"What have you done, Inky?" he paced back and forth. "I should've never let them talk to you without me," Tim shook his head, "this is bad."

The wave of nausea had passed. Marie had told him the nature of the deal, and he'd raved. They'd traveled in silence, after his initial burst, until Eleanor loomed over the truck. Inside, she felt the world had shifted. Tim had grown pale.

"I tried to give the money back," she felt her mind settle.

"There will be no returning it," he swallowed, "and Diana will get what she wants."

"Tim," she said in a stern yet soft tone, "why are you panicked. What do you know?"

Tim let out a long, ragged breath, "People talk. When a lot of people say the same thing, I'm inclined to listen to it. They say people do things for the Van Lear family. Sometimes, no one hears from them again."

"You can't substantiate these claims," she replied slowly. Second hand accounts were worth little, but were useful to get a feeling for the story.

"Well, you would hear about people doing work for them, and then no one would see them again," he stopped, looked down. "I mean, people disappear around here, especially after the factory closed. It seemed to be mostly women."

"Barnett looks like the sort that enjoys hurting people."

"It'll be okay," he nodded to himself, "I'll protect you."

He went to his truck, despite her protests, and returned with a shotgun. Tim wasn't there, when Eve died, but this time, things would be different.

"There have been women going missing?" she asked with a frown.

"Yeah," he paused to think, "Most of them were on drugs. A co-worker of mine disappeared, Brandy. She was straight as an arrow, great worker."

"Did you ever try to find her?"

"Yes," he checked the gun, "I even went to her house." Tim slowed; mind fell back to the trailer. He rubbed his hair, "I don't know where she could have gone without all her stuff."

More questions pushed into her mind, but they had to focus. "I have to find proof of Jacob's innocence," she listened to Ashless Hollow.

"You think he is innocent?" he recalled how Jacob had looked at her. "The Van Lear is just another viper in a nest of them."

"I think Diana wants proof to exonerate her son, even if he is guilty," Marie turned to the mire. "She knows the McWhorter and Gregory families hold enough power to threaten the Van Lear control.

"This is bad!" he sat on a rocking chair.

She locked her hands together to steady them. Throat dry, she left him there to fetch a cup of water. A hand pump in the kitchen brought up water from far beneath Eleanor. It was cold, crisp, and the cleanest water she'd ever tasted. It was one of the few things she missed. Her heart raced, but it slowed with a cool drink. Whispers followed her, though they fell to only a faint sigh. All the room's shadows had settled. Peace never helped Marie think, but having the sword of Diana over her neck unsettled her dogged mind.

It waited to be seen. Dim Cassilda set on the kitchen table, from its leather an icy flame began to pulse from the book. Low words breathed over her shoulder into her ear. Cold hands caressed her, like the brush of a corpse's hand. Crisp water pasted the lips, soothed the flesh and Ashless Hollow drew closer to her. Lush green eyes, flecked with gold, fell to the tome bound with La Voison flesh. Away she cast her gaze, though it crept back. Land and book were intertwined. Both were less of this world, more of the Veil, where the dead pass out of this world.

She considered the book. Dim Cassilda forced her to face it. Alice's assertion was correct, but thought of those eyes sent a shiver down Marie. It was made from human leather, and the bodies of La Voison women. The contents were the real meat of the tome. She only glanced at a few pages, long ago. It was filled with formulae and notes, wisdom of her blood. Bethany had said it had sought Ashless Hollow, she recalled.

Diana and Alice had possessed some knowledge of it. Marie drew closer to Dim Cassilda, as whispers rose. Patient shadows drew closer with Marie approached. Through the land, house, and book, a pulse moved into her. The book was the sum of her family's memory.

Each pulse from Dim Cassilda passed through her. Marie leaned over it careful to not touch it. Ashless Hollow fell into every breath she drew in. Gingerbread baked out of her skin, left it feeling clean. The whispers that cursed her cleared though still indistinct. Thick shadows ran over bronze skin in anticipation. Each pump of her heart pushed blood, which flowed like the waters in the mire.

Ashless Hollow was in her blood. Tick of every second strengthened the bond. Flesh and blood was filled with the spirit of the mud and water. Trees that reached up to the lightning choked sky were the bones. Fetid air was the breath of her lung. Eleanor, in the dark recesses of the woods, was the heart. Woman flowed into the land, as it rushed into her. Senses opened. The mind no longer constrained by form reached out.

An image of Bethany flowed up through the floor boards. She shook, eyes rolled up, and filth spread out from her. "No," Marie jerked back, shook to dispel the land. She pulled away, as if Dim Cassilda had bitten her.

"You can't have me," she muttered to the house. The curse of the blood would never claim her, Marie swore. Although the past was a part of her, the fate of her mother stalked every action. The years of living with a mad woman had carved every misery into the mind. Eleanor and Dim Cassilda had beaten, eaten, clawed, slashed, buried, and resurrected her. Marie's mother was wise, uncanny in her perceptions, but that meant nothing. The cost of great wisdom was deep suffering.