The La Voison ghosts were shocked, terrified. Breaking of the Wards was in their mouths. Bethany's lessons were at the edges of her mind. The protection set upon the house and land kept out Shades or ghosts. They also kept the ghosts of the Van Lears earthbound, imprisoned yet protected. Marie had read Eleanor's notes, though it had been years ago. She had kept immaculate records, and Marie could still feel the book in the backpack. She shook her head, but tried to remember.

Her eyes widened. A Shade was a piece of a memory, but a ghost was a whole soul. While upon the earthly realm, a person would stave off judgment. Only passing through the Veil, then they would be sent to the next phase, heaven or hell. Of hell, she knew, there were many levels, permutations, and depths. One whole section, Abaddon, was named for its ruler. People, such as the Van Lear, were consigned to such depths for the choices made, lives lived.

Marie looked at a ghost, who flew past, "You can't escape judgment. It is inevitable. No house stands forever." They gazed at her, wide eyed, but fled from the room.

A hearty laugh greeted those words. Inside the feminine titter, a masculine arrogance of one accustomed to their will being obeyed. Alice had opened the book, soul thrust out by the words there in. A shell, the body was alive, and what was called the Lost. Without spirit, one became a mere puppet with the strings cut. Still and unmoving, they would never age or tire.

Heart broken, Barnett had carried her back, tore by grief. Empty she lied there.

Lance Van Lear, the General as he was commonly known, had over saw the house upon death. Alice's body was empty, so he took it. It was strange to him to once again be of flesh, yet the sensation did astound. Alice was feeble, and relied solely upon her vast intelligence, but he had been a hearty man, even into old age. He was uncertain as to her abilities, passion foreign to him. Memories, like pages in a book, were Lance's to read, yet they were beyond some of his knowledge.

Marie crouched down, as she walked in a slow, deliberate pace. She passed the rooms, but Alice came after.

"Where have you gone?" Alice asked, but the voice was the General's. The easy tone held an iron query. "The time has come, and Eleanor hasn't beaten me yet," he added. "Now, come out Witch!" Lance commanded.

For a moment, she felt the urge to stand. Marie frowned. Keeping low, she kept away from Alice. Shades threw themselves at the window, but the Wards kept them out.

"I'll find you," the General drawled. "Eleanor was cunning. I'll giver that, yet I've had time to think. All I've had is time." Each measured step was thoughtful, "Eleanor's little deal had kept away the Shades, and put off the fiery pit, yes. Oh, but she was devious. The little witch had fashioned her noose to hang us."

She fought the urge to ask questions, so natural was the impulse.

"At death or decades later," Alice stopped body like a marionette, "hell is no abstract concept."

Into the next room, Marie slipped. Languid steps quickened as Alice came to the door. The blur of motion was oddly silent. Sweet gingerbread bled off her, and the General caught the scent with a broad smile. A chill gripped the air, sweat on Marie's body turned to ice. Thunder covered soft steps, but the flash of lightning dashed the room with brilliance. Shivering from the icy air, she pressed lips together to silence the chatter of her teeth.

"It matters little, if you escape," the General's antebellum aristocratic tone full of amusement. "You see, Madam, I've been busy. When I died, I could feel the devil Abaddon upon my heels. Never will I or my Blood be sent to the Pit." Alice stopped, listened, "She is unique. Most would never be able to even read Dim Cassilda."

Marie slipped behind the furniture, after each flash of lightning. Between Lance and Diana, they were a formidable force, she groaned.

"Little Alice could hear me," Lance said with her petit lips, "some trick of fate, but it was enough. My words penetrated the Veil to her mind, and at first, she believed it was all madness." Alice stopped, body trembled.

The front door to the mansion was before her, but in a blur Alice covered the distance. She peered about confused. Side to side she swayed, smirk pulled at her lips.

Never easy, Marie groaned inside.

