Also, I wanted to point out that Bates name is pronounced /bæt/ [Bat] since he is French because I had one of my family pronounce it in front of me and he said "Baits".

The Chevalier Manor

"What brings you to visit us, uncle?" Jean asked, holding a glass of red wine in his hand, tracing the rim of the glass with a finger of his other hand. "Is it about Janelle's well-being?"

Julian was sat next to him on the blue leather couch that was found in the grand foyer of the manor. His hair was styled into a bun, as usual, but it seemed messier that time as if he was in a hurry styling his hair.

Julian was silent, letting his brother do the talking. He would rather just sit there and speak his opinion if the situation called for that but he was sure that most of his opinions were shared with his brother so that wasn't a problem. He enjoyed the taste of the wine, though, so he chose to stay with them rather than leave to his chamber. He would prefer drinking with someone rather than alone.

Jean and Julian were both dressed in simple yet exquisite dress shirts and black slacks. Keeping it simple for a visit from their uncle but also elegant and lavish for being the heirs—they considered Julian as an heir as well—of Frédéric.

Bates twirled his glass before gesturing at Jean with it. "Jean, you need to get married." He answered, going straight to the point. What he was wearing was similar to Jean and Julian's attire. A black dress shirt and a pair of black slacks. He was sat opposite to them, laying on the couch as if he owned the place. Well, he did live here before getting married to Agnès Moreau—Chevalier.

He wasn't the heir though, so he had to leave the manor.

Jean spluttered, his eyes widening. He looked at his uncle as if he grew a second head. "Why that all of sudden?" He asked incredulously.

"You need to continue the family line." Was Bates' simple answer, then he took a sip of the wine. "It tastes good, may I ask?"

Jean stayed silent, not understanding the question but he didn't have to think that much as Julian came to his aid. "1996," Julian answered, "Cabernet Sauvignon if you want to know as well."

Bates hummed, taking another sip. "As I was saying, you need to start early, Jean, and give the Chevalier family an heir."

"I am the heir of the family," Jean answered, still trying to wrap his mind around the idea. He put the glass of wine on the table in front of him as to not spill it on the ground.

"You know what I meant, Frédéric is old, might die any moment," Bates started but Julian interrupted.

"Father is forty-eight, how is that old exactly?"

Bates ignored him and continued. "Jean, you need to conceive an heir before actually becoming the lord of the family."

**

Janelle woke up in the evening, a bit after dinner time. She sat up, stretched her arms, then rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. She took a quick glance at the room, finding her clothes strewn across the ground and her closet door was opened. She frowned at that, she didn't remember rummaging through her clothes nor did she remember throwing her clothes on the ground like that. Either she was sleep-walking or someone had entered her room while she slept—and didn't bother to be discrete about it—both thoughts made her shiver. Or maybe it was the cold breeze that entered through the window that did that. That was stupid.

Her bladder, however, didn't let her press into the matter that much; a trip to the bathroom was inevitable at the moment. She jumped off her bed and went into the bathroom connected to her room. Minutes later, she emerged, feeling refreshed and ready to start—rather continue the day.

She thought about cleaning her room but then decided that one of the maids could do that. Something glistened on the floor next to the pile of clothes. Believing that it was one of her rings or something, she walked towards it. A sudden sharp pain shot through her left leg making her cry out. Her knee weakened shortly after resulting in her falling. She chanced a look at her leg and was horrified to see blood seeping from her left foot.

Janelle moaned weakly and used her hands to raise herself before falling again as something stung her hand sharply. She looked at it, eyes widening in fear when she saw a piece of broken glass embedded in her right hand, a thin line of blood trickling down her palm.

"Brothers..." She tried to shout, but it came out as a whimper. But someone must have heard it as the door to her room was opened and Tony entered with a frown on his face.

"Janelle? Are you..." The words died on his tongue. He ran to her side, "What happened here? The room is a mess."

Janelle shook her head weakly on the ground.

"I don't know," she muttered, trying to get up without using her hands. She knelt only for a few seconds before dropping back on the ground as a searing pain shot through her leg. She whimpered.

He surveyed the room quickly; his eyes set on the broken window. He walked over to it, careful not to touch anything. He stepped on something hard covered by clothes which roused his curiosity.

