Steely irises never left the back of the young man as he swept around the room completing preparations to go for the evening. Those hard eyes belonged to a woman of around forty winters, who watched the young man with interest. Her nimble fingers worked deftly to braid the graying hair that had once been an almost blue-black. Eventually, it was put up into the severe bun that she affected everywhere. Soon, she would don her black robes of the office of Necromancer that lay over the back of a white satin couch not far from her so she could once more continue the duties of her sworn office.

She squinted her eyes in thought as the young man returned to the fireplace to casually throw a piece of firewood into the roaring hearth. In his movements, she saw his father. In the deft and agile movements, she saw a killer. She wanted to cry and scream in frustration. The evil she had driven herself to commit for this boy was for not, it would seem. Damon had turned into exactly what his father had been.

Rascus had been a mystery to the young Bethel, but for the vain beauty who had just been picked by the Grim as a necromancer, he was a mystery she wanted to unravel. He was a charming and dark, carnal man who lust for flesh seemed only matched by her desire to give. Too late it seemed, she found how violent of a man he was and it frightened her. The death Rascus was capable of was terrifying. It did not compare to the torture he used to bring the death about. As her son grew, she watched him carefully for signs of his worldly father in him and as they appeared, she found herself scrambling to save her baby boy.

She shrugged off the first few merchants Damon ruined by turning the charges on them and forcing them into massive tithes to the Temple. She swore as soon as Damon changed then she would ease up on the taxes, but she found the lucrative income helped her to provide a comfortable living for her son outside the Temple grounds and farther from the prying eyes of her immortal husband. As Damon broke the law more, Bethel had to struggle to keep pace to cover his trail of destruction. The coffers in the Temple swelled with the riches of the extortion business her son had inadvertently started for her.

She had tried to protect him the best she could. As the Mother Matron, she had considerable influence, but these last two incidents, however, would see her dead if she could not find a way to have him reign in his criminal operations. Thewar's father was dead, his body barely cold in the freshly turned grave, as a word of warning to the Lady that only Matron Bethel held real power in this town. In another realm of problems, Bethel, unfortunately, had to buy Cariline, that little slut who her poor boy had the unfortunate occasion to be caught with, from Fredrick, Cariline's father. Slavery had never been allowed in Ratar, the Grim forbid it. Bethel found an obscure passage had appeared in the text in the middle of the night that did allow for indentured servitude but still forbid life long sentences. With the legalization of slavery and the hanging of Lord Dravor, the sentiment had turned bitterly against her personally.

"No, dear," Bethel said gently, breaking from her deep thought. "Put the books over there. Jen will need those later for a case later this week."

The youth favored her with a smile and changed directions to set the stack of three books near the door. It was so strange, on the surface he seemed so benign and good, but underneath lurked something sinister and dark at times.

Damon continued his preparations as she watched in rapt fascination. There could be no denying his looks came directly from his immortal heritage. He had the hawk nose and high cheekbones but that slight build and graceful movements, that was all from Rascus. The Grim had a striking and powerful build, where her earthly husband had been slender and deft in his movements. But the rest, by all Order the way, he looked so much like Grim it made her shiver.

She did not fear for her own life but that of her son’s. Bethel took in a trembling breath. There was not a day that went by that she did not dread that hour when her master and dreaded immortal husband would find out about her son. If Damon did not ease up, then the flood of corpses flowing into the Underworld would draw the Grim here, and the consequences would be dire. Today would have to be the time to discuss with him about his nocturnal habits and his taste in women.

He was slipping his coat on and reaching for his fur-lined hat when she cleared her throat.

“Ah yes mother,” her son crossed the floor to where she sat in her chair and kissed her forehead, “so forgetful of me.”

“Not quite dear,” she said with a small laugh, reaching up to pat his cheek, “Can we talk for a second?”

“As long as it isn’t too late, Faldo and Cari are expecting me tonight.”

“This is hard for me to talk about this son. I am not oblivious in the least of your chosen occupation,” she began taking in a long, deep breath, “unfortunately neither are the people here in our fair city.”

“Mother, half these wretches barely know that winter is cold and summer is hot, and they walk around with the shoes on the wrong feet. They can’t possibly be all that brilliant.” He objected.

“You forget of all the others I have had to make object lessons of,” she sat forward finishing her braid into her typical bun, “even a blind goblin could follow the trail I have had to leave and figure where it goes.”

“So what is it you want from me?” He asked speculatively.

“Two weeks ago, I let you out of jail after the theft at the Thewar’s residence but to do that I had to hang her father and threaten to do the same to her. Hanging a Lord's son, even a bastard, has its consequences. I have had to keep her busy trying to pay the Temple the back tithe. Son, the opinion of the Temple, is at an all-time low, I have even had to start to dig into the treasury for the past year for provisions. I need you to curb it.” She pleaded with her son, voice begging.

