It was impossible to tell how long she slept, but Vero woke to the sounds of voices. She could not quite make out what they said, but they sounded harried. As she crept towards the door for better hearing, the voices began to recede, taking the guttering light of the torch with them. She was left in complete darkness, and silence.

“Hey!” She called out. “What’s happening?”

There was no response.

A potential crisis represented her best chance for escape. She stuffed the last of her bread into her mouth to quiet her hunger pangs, and waited for opportunity to present itself. She was still uncertain of just where she wanted to go, even if she got out. If the Marquis had launched some kind of attack, she must presume that his men would be just as hostile to her as the Earl’s.

It would do nothing for her reputation to fail her first contract, but her greatest prerogative was to preserve her own life. If the city was filled with self-righteous fools like the templar who refused her help, then they could save themselves. Once she found an escape route, she planned to take it and run.

Then she heard the sound of approaching steps and saw the dawning light of a torch. They stopped outside her door. Vero crouched near the wall and hoped she was out of sight.

“Veronique, are you there?”

The possibility of remaining silent and hoping that the templar would come inside, where she could knock him unconscious with a blow to the head, played across Vero’s mind.

However, she put aside her frustration and decided to make one final attempt to save the fools from themselves. “What’s happening? Has the Marquis attacked?”

“The city wall was breached at sundown by some sorcery and his men are pouring through. Everyone is retreating to the tower.”

“I keep telling you, something is wrong with the Earl! If you don’t let me out of here, you’re all going to die!”

The door swung open, but the templar stood back with his sword drawn and he wore a chainmail cuirass under his tabard.

He eyed her wearily, but she also saw signs of confusion and indecision in him. “I saw… I went to the top of the tower and I saw it- The room was empty, but I saw the evil thing. I wanted to smash the bones to powder, but the cold gathered around me and a terrible fear gripped my heart. Did you speak truly about being a slayer, Veronique? If I set you free, can you destroy the spirit and release the Earl?”

“Yes, please. I beg you to release me and allow me to complete my contract.”

Fra Heward’s breathing became heavier, and he held his free hand up to his forehead. “Why is this happening? What’s causing this?”

Vero did not know, but Fra Heward appeared too distressed to expect an answer.

She replied with her own question to focus him. “Where is the Earl?”

“He’s fallen into a stupor. He’s been taken to the temple hospital.”

“The corpse at the top of the tower is the anchor. Let me destroy it and he will be restored. Then he can negotiate with the Marquis and end this pointless battle.”

Fra Heward looked up at her helplessly, wracked with uncertainty. “If there is a restless spirit in need of exorcism… Then it is a matter for the priests. I will summon the mother-confessor and-”

Vero felt this was her last chance, and decided she needed to push the templar further. “Your lord has been possessed for months! And your priests have done nothing! Go out and find them, if there are any left in the city. I shall wait here for the Marquis to free me, and then my employer and I shall destroy this spirit at our leisure once you’re all dead.”

Fra Heward wrestled with himself for a few moments, then yielded.

He put away his sword and stood aside to let her out. “Very well, my Lady. What would you have me do?”

“Save as many lives as possible. Gather as many defenders as you can manage and tell them to stop resisting. Find the women and the children and take them to the temple for shelter.”

“Is there anything you need?” Now that he had a mission to direct him, the templar’s confidence looked steadier.

“A torch,” Fra Hamilton proffered the torch he carried to her. “And oil.” She added.

“Our stores are nearby. I’ll lead you to them.”

Vero followed him out of the dungeons into a storeroom. There were several barrels of oil. She grabbed a large pitcher and filled it to the brim. Fra Heward stayed by the door. Once he was sure there was nothing else that she needed, and fully restored his own courage, he nodded and left.

Vero reacquainted herself with the layout of the tower until she found the familiar set of stairs, and began to ascend them again. She approached the door back into the earl’s bedroom trepidatiously, and put down the pitcher of oil to open it.

There was no one inside. Just as the templar said. Vero had believed him, but she was glad to have her trust confirmed.

The first time she faced the wraith she had allowed the monster’s aura of terror to enter her thoughts and panic her. There were mantras slayers ran through their minds to protect themselves from such psychic attacks, her master had taught them to her.

Fool girl! You’re no slayer at all if you can’t even remember the first thing your master taught you.

Vero calmed her thoughts and began to run the mantras.

She placed a foot inside and found that it was no longer underneath her. Like she had stepped into a noose, Vero was yanked forward with tremendous force by the ankle.

She landed on her back and felt the wind knocked out of her lungs; the torch went flying from her hand.

A moment later she was being dragged into the room. As she was pulled inside, she snatched the handle of the pitcher taking it with her, sloshing a trail of oil behind it. The door slammed shut behind her, blocking the light from view.

Inside the bedroom, Vero scrambled to her feet and threw the pitcher at the wall, spraying what was left of its contents all over the bed. Then, when nothing leapt out to attack her, she stopped to examine her surroundings.

The room was quiet. The only illumination came from the moonlight streaming in through the window. There was no movement, until a misty vapor began to emerge from beneath the blankets on the bed, ultimately coalescing into a roughly humanlike shape.

“Identify yourself, spirit!” Vero tried to sound more confident than she felt.

“You come into my home and demand that I identify myself? Who are you, thief?” The echoing voice seemed to come from all around her. It was vaguely feminine and definitely disdainful.

“My name is Veronique, and I am no thief. I’m here to remove you from this place. What keeps you trapped here? I would like to help, if I am able to do so.”