"Tony," Janelle called weakly from her spot on the ground. The cut on her feet wasn't that bad, but she felt frail, powerless...as if her energy bled away with the bleeding of the gashes.

Tony turned around quickly; she was bleeding and had to be taken care of immediately. He walked back and bent down to carry her bridal style.

"You weigh nothing!" Tony exclaimed playfully, trying to make her forget about the pain in her hand and foot.

Janelle forced a smile and said nothing. Once they were out of the room, Tony called for a maid. He didn't wait, though, and ran down the stairs; droplets of blood falling on the ground in his wake. He didn't think of them but thought of the rapidly paling girl in his arms. He blinked, the cuts weren't so deep as to make her look pale and sickly.

"Janelle, are you alright?" He asked, eyebrows creased in worry.

She stirred slightly in his arms, closing her eyes and groaning. "I hear voices..." she murmured.

Tony stopped dead in his tracks. "Spirits?"

"No," she answered, moving her head to look around herself. "I don't see them. There are a lot of voices."

"What are they saying?" He started moving again, heading towards the library. He had a bad idea and desperately wanted to prove himself wrong. He also could take care of her wounds, no need for maids now.

Janelle was silent for a while that Tony thought she went unconscious. He frowned and quickened his steps. They were almost there.

"Death." It was uttered softly. "Death," Janelle whispered again.

Tony was never that pleased with seeing the big doors of the library, and he was even more glad at seeing them open. He quickly got inside and placed Janelle gently on a nearby couch. A maid was looking through the bookshelves when she saw them.

"Goodness, what happened?" She exclaimed, hurrying towards them with a face full of concern.

"Nothing, just leave us alone, I am tending her wounds," he replied curtly. "And don't say anything to Jean and Julian!"

"Can I help—"

"— just get me a first aid kit," he said, not really wanting the kit; he just wanted the maid out.

The maid nodded quickly and ran out of the room.

Everything was blurry to Janelle's eyes. She could barely see Tony's face.

Death. Death is waiting. You cannot run away from death. Death is inevitable. Death is near.

Death.

He chose you. Death is powerful. Death is the truth.

Death.

The voices murmured together, it was a bit hard to decipher what they were saying.

Janelle cried out. Tony's face twisted in worry. "Does it hurt?"

She shook her head. Nothing hurt except for her injuries, but she could sense something weak pulling her. The feeling was unnervingly familiar to her.

"Death is near," she repeated what she heard. "They are talking about death."

Master's coming. Death is coming. Death is everywhere. Everyone dies.

"Who are 'they' exactly?" Tony asked, cutting a piece of his shirt to cover up her bleeding foot. The glass in her hand stopped the bleeding if only for a bit. He didn't know any healing spells, so he threw magic out of the window. He should learn some, he told himself.

"I don't know!" Janelle shouted then regretted it immediately, her head throbbed. "The voices, they are talking."

Someone's dying. Death has arrived.

"Who is dying?" Janelle shouted at the voices ignoring the discomfort of her head.

It is not your turn.

She stayed silent at that.

Death is gone.

"What—?"'

A shrill scream sounded throughout the whole manor, making both Tony and Janelle jump in surprise which was soon turned into fear.

"Death is gone," Janelle repeated quietly, earning herself a curious look from Tony. Her eyes widened in realisation as the room spun around her. "Someone died!"

Everything seemed vaguely repeated to her.

Before Tony got the chance to say something, the maid that left to get the first aid kit returned back. She was panting from her run, her eyes were wide as if she witnessed something traumatising. She trembled horribly.

Tony went over to the maid.

"What's wrong?"

She directed her gaze towards Tony before throwing herself at him and sobbing loudly on his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her in a comforting gesture.

"What's wrong?" He asked again.

"Darcelle...she's dead. Killed." Her sobbing got worse.

Janelle visibly winced."What?" The girl asked, her tone full of fear.

Tony remembered Janelle's cuts and let go of the maid with a quick 'sorry', taking the kit from her shaking hands. He walked over to Janelle and went down on his knees to tend her injured foot. It was then when Janelle remembered that she had been wearing her shoes before sleeping in the morning. And the clothes that she wore now were different than what she had worn.