“Mother these animals don’t need these items I am taking. You and I are in the same business. It is just how we see the crop.” He said casually as he tightened his belt around his trousers snuggly. Damon did not even bother to glance up at her glistening eyes to see his casual words strike home.

The realization then hit her with how calloused and off-handed he handled it; he was his father’s son. Damon cared not one wit for the ones he hurt, and now she was unsure if he cared for her. Her anger started to rise at the thought that she had done all this evil to no avail in trying to raise him. There was no justification for his attitude, no rhyme.

“No, they are not animals. No, you want to know what, scrap that, they are animals! To Grim with it!” She seethed rising to her feet in rage. The floorboards creaked under the sudden movements.

“See I knew you would see it my way,” he said with a certain satisfaction in his voice as he turned back to the hat rack. Her son hummed absently to himself oblivious to his mothers two steel orbs drilling holes into his back.

“Yes son you helped me see it that way two years ago, remember? With a knife to my throat?” She said quietly as he turned back around to look at his mother in disbelief, “Yes, see I knew you would! When I changed the laws and bought the temples first animal off a farmer named Fredrick.”

Damon’s face went dark, and he clenched his jaw. He let the tan slope hat he picked up slide, unchecked, out of nerveless fingers to the ground.

“Don’t do this mother,” he warned her in a soft, pleading voice. Damon's dark eyes brimmed slightly as a fist balled by his side.

“Why Damon they are just animals, for buying, killing, and –“ the next word she said with a purposeful pause, giving time for tension to build. She was beyond caring about what he thought or what her son was capable of. “-- breeding. Why do you think I put my investment in a tavern so that we could get that heifer fat. She needed to get rode by some real bulls. I want some re—” She said vehemently. Damon never moved so quickly as he backhanded his mother across the face with a fleshy crack. She spun backward with the force of the blow, breaking a table as she fell through it. She lay still, secretly hoping it would end but it didn’t.

She heard him come closer and whisper in her ear. “Nobody talks about Cariline that way in front of me and lives, but you have given me my life too many times to count, so we are even. Consider yourself chastised. I love you mother.” He kissed her swollen cheek painfully and walked out slamming the door. A vase fell from the shelf from the force of the door, shattering in sharp shards across the floor. She felt as though it was her heart because she knew what she had to do.

A young woman rushed out of the backside of a large tavern into an alley with her hand clamped tightly over her face, covering her mouth. She was running blindly for the public jakes that were located just across the way, green eyes wide with fear. She got halfway down the stairs before vomit shot between her fingers, and she let go to grasp the wooden railing and finish retching over the edge to the muddy ground below. It smelled like piss out here, making her want to vomit more, but she brought her stomach slowly under control. She tried vainly to pick the contents of her stomach out of her curly dark auburn hair.

She reached down and took the dishtowel out of her aprons, using the rancid cloth to wipe the bile off her face then her hands. She sighed in dismay as she looked at her hands. Two years ago, they were healthy-looking, with nails that were neatly trimmed. Now, she had to chew her fingernails off leaving them tore and ragged, and her hands were calloused and red from the harsh lye soaps used for cleaning. She finished cleaning her clothes the best she could. She didn’t understand it, not one bit. She shook her head in the futility of trying to clean her dress homespun dress. She had spewed all down the front, and she would have to stay up till midnight washing it, again.

Up until two months ago, she was a healthy young woman of seventeen winters, eighteen this Grim-Tide. She had never had any of the usual sicknesses as a child. No pox, no wart, she didn’t even usually get colds through the winter. Now, it seemed like somehow she miraculously vomited more through the day then she consumed, and on the flip side, she had cravings at the oddest time. The other night she woke Philian to ask if she could have pigs feet and pickled eggs, even now it still made her wrinkle her nose in disgust. Her breast had grown twice their normal size in the past month, if they became much larger she would have to get a new dress, but all the men appreciated it and they hurt so bad. She kept slapping Damon’s appreciating hands away.

She couldn’t talk to Philian about these things. He was just a man. Phil was a gentle soul, but he didn’t know anything about what females went through on a monthly bases. Right now, she needed her mother and thanks to her owner of two years, her mother had not seen her since Cariline was sold off like an animal. Of course, it was fine with her father that she had not visited all that time. She was, after all, the shame of the family. All he could harp about before she left was how this was the only way she would save the family.

She spat out some more bile still feeling waves of nausea. Call it whatever you liked, she was sold because her family had not paid enough taxes to the damnable Matron. The Matron could ride a reaper for all she cared. They would get along great Cariline thought morbidly.

Maybe one of these days they could help the Matron Bitch get that chance to find out if she liked reapers if the rumblings continued. People in the tavern were on edge and ready to follow Port Hope's example. Port Hope’s Matron went insane after too many years of talking to the dead and started ordering random slayings, so the residents tied a smith anvil to her and threw her off a ship into the bay. The people began to wonder if maybe they should try that to Bethel. Bet Bethel’s Grim wouldn’t give one hair on his ass to save her. If he found out what she did here, he would probably let the reapers take turns with her.

