen. It was as wonderfully stocked as she remembered. "Just need to find a big enough pot."

"That wasn't there a moment ago," said Eugene, staring at the massive cast iron pot now occupying the stove top.

"Funny that," said Calponia with a shaky laugh. "Right." She set about gathering ingredients, trying not to notice that if she mumbled about anything she couldn't find, it soon appeared nearby. It was just the accommodating magic of the Edgewise, that's all. That was all.

"What are you making?"

She turned to find the vampire leaning toward the counter, watching her actions with obvious curiosity. "Vegetable curry," she said.

His nose wrinkled. "No meat?"

A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "You want to help?"

He looked at her. There was calculation in his gaze, warring with uncertainty. "Yes."

"You can peel the potatoes." Calponia nabbed an apron, tying it around her waist before she laid out a second cutting board and peeler. Her hands got busy, washing and peeling carrots. Eugene gingerly picked up a potato, watching her from the corner of his eye as she watched him.

"Why were you in here by yourself?" She didn't know why she asked. Normally, cooking was a quiet experience for her, a moment of zen, but the question sort of slipped out.

"I was drinking," he said with a deadpan expression.

She frowned. "But you drink blood whiskey with the others all the time."

It was small, but she noticed him flinch, peeling the potatoes with jerky vigorous movements. "I'm afraid our recent encounter on Arden has left the others a bit...uncomfortable around me."

"Uncomfortable--egads you're slaughtering them!"

"What!" He jerked up, wide eyed. Calponia grabbed the shredded remains of the potato out of his hands.

"Dear god, you're supposed to peel the skin, not take off half the potato," she held up the carved lump as evidence. "Who taught you to peel vegetables, mister?"

A muscle ticked in his jaw. "I confess, vegetable peeling is not part of my skill set."

"No worries, it's an easy skill to learn," she said, and tossed the ruined potato over her shoulder into the sink. Grabbing a fresh one, she plunked it in his palm and wrapped her fingers around the backs of his hands, guiding his movements. "See, gentle like. You want to shave it off, save as much of the actual potato as you can." She looked up at him, finally realizing how close they were. With her hands around his, his face was inches away. He wore a deer- caught- in- headlights expression. His pupils were blown and a faint flicker of red rimmed his irises. That should have alarmed her. It didn't. A lock of hair hung in his face. Without thinking she reached up and brushed it off his forehead. His nostrils flared.

"You shouldn't," he whispered.

"Why not?" Inner Cal quietly banged her head against a metaphysical wall. He looked away from her.

"I'm not a good person," he said.

"What?" She wasn't ready for that gut punch of an answer. His fingers tightened around the peeler, causing the metal to whine.

"My people, they're not good. They're blood thirsty. Violent. Taking a life means nothing." His gaze slid to her, the brilliant crimson bleeding over his irises like a dark promise. "I killed people. I'll do it again. I'm not--"

Calponia slapped her hands over his mouth. "You stop that," she snapped. Bless him, but he didn't move a muscle, didn't even blink. She sighed, dropping her hands to his shoulders. "Why do you come to the Edgewise?"

"It's....peaceful." There was so much unsaid in his words.

"You're not evil," she assured him. He stopped breathing for a moment.

"How can you be so sure?"

"Real villain you are, hiding in the kitchen with your blood mug, while terribly peeling potatoes," said Calponia, and because the bête noire was still slumbering, she allowed herself one selfish gesture, tracing a finger along the side of his face. His eyes slid shut at her touch. "I'm not good either."

His eyes snapped open. "Bullshit."

She smiled. "You're a murderous vampire. My curse hurts people. It probably killed my parents," she said softly. "How can you be so sure I'm good?"

Eugene reached up to take her hand in a careful grip. "Real villain you are, hiding in the kitchen making curry while coaching a vampire how to properly peel potatoes."

She grinned. "We're a terrible pair of villains."

The pain was still there but she could feel the tension bleeding out of him. "Promise me something."

He looked up, eyes mostly brown again but for a faint red rim around his pupil. She wondered if that was new or if this was the first time she was close enough to notice.

"Next time you're feeling particularly evil, come find me. And I'll remind you."

His gaze was intent on her face. "Will you do the same?"

Her heart might have actually fluttered. "We'll remind each other."

"Then I promise."