Tony, cleaning the cut on Janelle's foot, addressed the crying maid: "Darcelle is killed?"

"Yes," she sniffed. "She was next to young Lady's room, laying on her face..." she hiccuped. "I thought...I thought she fainted so I turned her around, she was choked." The maid sobbed.

Janelle noticeably shivered, putting her good hand over the area of her heart in a desperate attempt to calm it down. Her breathing became shallow, forcing her to inhale large gulps of air and exhale them out in less than two seconds. She was hyperventilating.

"Crying won't bring her back, Melanie," Tony said softly, cleaning the cut on Janelle's foot with a small piece of iodine-dabbed cotton eliciting a hiss of pain from the girl. "What were you doing in Janelle's room?" He removed his gaze from the foot to shoot a wary glance at the maid.

Melanie hiccuped again before speaking. "I heard noises, it sounded like a fight," she breathed and wiped her tears with her good hand. "I went to see what was happening but I was too late!"

"No one's blaming you," Tony reassured somewhat quickly. He finished bandaging Janelle's foot and turned to her hand, finding the glass still embedded. He pulled it out, evoking a yowl of pain from Janelle. Blood immediately started oozing out from the vertical cut.

She closed her eyes, the cut stung sharply whenever Tony touched it. But her fear was stronger than the pain she was feeling. Had she somehow predicted somebody's death? No, she didn't predict Darcelle's death; she wouldn't be scared as much. The maid's death was unexpected. Then what was that? Hearing voices talking about death was unnerving and creepy. And who was talking? It was different than a mind-link. It was something eerie and peculiar yet so...intimate. Like, she had heard this—sensed that before but she didn't quite remember when or where.

Her tears streamed down her face when Tony applied more pressure on her hand. "Sorry," he apologised when she took a deep breath followed by a weak whimper. "I need to make sure it doesn't get infected, bloody hell." He muttered to himself, haphazardly reaching for the bandages and antiseptic. "Are the voices still speaking?" He addressed her, balancing her hand on his forearm as he unwrapped a strip of bandage.

Janelle shook her head, the pain preventing her from forming words, though she moaned when he applied the antiseptic.

Tony muttered something under his breath that sounded like he cursed someone but Janelle wasn't sure nor cared. She just wanted to shut her eyes and urge the pain—and fear—away

**

It was midnight when Jean and Julian entered Janelle's room. She feigned sleep; not feeling like talking.

"Melanie said Darcelle was killed here." Janelle heard Jean say. They were informed of the maid's death it seemed. "Tony was acting strangely as well," Jean continued and Janelle could just hear the frown on his face.

"Are you suspecting him? Jean, he was with Jella."

Her skin tingled; in a way informing her that they were looking at her now.

"Yes, I know," Jean muttered. "What I meant is that he's hiding something," He sighed softly.

"Why are we here again? Janelle could use some sleep, let her rest."

"Rest? She had been asleep for a week now!"

Janelle caught back a gasp. Julian stayed silent so Jean continued: "I don't even know how Tony just 'knew' she woke up."

She heard some movement and guessed they were walking around. The room had been cleaned, magically thanks to Tony, so she was sure that it was safe to wander about.

"Maybe she called out?"

Jean scoffed at that.

"Called out? Our sister? Julian, she is too proud to call out for someone, even us. We never know she's awake unless she appears at the breakfast table." Jean muttered.

"I have always wondered how such a little girl could walk around with pride like that," Julian laughed quietly; trying to ease the tense atmosphere. "I hate to see how she gets when she grows up."

There was a sound of a soft hit; Julian punching Jean's shoulder probably. He always did that. Jean didn't seem to share his brother's amusement, though as his next word was:

"If," he whispered quietly that Janelle almost thought she imagined it.

"What?" Came Julian's exclamation. "We're not having this conversation here in the same room as her!"

So they had talked about this before, she couldn't help but feel irritated.

"Face it, Julian, she's a shaman! Yes, she's our little sister, and yes, I love her so much...but," Jean sighed before continuing. "Nothing good ever comes from...from...shamans."

"This is about mother's death?"

Jean stayed silent.