She heard a door open behind her and caught the whiff of ale and unwashed human bodies that mixed with the smell of the urine in the alley, and she lost the battle she had been waging. Cariline grabbed the railing and heaved hard enough that she felt if she opened her eyes, they might pop out. She felt the gentle touch of a big comforting hand on her shoulder and knew that Phil had noticed her absence in the main room and went looking for her. She sobbed from the exertion that came from the retching and finally stood trembling to let the cold breeze evaporate the beading sweat off her forehead.

Phil handed her a clean rag and put his arm around her shoulder making shushing noises as if to a kid. He was the one blessing of this entire servitude. The portly man was gentle and kind, always looking out for her and making sure no one would touch her. When she first came into his service, she was dubious of him for his looks. He was a large man, with rolls of fat that fell off of him like butter. He had beady little eyes and an upturned nose with ever so pointy ears. He looked like one of the pigs described in the name of his tavern. But as she worked there, under his guardianship, she found him to be extremely intelligent, caring and always concerned about her welfare. He had convinced her to better herself, that when her four years of servitude was up, she could make something of herself.

“Girl, you should see a healer. What is it now, a month?” The barkeep asked in worried tones.

“No, two months,” she said shaking her head, still catching her breath. “I am at as much of a loss as you, Phil.”

“The other night when you woke me girl put me in memory of when I was married,” Phil said sorrowfully.

Cariline looked surprised at Philian. In the two years, she had come to live with him. He had never mentioned a wife. In fact she never even seen him lay eyes on a woman.

“Phil please don’t take this wrong but I didn’t think you had an eye for girls. I mean, in the two years I have known you, you have never seemed interested.” She said a little embarrassed. He chuckled, shaking his bald head side to side, shoulders heaving slightly as his great belly jiggled.

“Cari, I am Fifty-nine winters old. Parts on men stop being good for much other than pissing after a certain point. It just doesn’t do any good to look anymore.” He said, with an embarrassed bemused look on his face.

She made a disgusted face, shaking her head violently as if trying to sling the thought out of her head.

“Ew! Phil gross, that was imagery I could do without,” she whined as she clasped her tiny hands over her eyes.

“Hey its a fact of life lass, just like your man will one day be affected by the same state.” he sighed, the somber look returning to his face, “Cariline it is also the fact that my wife showed all the signs that you are showing now girl, when she was pregnant. She was sick for months. She had cravings that drove me wild. One time she even wanted hard liquor, I had to go to a smuggler. And she was moody. Cari, you have been moodier than a banderling getting jabbed with a spear...” He droned on with more reasons why he thought she was pregnant when she had a sudden realization. One of the terms of her servitude was attending the Temple every two weeks, and it had been six temples since she had bled her cycle. Fear began to build in her. She had no women to talk to so she asked the one person who had any idea.

“Um... Phil this is embarrassing, but when a woman is um pregnant, does she, you know cycle anymore?” She asked timidly.

“Cycle?” He repeated with a raised eyebrow, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Bleed every month,” she said with a little exasperation creeping into her voice.

“Not to my meager knowledge, I know my Helda didn’t. But that is also my point dear, Helda died trying to birth a child without a healer, I don’t want to lose you. It may be nothing.” He reassured her.

Dread started to build up in her. If she were pregnant, then the Temple would double the amount of tithe owed, or they would demand the death of the child before the eighth day to prevent the cost of room and board. Either option brought tears to her eyes. The joy of having a child of Damon’s would make her so happy but to have that some child in these conditions made her sorrowful and the mixed emotions made her angry. She turned and started hammering her fist on Phil’s expansive chest, wailing in frustration. The big man looked down in sympathy and gathered her back into his arms and shushed her again.

After she had quieted herself, he asked, “Now, what was that about?”

“If I keep the baby, the Temple will demand double the servitude, six more years to pay for the extra soul but they may also demand I kill it before the Ceremony of the Soul. Oh, Phil, it is supposed to be a joyous occasion, and now I am just, so frustrated.” She cried in short sobs, hiding her ear streaked face against him.

“Oh? Is that all.” he said with a smile pulling on his chubby cheeks, “Well if you can not tell yourself a secret, I will tell you what you are getting for Grim-Tide. I am paying off your Tithe.” He finished the sentence with a conspiratorial whisper behind his hand and a wink.

She stopped not being able to breathe, that meant she would be free to go and to be with Damon. She stared wide-eyed at her friend in shocked disbelief.

“Now you keep this pregnant thing under wraps until after I pay it off on Grim-Tide. The Matron and I already have set a price.” He said firmly. She squealed and threw her arms around Phil’s large neck kissing his cheek exuberantly.

“Yep definitely pregnant,” he said with flushed embarrassment bringing a ringing laugh to her lips.