It isn’t until Sable has slipped into the tub of hot water that she realizes following a strange man she has only heard about through rumors likely wasn’t her best idea.

Dammit, she thinks to herself, biting a nail, I really do need to stop drinking at parties so much, if I’d been in my right mind…

Already the events leading up to him gently guiding her back to his house feel thousands of miles away. 

And why had he offered to let her come to his house to warm up and wash and repair her dress?

Sable cautiously lifts her leg out of the tub. Her ankle is swollen and red, but thankfully not broken. 

The soaps used for her body and hair smell nice, one like roses and the other like vanilla.

She carefully puts her ankle back in the tub and sinks deeper into the waters, until her head is fully submerged. The warmth feels good after being drenched to the bone in cold, icy rain. 

Even underwater, she thinks she hears the bathroom doors open and her heart skips a beat. She’s naked, taking a bath in a stranger’s home. Damn it, damn it! she curses herself out before quickly lifting her head from the water.

The maid who greets her squeaks in surprise. “So-so sorry,” she stammers, blinking rapidly.

She’s a small freckled girl, but that isn’t what catches Sable’s eye. 

It’s the large scar that stretches across her cheek.

Sable makes sure not to stare at it. As someone who has been on the receiving end of one too many stares in her lifetime, she doesn’t want to impose that same feeling on anyone else.

And yet…

She remembers the rumors fluttering about the party. The Tearer. 

If Malcolm Leroux really is the Tearer, it wouldn’t be a stretch to imagine him being abusive towards a maid.

The maid softly drapes cloth on a hanger. Sable hadn’t even noticed she was holding anything. “I…I brought some clothes,” she says. “Gardenia, the secretary, had some clothes to spare, and you two look about the same size…”

Sable blinks. So that’s why he offered to help me here. He did mention a change of clothes, and I wondered how he had women’s clothing.

She smiles at the girl. “Thank you.”

Then Sable reaches out to her. “What happened?” she asks worriedly. “Did someone do this to you? Your master?” She wants to wince at her words. Of course someone did this to her, nobody could slash up their own face like this, that was so inconsiderate.

The girl flinches and backs away for a moment. “N-no, it was quite a few years ago, Mister Leroux would never do this to me!”

Sable purses her lips. She wants to argue, but at the same time she doesn’t want to alienate the only fully friendly person she’s met at this strange mansion. So she decides not to press the issue, and sinks further into the tub for a moment.

The maid bunches her apron in her hands. “Erm…Miss Whittaker, may I help you with your ankle? Once you’re done with your bath?”

Sable nods. “Yes, I do need help. Can you help me get up?”

The girl nods. “Of course!”

Carefully, she aids Sable in getting out of the bathtub, making sure not to put too much weight on her ankle.

The clothes are a simple nightgown. She doesn’t need to put on a corset or anything, just sit down as the maid wraps up her now dry ankle in bandages. “Mister Leroux says he wishes to speak to you,” she says.

Sable’s stomach swoops uncomfortably. “Ah. I see,” is all she replies, closing her eyes at the horrid memory of her first words to him.

In her drunken haze, she’d remembered what Cornelia and Agatha had said about him, and despite the pain coursing through her body, had giggled and sputtered out, “Ah, the demon!”

Mr. Leroux, to his credit, had taken the rude comment in stride. Although his eyes had glinted oddly, but that was to be expected after such words.

“What is your name?” Sable asks her.

The maid blinks and looks up at her as she finishes wrapping the bandages. “Posy,” she replies.

Sable smiles as warmly as she can at the girl. “Lovely name.”

Posy gently guides her to the main room of the house. Already she can smell a fire from the fireplace, and indeed, Malcolm Leroux is sitting next to it in a big chair, reading a book. A pot of tea and a plate of shortbread biscuits sits in front of him.

His bright blue eyes flick up as the two women enter the room. Posy quickly bows as best she can, still holding Sable upright. “Mister Leroux, I brought her,” she says.

Mr. Leroux’s eyes glint, but for some reason, they do not unsettle Sable the way Silas’ eyes do. “Thank you, Posy,” he says, snapping the book shut in a quick motion. “You may retire for the night.”

Posy bows again quickly before helping Sable into a chair and hurrying away.

The two sit in silence for a long moment. The warmth of the bath and the fire seeps into Sable’s bones, and she nearly finds herself relaxing into the comfortable chair as he pours tea into her cup.

Then Mr. Leroux speaks. “Who told you?” he asks, voice cold and business-like.

Sable blinks, truly waking up for the first time in hours. “T-told me what?”

His eyes glimmer darkly. They really can’t be natural, Sable thinks. Nobody’s eyes glow like that. “You know exactly what I mean.”

