Morgan walked through the flower gardens, alongside the grapevine-walled path looking for Nadjinia. The air was rich with the sounds and smells of the French countryside and she breathed deeply, trying to wash from her memory the oil-slicked gritty smell of the cobblestones, and the heavy rank smells of the underbelly of the city streets that had been her home for so long. The country was not a place where she had ever made a living.

While she was thinking of the differences between the cities where she knew how to draw money from the tightest pockets, and the quiet expanse where she now found herself she came upon the place where Nadjinia was drawing. She was set up near a small gully that ran through the grounds, behind which a small clearing could be seen. Ferns and trees formed a natural archway to the clearing, and Morgan could see a wide expanse of rosemary bushes and wild grasses dotted with native flowers stretching out to meet a forest. In the distance, nested in the foothills stood the ruins of what had once been a great building that had overlooked the valley where she now stood. The dry crumbling walls were festooned with ivy and plant life as the earth sought to slowly and gently bring the remainder of it down to its final resting place, old bones that needed to sleep, the ruined sockets of the window openings staring sadly through the mist that rose from the lush overgrowth below.

Morgan watched Nadjinia as she paused in reflection, and then reapplied her hand to her work. Quietly she stepped forward until she was within a few feet of her hostess, unwilling to disturb her from her art. However, what she saw on the canvas was not the scene that lay before them. Instead of the valley and the battered remnants above, she saw a scene of busy road, full of people and carts and bustling with activity. The road wound along the valley leading to the building as it had once stood in all its glory. As she watched, Nadjinia paused, and then began to intently watch something while her hand moved on the canvas, furiously sketching a running boy, capturing it. Morgan looked again. Nothing but the waving grasses met her gaze.

“Can you not see it as well?” Nadjinia asked, as her hand quickly drew another moving figure. Morgan realized that her approach had been fully noted, although she had taken great care not to be heard.

“No.” Morgan’s tone was careful, unsure how to answer this seemingly capricious question. Surely this woman did not have the Sight. Yet Morgan could not see what Nadjinia seemed to think was there. She wondered briefly if Nadjinia were slightly mad. It would possibly explain Valinor's almost obsessive protection of her.

“It’s there,” Nadjinia said. “You just have to learn to see.” Morgan didn’t respond to this. The remark seemed to be rhetorical in nature. She stood a bit in silent observation while Nadjinia added depth and shading to the work. Finally she put down her pastel, smiled in satisfaction and stretched. “I’m done here,” she said. She looked over at the patiently waiting Morgan and nodded. “Thank you for waiting,” she said, “I had to record that moment.”

“I’d like to do a piece with you near the rock garden today”, she continued, ignoring the flicker of perplexity that crossed Morgan’s face. She indicated the way to the location with a glance. Her tone was pleasantly neutral, as if nothing extraordinary had just occurred. “The sun has risen to the right angle. Your hair will contrast beautifully with the lilies."

                                                                                                                        ...

After the sitting, Morgan stood, adjusting her clothing. Nadjinia usually liked for her to sit for long periods of time and then suddenly dismissing her while she filled in the details. They rarely spoke during the posing, and Morgan knew she was free to go for the day afterwards. The terms of her employment, if that is what this was, were simple and direct. She would pose for Nadjinia for a hour or two in the mornings, taking whatever direction Nadjinia wished until she was released from her duty, and then she was allowed full reign of the chateau and the grounds. Her pay was given to her daily, usually left on the small dressing table in her room for her to find, more than fair compensation for her time. There was never a set amount, and it varied depending on how long she was occupied in her task. Surprisingly, on more than one occasion she had left Nadjinia in the gardens and gone to her room, finding the money already in place waiting for her. As always, Morgan collected the bills and carefully placed it in a pouch which she kept tied around her waist. The pouch was good-sized now, and Morgan would carefully reach for and touch its increasing girth daily, stroking it as carefully and in as much quiet amazement as a mother gently exploring the wonder of a child growing within her. She had been here for a little over a week now, and had nearly enough money to go anywhere she desired, certainly far from here and these strange people, yet she continued to stay. For now her need for the money was greater than her need to be away, but she kept her things ready so that she could slip off at a moments notice.

It was not that the conditions were bad here; they were, in fact, more lush than she could remember ever having experienced. Although old and showing signs of wear, the villa on the French countryside was quite genteel and stately. It was also extremely remote, and Morgan sensed this was a great boon to Valinor's work as a composer. His private quarters overlooked the great valley that separated the estate from the road into the village, and she rarely saw him except for brief encounters which she quickly removed herself from, or during disastrous dinners where her manners were quite pointedly ignored by Valinor, and gently coached by Nadjinia. No matter how hard she tried, she always seemed to wolf her food down far too rapidly, greatly outpacing the other two, forcing her to sit in awkward silence while they interminably savored their meal. Eventually Valinor would retire to the study, and Morgan would excuse herself to her room. Often she would hear Nadjinia on the cello afterwards, the mournful sounds blending softly with the fading light as the day drew to a close. Although she did not often come into contact with him, Morgan sensed that Valinor was always near, always watching her, polite when circumstance forced him to speak to her, otherwise dismissive. There was something deep and disturbing within him, and although she tried to read through him, as she had learned long ago to do with people, especially men, there was nothing but a dark curtain around him that she could not part.

Idyllic, this brief encounter could be described as; yes it was, but also very strange. It could not be this easy, she thought. There was something that she could not directly address about either of them, something hidden as expertly as the ever present yet never-seen staff of the house. There was something that felt dangerous here, and all of her instincts were heightened to the breaking point. Once again Morgan felt herself ready to run. Yet she stayed, unwilling to break the quiet spell that was upon her. Her inner guides did not alert her to anything other than to be aware and take notice. She looked forward to this easy existence, and more pragmatically, she looked forward to the growth of the money roll she was accumulating. Every day she planned her escape; every day she found herself sliding into the rich linen sheets at night. And every night she dreamed and awoke in terror in the morning.

On the tenth day, Creagan found her.

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