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[center][i][h3]Witch Hunt[/h3][/i][/center]
[center][i][h1]A Mind to Know[/h1][sub]Part 1 of 3[/sub][/i][/center]

[center][b]Location: The Yew, Faerie Realms
Time: Afternoon, Day After Satellite Attacks[/b][/center]
[hr]
Somehow, Bach managed to restrain himself for once. The four of them stood outside the magnificent yew tree resident in the faerie realms. It stretched impossibly high, the branches and piney leaves blocking out the sun, bearing a little fruit - poisonous red berries weighed down the branches.  The air was mild, moisture present after the dry mountain air. The grass beneath their feet was soft and green, The Ambassador even removed her shoes to walk barefoot. Rare few saw this place. Bach often loathed to show this place to any mortals. He bit his tongue, not forgetting his most recent conversation with The Ambassador. 

Magic was all around them, the spirit of the faerie realms was unlike no other. It sent goosebumps across The Ambassador’s arms, brought colour to her cheeks and slowly she rolled her shoulders. “[color=thistle]Welcome to our home. Follow me.[/color]”

She stepped up to the door, announcing to the yew. “[color=thistle]I, the Ambassador of the Fair Folk hereby welcome and honour my guests White Witch and her familiar Holt. They are permitted to enter this property.[/color]”

Prior to the invitation, Marie and Holt felt a heavy pressure, a compelling force that pushed them from the Yew’s presence, followed by a thick haze of obscure thoughts, either blinding them to the Yew, or pulling them deeper into Faerie. Holt was more accustomed to the charms and tricks of this world, fairing from a land not far, a dense wood home to other shades, wraiths, and creatures under the Witch-Father’s control. To Marie, however, it was a much more novel experience.

There was something familiar about this place, as if she had traversed these lands before, though Marie was unsure if it were a memory, or the subtle call of the witch-fire to the strange world from which it hailed. 

[color=ffe4b5]”It’s beautiful,”[/color] Marie commented as she followed the Ambassador, voice brimming with adoration. 

The Ambassador smiled nodding, holding the door open for the pair to enter. She followed behind them, and the interior was warm colours and wooden furniture. The walls following the natural curvature of the tree inside. All the creature comforts were present. The living room held two long well padded red cushioned couches. Reds - mahogany shades and deep rich browns were everywhere. Odette and Bach shared ownership of this home but it was in stark contrast to the antique, polished and classical themes of Odette’s apartment. Bach wanted to surround themselves in his element. At the windows poured greenery, potted plants and every corner was a plant. A spiral staircase circled to the upper floors, they passed it as they entered. The kitchen was just beyond the living room, unseen was the dining room behind the trunk.

“[color=thistle]While my closet in Paris is far larger, the one here will have to do. Come White Witch we can get ready for dinner and you can relay everything I will need to know to pass a night with your parents.[/color]”

Marie sauntered past, casually looking over the Ambassador’s wardrobe as she listened, turning back at the continued mention of “The White Witch.”

[color=ffe4b5]”Well first, you can call me Marie. Marie Elizabeth Heartford is my full name. You already know one of them so you might as well know this one.”[/color] 

Holt assumed the form of a cat upon entrance, relinquishing all of Marie’s belongings to the floor just outside the living area. He gave Marie a tired stare, fearing that mention of her name in such a place would cause unforeseen strife, but knowing that the Ambassador’s contract with Gwyneth prevented any such tricks. 

Odette looked to White Witch - Marie, significantly. Another hurdle, true name revealed. She walked into the room, padding carefully along on the balls of her feet. She stopped at her vanity, “[color=thistle]A pleasure to meet you, Marie Elizabeth Heartford. My name is Odette Favre. You understand the significance of sharing true names here. You can trust me with yours as I hope to trust you with mine.[/color]”

In the room was a large king sized bed neatly made up, three standing mirrors were beside the vanity and inside the closet was a lone floor to ceiling mirror as well. 

[color=ffe4b5]”And my folks are . . . certainly a pair. A little overbearing, but they mean well. My mom’s Eliza Heartford, a history professor and research assistant at Northeastern University in Boston. She’s got two PhDs in History but I can’t remember what fields. I think one of them is pre-colonial America.”[/color] 

Odette nodded along, understanding fully what entails of a pair of eccentric parents in the sciences. 

Marie’s mother kept a library stocked with historical texts which she insisted her daughter read, always with a famous quote in mind or some long story about a historical event or indigenous peoples and their customs. Her study was overflowing with paintings and treasures kept by other great historians and important political figures, and every time Marie passed a display case or china cabinet in the home, Eliza made her recite some fact about from where it came, perhaps at the behest of her husband.

[color=ffe4b5]”My dad is equally as eccentric if not more so. Stephen Heartford is technically a cultural anthropologist, but he adores archaeology and finds the time and resources to tag along on any archaeological dig he can, and he always brings a souvenir home with him. Dad made me go through his classical learning phase with him. I took an at home pottery and sculpting class because he wanted to mimic Greco-Roman busts and vases.”[/color]

Eliza and Stephen Heartford were certainly good compliments to one another, both highly skilled in their fields and as extroverted as can be, which made it difficult to maintain a relationship with their daughter, who took after each of them in her own ways, but never appreciated nor developed their outgoing attitude and social prowess. In fact, Marie’s skill as a communicator came only through her work with Puck and her clientele at The Red Devil. Had she not risen to the occasion upon her tenure there, Marie might never had decided to go on such an audacious undertaking. 