"I figured as much," Julian 'tsk'ed. "Janelle's not dangerous, Jean. She never was, and never will be."

They were silent, Janelle just about believed they left except for their breathing.

"I am not saying she's dangerous. The shaman in her is," Jean whispered. The sound of footsteps sounded through the room as Jean got out, leaving Julian alone with the girl.

"Keep an eye on her and now he leaves, nice." Julian scoffed to himself.

She heard Julian walking around the room as if searching for something before coming closer to her. She felt a kiss on her right temple.

"I know you're awake," Julian said, a small smile on his face. "I taught you how to pretend asleep, you can't fool me." Julian paused then sighed. "Jean was just feeling uncomfortable leaving you alone in the same room Darcelle was killed in."

Janelle gave a mild nod with her head, though she couldn't help but let out a few silent tears.

"Don't cry, little Jella, Jean and I won't let anything happen to you."

Julian made to leave her, but a gentle grasp around his wrist stopped him. He looked at her questioningly.

"Did I...really stay asleep that long?"

Julian sighed.

"Tony said something about the need to rest your mind, or something like that," Julian shrugged. From his tone, it was evident he didn't believe that. "Guess my little sister tired herself out by talking to the spirits."

Janelle laughed at the unnecessary use of English.

"Go to sleep Jella, real sleep, not some energy-regenerating one." He kissed her temple once more then got up and left the room.

**

The sound of a loud 'thud' woke Janelle up. She looked at her alarm clock; it was five in the morning. Weird. Breakfast was served at eight, why would someone wake her up now? Ignoring whoever was at the door, she turned around to resume her sleep...

...only to scream as she was face to face with a man.

The man quickly put his hands on her mouth to muffle her screams.

"Shh now, little Jani," the man murmured, taking advantage of her surprise by hearing the nickname her mother used to call her by. And only one other person used it now. "You and I have some unfinished business. But first, I am taking you to Britain."

She licked his hand; an impetuous, childish move—his hand tasted slightly sweet which unnerved her—then bit it but not hard enough to break the skin. He removed his hand quickly and growled at her.

"That was uncalled for, little Jani. You made uncle Bates angry," he drawled in a low, dangerous voice. "You're lucky I need you alive for only a few days, otherwise I would have killed you right now." He made to grab her but she quickly turned around and fell off the bed.

She felt dizzy from the fall but didn't let that stop her. She ran across the room, ignoring the torrid pain shooting through her leg, but didn't make it to the door as Bates heaved her upon his shoulder and walked towards the window.

"Someone! Help—" Her screams were cut short as he smacked her.

"Shut up," Bates growled in anger, smacking her once more.

"No!" She shouted, struggling in his grasp.

"I wonder why you awoke today, did you sense the beads?" He asked, running his hands through her soft, tousled white-blonde hair. He took a handful of beautiful blonde locks and tugged forward, producing a reticent gasp from her as his other hand had slithered around her head to muffle her screams.

"You look so much like your mother," he breathed, sorrow flickering in his eyes. "And you will be joining her soon." His voice cracked a bit at that. "It's such a sad thing that I had to kill that maid," he whispered in her ear then smiled—sadly?—at the shocked, terrified look she had on her face.

Janelle closed her eyes, shaking her head in horror but his grip on her hair only managed to deliver more, hot pain through her scalp. With both of her hands, she took hold of his arm that was wrapped around her head and pulled, completely forgetting about the cut in her palm. It was probably the pain in her hand that made her do that or the hate she carried towards her uncle which now coursed through her, but she sank her teeth into the flesh of his calloused hand.

The man, to his credit, didn't yell or shout; just removed his hand to inspect the bloody damage. The bite only succeeded in getting him angrier.

"Stop moving, you little brat," he hissed, moving his arm from her head to tighten it around her waist in an attempt to keep her from struggling. His other hand sneaked into his pocket to bring out a moist piece of cloth. "I hoped you wouldn't reduce me into using this," he muttered, waving the cloth in front of her eyes.

Her eyes widened in fear. "Brothers! Tony!" She screamed louder than she had ever before.

With little time to react, she couldn't turn her head away from the cloth and eventually inhaled the drug. Her eyelids became heavy; unconsciousness eating away her mind.