The moment grew charged. It might have been something worth exploring further if not for the unpleasant tingling sensation rising through her limbs. Calponia took a breath and pulled away. He must have read the panic in her eyes, taking a respectful step back.

Eugene resumed peeling. "So do you cook often?"

She was grateful for the change of subject. "Actually, yes. I used to cook all the time when I live with my parents."

"I was curious how you managed with your condition." He talked about the bête noire like it was an inconvenience, like poor eyesight.

"It's never interfered. Maybe it couldn't be bothered to foil morning breakfast."

He chuckled. "What made you decide on curry today?"

She pulled a face. "Call it bribery."

He raised his brows. "It's that good? Even without meat?"

"It's that good."

Eugene set down the peeler and potato to unbutton his long coat. He tossed it on the stool and proceeded to roll the sleeves of his form fitted black shirt up over his forearms. Calponia watched every movement, slightly mesmerized.

"This I've got to try. Let's get to work, shall we?"

"Yes, let's"

If Eugene noticed her voice was a little higher than usual, he didn't mention it, but he couldn't quite hide the grin.

Cesario knew this conversation was going nowhere.

"This is my decision," Miranda snapped, for what must have been the 8th time.

"Your decision is stupid." Ariel winced as he sat up, rubbing his ribs. "You can serve the resistance without putting your neck in a noose."

"Cesario takes that risk every day," said Miranda.

"Cesario is not my bloody sister," snarled Ariel.

She closed her eyes. Once, her brother had argued much the same but in the end, he'd conceded to her. It only cost him his life.

All because that charming bard had the gall to put their story on the page. A puffed up, greatly altered version of events, but it was enough to start a rumor. Rumors could be deadly in Arden, and when they came for him, Sebastian refused to give her up. She buried 'Lady Viola' in the grave with her brother, and took up a different moniker to spite that bastard Shakespeare. But, she knew Ariel's argument came from a position of love, annoying as she found him. She didn't want Miranda to experience the same agony.

"Miranda," she said, laying a hand on the woman's shoulder, "Please bear in mind the families of the resistance are also punished if one of us is caught. And if the Inquisitors remain, that risk is far greater ." And the punishment would be far worse.

Prospero sighed, unfolding his arms. "It pains me to see my daughter in such perilous circumstances, but she is right Ariel. This is her decision, her fight, the fight for all Arden's women, and it is our fight as well." He looked up at Cesario as he spoke. "Your brother believed that too, Dark Lady."

It took a moment for the revelation to hit the brothers. Caliban nodded in respectable acknowledgement. Ariel gasped and pointed at her. "She's the Dark Lady?! 'Leader of the resistance' Dark Lady? The one running everything?"

Miranda scowled at him. "Honestly, Ari, you're dumb as a post."

Caliban lifted his head. "What's that smell?"

"The young lady slipped into the kitchen some time ago."

They all jumped at the voice. The alchemist Yosepf leaned against the back wall, half obscured in shadow and still wearing that creepy bird-like mask. Despite his daunting appearance, he easily faded into the background. She'd forgotten he was there entirely.

"Wait, wasn't Eugene in there too?" Alarm spiked through her system. Cesario bolted from her seat and burst through the kitchen door in record time. After the carnage she saw on Arden, she didn't know what to think of her long time drinking companion. A cluster of unwelcome scenarios played through her mind before stuttering to a halt as she beheld Cal and Eugene bent over a simmering pot of fragrant stew. Cal handed him a spoon.

"Taste."

To Cesario's great shock he obeyed. The vampire's knees buckled slightly, forcing him to grip the counter. "Holy mother," he murmured, his expression one of familiar conversion.

Cesario's eyes locked on the pot. "Did you cook something, my lady?" She asked with deceptive politeness. Her mouth watered.

Calponia turned to her, feigning surprise. "Oh Cesario, would you like some?"

"Yes, yes we would," answered Caliban's deep bass. Cesario glanced over her shoulder to find the lot of them hovering behind her.

Calponia nudged the vampire. "Well, don't just stand there, dish some out." She beamed at them. "He helped peel the potatoes."

The group watched him ladle the heavenly mixture into a line of already set out bowls. Cesario was still stunned when Eugene offered her the first. She looked up at him, reading the silent apology in his expression as she took it from him. "Thank you," she said, nodding to his unspoken question.

His gaze flickered with relief. "You're welcome."