[color=ffe4b5]”When he isn’t traipsing around Europe and Central America, my dad will freelance as an appraiser and curator for a local auction house, and my mom occasionally brings him onto her research teams at the university.”[/color]

Odette sat astride the soft bench at the vanity, neatly smoothing out her dress. Bach came at the door holding a tray with a pot of steaming tea and small biscuits at the side. A few wedges of lemon, a tiny pot labelled honey, and a saucer for cream were tucked in beside it. “[color=thistle]They sound like [i]quite[/i] the pair. My parents are of similar vein, scientists studying to uncover the veils of the occult. Following folklore for their grains of truth. I am familiar with that personality type. How long has it been since you last seen them? Do they truly know nothing of your witchy life? Will we be imposing to simply drop in with less than a few hours notice?[/color]”

Marie was honestly surprised to see how candid Odette could be given the right setting. She hadn’t expected a name in return for hers, but if nothing else, she assumed the Ambassador would be one for tradition. 

[color=ffe4b5]”How long?”[/color] Marie chuckled, sitting near to Odette and graciously accepting a cup of tea, [color=ffe4b5]”I haven’t actually seen them in a little over two years. I spent the holidays last year working for Puck, and almost the whole of this year spent working as The White Witch, or looking for clues related to Gwyneth. We talk every now and again, but as involved as my parent’s liked to be when I was younger, they respected my privacy, and they were thrilled when I moved out, hoped I’d become a little more sociable in the city. They’ve left me to my own devices since then.

“As for the occasional moonlighting and witching in Lost Haven, no, they have no idea. The Bucca told me to keep my practice a secret. I hid it well. I think when I was around sixteen or seventeen, I ordered a couple of books from more contemporary authors that my mom might have seen, but even then, strange as she and my father both are, I doubt she’d think twice about it. And don’t worry, soon as I told them I was bringing a friend over, my mom went crazy.”[/color]

Odette turned to face herself in the mirror, stirring a small teaspoon of honey into the cup. Schooling her expression. Their similarities were clear, it sounded as if she still liked her parents though. In that they differed. “[color=thistle][i]Bien.[/i] There will be plenty of good cheer to go around, easy enough to soar into their good graces and spend some time searching for Mind, the book may be in their library. If our luck holds.[/color]” Odette wondered briefly where she could challenge Marie in this outset. Perhaps stir some spirits in the house, invite mischief depending on how well they could host. “[color=thistle]Feel free to pick out whatever you like, we are around the same size not accounting for hip or bust measurements but you will surely find something to your taste.[/color]”

She replaced her tea then went onto fiddle with her hair, “[color=thistle]Do you miss your late night feats of heroism in Lost Haven?[/color]”

Marie rifled through Odette’s wardrobe, looking for something that matched her personal style, which, Marie soon found out, wasn’t nearly as defined as she had originally believed. One thing was certain, however, the Ambassador had far too many pastels. It took Marie quite some time to find an outfit she liked on herself, rather, pieces that she felt went well together, leaving a bit of an awkward silence while Marie contemplated her answer. 

[color=ffe4b5]”Honestly?”[/color] Marie replied, slipping out of her own clothes behind a beautiful yet entirely cliche partition not far form the vanity. She naturally chose something black, a short [url=https://i.pinimg.com/564x/49/2a/40/492a40d118fb65813b4bdb255577a1bc.jpg]dress[/url] with sheer sleeves, collar, and gown, each of which was decorated by a pattern similar to a fleur-de-lis. Atop this, she wore an olive, satin robe or shawl with intricate patterns on the outside, and small tassles lining the bottom hem. Marie traded her sandals for a pair of her own shoes, ankle-height boots with a pointed toe and raised heel. 

[color=ffe4b5]”I’m not sure.”[/color] she continued, stepping out from behind the partition, combing her fingers through her hair and teasing it enough to make it look halfway styled. [color=ffe4b5]”I didn’t mind some of the work I was doing. Puck sent me out on occasion to deal with minor nuisances and drum up business for the tavern. It helped me make a few connections, as did my work with contract holding clients. But the thing with Diplodoc and STRIKE,”[/color] Marie sighed, [color=ffe4b5]”I was there because my employer told me to go. Big groups like that . . . Well,  I’ve never been one for a group.”[/color]

Odette critically ran an eye over her outfit, then went to the vanity to pull free some makeup. “[color=thistle]Mm. It sounds rather plain when you explain it. It wasn’t only your employer drumming you up to heroism, it was the local news media as well painting you as such. What he was truly hoping to accomplish always seems out of reach.[/color]”

“[color=thistle]I’ve grown to hate that aspect of Puck.[/color]” She said, venomous as it was her tone hardly changed. She pushed a palette of eyeshadows her way, rising from her seat she motioned for her to sit. “[color=thistle]If I were you, I’d simply have been driven mad by such frivolous labels.[/color]”

“[color=thistle]Or did you believe you were the heroine they saw?[/color]”

Marie sat at the vanity, looking at Odette in the mirror. 