"Diana wants to break the curse," Lance said through her mouth, "but she neglects to include her ancestors, those imprisoned here. Alice has discovered a way to salvage things, though it is less than ideal. However, it'll make us beyond the grasp of the Pits."

At those words Marie paused. The Veilstromme Warehouse seemed to be the product of a deranged mind. Yet, was there a purpose, she pondered. Despite that Alice drew closer, the thought gnawed at her. "My God," she breathed, but quickly covered her mouth. The princesses were to be vessels, avatars for the ghosts of the Van Lear. This truth struck her with its insane, blasphemous malevolence. Crushed under it, she watched Alice move about under the power of Lance Van Lear.

I can beat her; Marie thought and licked her lips. A patient sigh greeted this, her mother's habit, when she'd failed to see something obvious. Alice is possessed, she groaned with the idea. A long sigh slipped between her lovely lips, for a physical confrontation would've been disastrous. Marie was larger and fit, yet there was no way to know how strong the ghost made Alice. Escape was the only option.

A statuette of a Confederate General, likely Lance, set on a table beside her. She picked it up, and with a smile, Marie threw it across the room. The bang was sharp, followed by a thump. Alice was a blur. Head down, the smirk had grown into a too broad grin of victory. Marie bolted for the door, as the woman possessed by Lance Van Lear rushed to the source of the sound. Pound of her heart resounded in her ears. Afraid to look back, her mind was on the door. Out into the waiting storm Marie dashed, yet felt wind pass the nape of her neck.

The tip of her shoe caught part of the door. Marie flopped to the porch, but flipped over. Alice stood at the edge, Ward between them. Although the smile upon her face was still broad, it held a cheated rage. Away from the gaze she went.

"The Van Lears will rise again," the General swore through Alice's lips.

With the hateful promise cast at her back, Marie ran. Again, she prayed that Tim was okay. Horrors lived in doubt, so filled her mind with torments. Good men suffered, she knew, for it was easy for the unscrupulous to take advantage. A few times she had also used him, much to her shame. If only he was fine, she promised, never would Marie take him for granted. Thought of leaving him asleep in bed, and going off to college slashed her heart.

The property was vast, rain in sheets made visibility impossible. Bright flashes of lightning fell to the land with deafening booms. Gunfire of Federals and Confederates were lost in the crashes. She prayed to find Tim, and a mote of light, thistle purple, rose up before her. Past the skirmishes, Rutger's main force pushed them back to the house. None were concerned with her as she passed them.

Any slave, who ran afoul of a Van Lear, found themselves in the Cell. Locate at the edge of the slave housing section; it was almost shunned by the other structures. Ugly, squat timbers were thick, iron sturdy and pitted. No windows looked inside, but holes drilled into the wood allowed the punished air to breath. A thick lock secured it, and Marie groaned. It opened with a click, after a shadow passed over it. The door swung open.

"INKY," Tim said with open joy, "oh thank God you're okay. I just couldn't…bear it, you know."

"Tim," she croaked. Others words failed as she threw her arms around him, tears lost in the rain.

"It's okay," he hugged her hard.

"I just got scared they'd done something to you."

"I'm okay," he rubbed his side, "but I think someone gave me a good kick." Tim lifted his shirt to show a bruise that already purpled.

"I never thought of you as a damsel," she jibed, but a sob gripped her, "but you certainly are defenseless."

He smiled, "Inky, it sounded like the world was ending outside. Is someone dropping bombs on this place? And…there are some weird noises." A bolt struck the earth to punctuate his words.

"The Blues and Grays are finally getting their second Civil War," she blinked away the spots. "If the storm and quake doesn't tear down the mountain, they will shed more blood."

"We should go," he looked at her, "before anyone misses us."

Shake of her head removed his tentative smile, "I…can't just leave. This sounds wild, but I have to end this. Lance Van Lear, Diana, Barnett, and Alice must be stopped." Tim frowned. "Please," she looked into his eyes, "Help me stop them."