Datura stood in the window looking out as the rain poured outside. The cool light air rushed in around her, blowing through her cloak. The night stars and moon were blotted out providing her the perfect opportunity to look over the city in its pure light. Though darkness filled the homes where the nobles still had their oil lamps lit, she could see perfectly into the homes where the citizens had gone to bed. Not much to see from there as most did not sleep directly by their windows but she still enjoyed watching the few she could see, sleeping in their perceived security.

She smiled as she considered how startled they would be to know it was her that gave them chills when they walked the night streets. It was her breath on their necks before they spun and peered blindly into the blackness. Lightning flashed painting everything black and her smirk changed to a snarl.

She considered leaving the tower and taking a walk in the night rain to find an unsuspecting drunk wandering in the Crull district. Leaning out the window she glanced toward the impoverished part of Windal hoping to see just such a victim. There was none.

With a sigh, she slumped back into her chair by the window. To the side of the window, her table sat with several dozen vials corked. She picked up a full one and slid it into the leather pouch on her left hip. It clanged against her other potions in the pouch and settled into the hole where the missing potion had been.

She closed her eyes so she could relish the image of Abigale crawling on the floor gasping and clutching her throat. Datura followed the woman blowing out the lamps and moving furniture out of the woman’s grasp. Abigale grabbed a broom and swung it blindly as Datura grabbed her empty vial off the floor and placed it back in her pouch. The clack of the broom handle striking the wall made Datura leap up and run over to wrench the broom from the woman kicking her in the face. “Just be quiet and die, woman,” Datura remembered whispering.

She stood and carried the broom across the room leaning it against the wall. She eased the handle on the closed door and peeked inside. Nabal snored the peaceful sleep of an eight-year-old boy. She pulled the door closed and slowly let the latch fall back in place. Turning she walked over to where the woman was weakly trying to get up from the floor. “Relax Abigale. What are you struggling so hard for?”

She watched Abigale’s blind eyes widen as she called her by name. Datura silently walked over and knelt until their faces almost touched. She smelled the woman’s cheap perfume. It smelled of lilies and cypress oil. She must have saved a whole copper for it. Datura retreated back and looked in on Abigale’s husband. The miner slept deeply. Snoring louder than his stepson both hands on his belly.

She turned back to the struggling woman. “Is it the hallucinations?” Datura looked at the woman’s fear-filled face. She should be fading out by now. Perhaps she was seeing the creatures of the shadows gathering around her to take her to the grave. “The red-eyed dog isn’t real.” She whispered just loud enough for Abigale to hear. “At least not here.”

Abigale rolled onto her stomach and began crawling down the hall toward Nabal’s room. Her nails dug into the rough wood floor and Datura cringed imagining the pain. She curled her own fingers into her palms and shook off the goosebumps. “Oh, it's the boy.” She clucked her tongue off the roof of her mouth. “He will be fine. We have a bargain. He and I.”

She walked over and stood on the back of Abigale’s night dress preventing her from crawling further. “I will teach him to kill and steal and when he is ready, he will give us the vengeance you and I both deserve.” Datura squatted down so she could whisper into Abigale’s ear. Abigale’s head dropped to the floor in exhaustion. “King Baron treated us both like common Innana prostitutes.” Datura’s upper lip curled at the mention of the moon goddess worshipers and the men going after them. “I loved him. I made him King and he betrayed me. He betrayed you but I will repay his slight. I will do it with his own bastard son.”

Abigale was rasping now her eyes losing their light. She hadn’t even the strength to groan anymore. She lay only able to listen as Datura poured out her hate. A single tear strolled to the bridge of her nose and Datura scooped it up with her fingernail. Cradling it she used her other hand to pull a vial from her pouch. She carefully scrapped the tear into the vial and replaced the cork. Then she pulled her dagger and sliced off a tuft of hair from the dying woman. She pricked Abigale’s finger with the tip of her blade and soaked the blood on the hair. Then she stuffed the blood-soaked hair in the vial and corked it again.

“Your son will be well prepared for this task. Don’t be afraid. I don’t waste valuable resources. I am neither frivolous nor careless.” Datura sat on the woman’s back as she analyzed the hair inside the vial. Abigale’s back rose lazily taking in her last breath. “I will be sure to remove you and your husband’s bodies from the home before morning. No need to traumatize our boy unnecessarily.” Abigale shuddered under her.

“Besides, that would leave too many unanswered questions. Better for him to think himself abandoned by a neglectful mother than to spend his youth seeking vengeance.” Abigale’s eyes closed as she exhaled. Datura sighed as she stood up and turned to walk into the stepfather's room. The fun was over, now it was all business.

Datura felt a wonderful chill run up her spine as she remembered Abigale. Why had the memory come back to her this night? She opened her eyes and looked at her table as drops of rain blew across her cheek. Grabbing a Datura pod she tore it open and crushed the seeds of her favorite flower into a fine powder. She rolled the bowl around in her hand slowly beating the seeds down with the stone pestle.

Lightning flashed again temporarily making it too dark to see her work and she set the bowl down on the smooth wood table. She stood to pull the reed curtain closed over the window and froze. Standing in the middle of the pouring rain was a man in a black cloak. Too tall and too broad to be a man of Windal. His hood was pulled over his head. The shadow lit his face perfectly for Datura. His broad smooth shaved jaw was his most prominent feature. It was her brother, Brute.

Her heart stopped a few beats. She could see him perfectly, but she had to remind herself that he could not see her. Even as she stood directly in the window it was dark in the room she stood. Darker than the street outside even. Yet he stared up at the window. Waiting for her to see him. Waiting for her to come outside. He knew she would come outside because if she didn’t, he would come in.