Ghosts of the departed could be exorcised by removing the bonds of pathos which tied a spirit to the material plane. Her master taught her that it usually was not worth the bother. It often required the wraith’s cooperation, and a lot of effort. A burning pyre would serve just as well, and was much quicker.

Vero began loosening her bandage and scratching at the scab on her hand with her fingernails, in a way she hoped would appear like nervous fidgeting.

“You want to help me?” The disdain in the voice was lessened, but without any physical body language to read, Vero found it difficult to determine the thing’s feelings or intentions.

“If I can, yes. What’s your name? What is your connection to the Earl of Kaer Longus, and to this tower?”

The spirit laughed, and the temperature of the room dropped further. “My name was Enid. I grew up here when I was a girl, and I was imprisoned here when I was a woman. You asked about my connection to the Earl? I was his sister, I was his prisoner, and I was his victim.”

It had become so cold, Vero’s breath turned to mist as she exhaled. “He locked you in here?”

“That’s what I said isn’t it?”

“I’m very sorry, Enid.”

“Are you?”

The smoky shape left its position over the bed. It came towards Vero and mingled with the mist of her breath. Vero ripped her wound open. She began reciting an incantation under her breath as quietly as she could manage, and tried to work the signs with her numbed fingers. Without any reagents she would need to make a very large sacrifice of blood.

The spirit continued. “When our father died, he sent our mother off to die in a hermitage and locked me in this room. ‘To ensure that I remained chaste until my wedding’ or so he said. Although he never bothered looking for suitors to arrange such a wedding.”

“Why would he do something like that, to anyone- let alone to a member of his own family?”

“Why do men do anything?” Vero could no longer see the distinct form of the wraith, although she could feel it probing the ends of the hair on her arms and legs. “When my brother Conrad was still just a lad, I had a friend… a certain squire. The two of us would make love hidden in the stables, and Conrad would hide away watching us. Although I did not know it at the time. Later, the night father died, my brother brought me here. He said that he knew about my whoring. He said it was disgusting the way I disgraced the family, spreading my legs for any man who asked my favor.” The spirit’s voice had turned to cooing.

Vero felt the probing of her body continue. The spirit was looking for a weakness to try and take a hold of her mind. She relented where the spirit pressed her, so that the ghost would notice nothing. She Depended on her mantras to protect her deepest thoughts.

She continued subtly weaving her magic. Vero felt her wound burning, even as the rest of her was freezing. She tried hard not to show any signs of discomfort that might give her intentions away. As the heat increased, life returned to her hands and it became easier to work the signs.

Blood dripped from the ends of her fingers.

“How did you die?”

“He lost his mind when he learned that I was already pregnant. I told him to send for a cunning woman to – address – the matter. He began to scream, and so did I. He hit me. Knocked me down… Wrapped his hands around my neck...”

Vero could feel the probing of the ghost turn to a grip around her own neck. “Please stop.”

“That was what I asked him. I wonder if I sounded as pitiful then as you do now. I confess, I do not remember.”

Vero felt as through unseen hands were shaking her as they throttled her.

The ghost continued to speak, her voice rising in crescendo as the pressure on Vero’s throat continued to increase. “He strangled me until I was dead, and didn't cease even after my heart had stopped. When my flesh was cold, he claimed I was ill and needed rest. He locked my body in this tower to hide his crime!”

Vero’s vision began to tunnel, turning dark in the peripheral as she struggled to breathe. “Please, you’re choking me. I want to help.”

The wraith began to show herself again, coalescing with vaporous arms wrapped around Vero’s neck. “Help? Help me put my hatred of my dear brother to rest? I’ve already done that. The Marquis de Fer won’t find anything left of him but a rotting cadaver. The same way he left me. What I need is another body to fill. I can see in your mind that you've already caught that handsome young lord's eye. His face shines so bright in your memories. I can use that once we've been made one. I’ve grown so tired of inhabiting a man’s flesh- Oh! Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you.”

“You’re killing me.”

“Just relax and let me inside… You’ll feel so much better… It only hurts like this… Because. You. Are. Fighting. Me.”

Vero yelped in pain as the blood oozing from her hand finally ignited. The sleeve of her dress began to smoke and burn. She whipped her arm as hard as she could manage, sending flaming droplets of blood flying across the room.

The bed erupted into a tower of fire as the oil ignited.

Instantly the pressure on her neck released and Vero was left gasping for air. The wraith shrieked, but with its body and prison burning, it no longer possessed the power to do anything besides vent its impotent rage. Once she had recovered, Vero beat out the flames on her arm.

She ran to the door and pulled at it, only to find it stuck fast. She could only stay near for a few seconds before she was forced to retreat from the spreading flames. Through the smoke she could just see that, after closing the door, the ghost had warped the hinges.

The room was becoming an inferno. Vero began to choke again, from the smoke in the air. She fled to the window. It was large enough for her to squeeze through, but only just. There were no handholds that she could see below her, only a straight drop. The side of the tower she was on overlooked the swamp rather than the city.

Already the fire was running totally out of control and room was full of smoke. Vero kept her face as near the window as she could for fresh air. She desperately smeared runes in blood on her singed dress, and chanted as best she could manage between the coughing. Her wound was still bleeding freely.

The working to slow her fall was quick and dirty, but she had no time to test it. She eased herself out of the window, keeping a hold of the sill. The city wall was directly beneath her. It was closer than the swamp, but she thought she would stand the best chance landing in the water.

As smoke continued to billow out of the window, she leapt out as far as she could manage. Vero prayed that the swamp was deep. She was falling so fast.

Too fast!

At least she would not die in that dreadful tower.