[color=ffe4b5]”Yeah, you never get used to Puck and his ulterior motives. And to be honest, maybe I did. I don’t know, something in me wanted to believe that The White Witch was something special, something new that Lost Haven had never seen before. Maybe I got caught up in the hype, a little addicted to the limelight, although I would never do an interview or something like that, God no. I was addicted to being a mystery. It was fun.”[/color]

Odette considered the shades of lipsticks next, “[color=thistle]Perhaps the mystery will lend well now to using it as a shield instead of showmanship.[/color]” She smiled in spite of herself, “[color=thistle]The two are not mutually exclusive, having a flare for the dramatic as I do. It comes with the territory.[/color]”

Marie looked away for a moment, eyes heavy and contemplative. What was it that brought her to Puck’s side, that introduced her Joseph, that carried her through every battle? It certainly wasn’t heroism or bravery or any such virtue touted by the media and its so called “heroes.” No, Marie always felt drive, ambition, forward momentum. She considered that her current mission, her quest to find Gwyneth, brought her to this moment purposefully, that she was reminded of a past she’d long forgotten by friends who shared those ancient sentiments. Maybe her uncertainty stemmed from the life she’d known as Marie Heartford conflicting with the body and soul of Gwyneth Owens. The thought did little to comfort her, but it did bring something else to light.

[color=ffe4b5]”I really want to hate you,”[/color] Marie stated plainly, staring again at Odette in the mirror. [color=ffe4b5]”There’s a part of me that’s screaming that all of this is wrong, that I shouldn’t be here right now, that I have every reason in the world not to be anywhere near you. But I [b]know[/b] that I can’t, that I shouldn’t listen to it. Despite what’s happened . . .”[/color] 

Holt looked to Marie, feeling her emotional strain. The battle that waged in her mind was unlike any he’d previously experienced. He feared she might break down, she might show weakness or anger, but to his surprise, Marie’s expression remained unchanged.

[color=ffe4b5]”Despite Joseph’s death, I can’t hate you, I just can’t. Strange as it might sound, it’s comforting to know that I have someone to rely on who understand me. Marie might still be upset, but Gwyneth knows that business is business. And if I did suffer multiple betrayals in the past, then it’ll be nice having someone who won’t - who can’t - betray me.”[/color]

“[color=thistle]I would not have asked for forgiveness.[/color]” She said just as plainly, simplicity only found in truth. 

Odette made eye contact with Marie in the mirror, she leaned over her shoulder speaking quietly. “[color=thistle]It is strange, there is plenty to learn while we work together. You are pushing past a grudge for the objective benefit of gaining me as an ally shows potential. You are capable as Gwyneth to [i]make[/i] something of yourself. Not designate to what Puck or the public may [i]want[/i] from the likes of you. I have one more question.[/color]”

She paused standing back up, “[color=thistle]You mourn the loss of your friend Joseph, he yearned for fame and recognition. Would he have approved of your quest for greatness?[/color]” She casted a look to Holt then returned to Marie. “[color=thistle]Would he be attending family dinner with you instead?[/color]”

Marie smiled, allowing her fond remembrance of Joseph to overpower her grief.

[color=ffe4b5]”Joseph, when I first met him, reminded me of what I am. He let me be selfish, led me to a place where my talents would be fully appreciated and where I could thrive. Puck even confided in him about Gwyneth long before I knew anything about her.”[/color]

[color=90ee90][i]”A secret he loathed keeping,”[/i][/color] Holt chimed in, boosting Marie’s spirits. 

[color=ffe4b5]”Were he still here, yes, I would very happily be taking him home to meet the parents. But he and I couldn’t be objective when it came to the other. Fortunately, that won’t be an issue for us. You’re interesting, Odette, but I don’t care about you yet.”[/color] 

Her last comment was said with more humor than disdain, a sentiment she felt the Ambassador shared. 

Odette laughed, hiding behind a hand - genuine. “[color=thistle]The feeling is mutual, your case is unique. Being born into the shoes of another instead of a foreign presence wrestling for control over your body. As for dinner with your parents you’ll look the part for once. Unfortunately it is difficult to paint lipstick on a mercurial golem, try as she does to be interested in makeup.[/color]”

She sipped at her tea, taking a bite of the biscuit patting her lips free of crumbs. “[color=thistle]This will be fun.[/color]”

Marie laughed, letting slide the comment about her appearance, though it was to be expected from a French women with this standard of living. 

[color=ffe4b5]”Speaking of your ten foot friend, where has . . . she, gotten off to? And how did you even come across, Mandate, right? Doesn’t seem like your handiwork.”[/color]

Bach brought a chair for her to sit by, “[color=thistle]I found Mandate by complete happenstance if you are to believe it. Where she is - is a secret. Rest assured, her skills will not be needed as of right now.[/color]” She said, “[color=thistle]You could say… it was a fated match?[/color]”

Bach audibly groaned.