Now, she’s starting to feel a dark flush in her face, and she bites the inside of her cheek. Now is not the time to say something rude, he’s a stranger, she has to be on her very best behavior. “Mister Leroux,” she begins. “When you found me, I had been running for who knows how long in the rain, all while being tipsy. Forgive me if I can’t recall everything I said to you.”

He exhales before pinching the bridge of his nose. “Alright then,” he says. Now he leans forward, and Sable resists the urge to lean back far away from him. “Who told you that I am a demon?”

Sable can’t speak for a moment. And then she laughs. “That is what you want to know?” she asks between fits of laughter.

Mr. Leroux doesn’t laugh, however. “Miss Whittaker,” he says, and now the chill in his voice is only stronger. “Who. Told. You.”

The coldness in his voice is enough to sober Sable up. She looks at him. “What does it matter?” she asks. “It’s just ridiculous, petty gossip.”

Mr. Leroux does not seem convinced at all. His shoulders still seem tense. “It does matter, because if that is what people are saying about me, somebody talked. But none of my staff are dead.”

Dead? Chills erupt down Sable’s spine. Suddenly the brightness of Mr. Leroux’s eyes doesn’t seem as charming, as interesting, as they had before. Once more, she nervously recalls the other rumor about him being The Tearer. I need to get out of here.

Shakily, she rises from the chair, wincing as she puts the smallest amount of weight possible on her injured ankle. “Thank you for your hospitality, Mr. Leroux,” she says. “But I must be going, my parents are likely worried about me.”

But as she walks towards the open doors leading to the main hallway, they slam shut before her very eyes. Sable can’t help but cry out from shock, nobody had been in the main hall, and the only two people in the main room are she and Mr. Leroux. And neither of them had closed the doors. So who had?

In her shock, she steps backwards on her injured ankle, causing a spasm of pain to course through her body. With another cry, she tumbles to the floor.

Or she would have, if a pair of arms hadn’t grabbed her before she could fully fall. “Careful now,” Mr. Leroux says from behind her. “You sprained your ankle fairly badly. Don’t want to make it worse, hm?”

Sable can’t even speak as he guides her back to the chair, even lifting her leg to rest on the ottoman, keeping her foot elevated. Her eyes flick back to the door. “How?” is all she can croak out.

“Well, I closed them,” Mr. Leroux says.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she sputters. “Neither of us were close enough to the door to close it!”

He smiles knowingly at her and raises his hand, flicking his wrist.

The doors open.

Sable gasps.

He flicks his wrist once more, and the doors slam shut again.

Sable doesn’t trust herself to look at him calmly, so she pointedly stares at the doors instead.

He closed the door without touching it, he opened it without touching it, how, how?!

“I have one more trick up my sleeve, if you don’t believe me,” he says, cutting through her thoughts.

“What sort of trick?” she asks, tilting her head as she looks back at him. Trick could mean anything.

Mr. Leroux smiles at her, a soft, warm smile that does not match the chill of the room. He reaches forward, resting one hand on her ankle.

Sable feels her face flush deeply. No man has ever touched her bare skin before, aside from her father pinching her cheek affectionately. “What on earth do you think you’re doing-” she snaps, only for a sharp blue glow to emanate from his hand, still on her ankle.

The blue light seeps into her skin, and her leg feels frozen in place, she couldn’t move it away from him to save her life. 

The pain in her ankle sharpens for a moment, and she gasps harshly. But then the feeling smoothes and lessens before fully easing away, just as the light fades completely, leaving her skin the same tan as it was before. 

Sable can only gawk at him as he removes his hand from her foot. “Well?” he asks.

She blinks, and then wriggles her toes. There’s feeling back in them, and this simple movement no longer causes sharp spikes of pain throughout her foot. 

Cautiously, she lifts her leg and places her foot back on the ground, putting some weight on it.

No pain.

“W-what…what did you do?” she breathes, and her brown eyes make contact with his.

He smiles at her as he cocks his head to the side, a stray wave of black hair gliding “What do you think?” he asks her. “I healed you!”

“B-but that’s impossible,” she whispers. “Not even priests can heal so quickly, even with Blessed Objects.”

He crosses one leg over the other, spreading his arms. “Well, I’m no priest,” he replies.

“Obviously.” Sable thinks for a moment, her mind working like a jigsaw puzzle. “The…the only others who can heal are…not human…”

His smile doesn’t waver one bit. “You’re getting closer, Miss Whittaker.”

She gulps. “Only…angels and demons can supposedly heal someone immediately.”

His eyes glint that strange blue color, even with the light the fireplace gives off.

The demon of Willow’s End.