She visited the Café quite often after that, longing for a change of scenery from the enormous house where everything still smelled like Jonathan and where she always caught herself hoping he'd step around the corner in just a moment.

Her life consisted of avoiding the press, appeasing the police, being flirted at by the waiter and asking herself what the hell Nathaniel could possibly want from her. Because he just didn't leave. Jon's last will had been read, and he'd miraculously inherited some hundred thousand pounds, which she thought would satisfy him, and he would go away, spending it as fast as he could. But no such luck. She'd tried offering him more money – which had made him leave, granted, but in a huff, anger burning in his eyes. Catherine just didn't understand what it was that he wanted, and she didn't really have any patience left to guess what it was, as apparently, he seemed to be determined not to tell her.

The other thing she'd been doing was sorting through the financial records of the Caster family. Jon's old advisor had come to explain some of the details, but she'd soon discovered that he was either incompetent or lying to her. It seemed that there really was no source of income beyond rent for some of the properties, which by no means could explain the enormous amount of money in what was now her bank account. There were works of art being sold that were previously not catalogued, little jade figurines, intricate, ancient wood carvings, everything imaginable – up to gold bars. And while the advisor seemed to have an excuse or explanation for every single one of those, she just didn't believe him. A cold feeling of dread began to settle in her stomach. Was this Jonathan's doing, had he known of this? Was that old, highly regarded family she'd almost married into a crime syndicate? Or was she paranoid and they were just extremely bad at keeping their books?

"Do you want another tea?" she heard the voice of the waiter from somewhere closely behind her, too close for her liking.

"Uhm... yeah, thanks, that would be nice."

He stepped into sight, replacing her old cup with a full new one, he'd obviously been expecting that answer. She smiled at him, thankfully. He still hadn't informed the paparazzi where she was now spending her days.

He responded with a smile of his own, showing suspiciously white teeth. "You know, I think you need a piece of cake," he than said, entirely serious again.

She wasn't not sure what to make of that. "Excuse me?"

"A piece of cake. Actual food. Don't think I can't see how you're getting thinner by the day, it's unhealthy." He frowned at her, looking a bit like he was scolding a child.

"Ah."

"You don't believe me," he stated, looking mildly upset. But it wasn't long until his smile returned. "You should, you know? I worry about you."

Catherine eyed him sceptically. This didn't make sense to her, he was a complete stranger.

"You don't even know me," she protested. Her voice was small, and she didn't like that, but what could she do. She'd only spoken a few words today.

"I know you recently lost your fiancé, that you stay here almost every day for about six hours and never eat anything. You do know that you can't live on coffee and tea alone, do you?"

So he did know. She'd been beginning to wonder if maybe he was new to the area, because he'd never brought it up.

He grinned, seeming to have read her thoughts. "Oh, I'm neither blind nor deaf. I just figured it wasn't my business. Sylvester, by the way. My name, I mean. Sylvester Tobin."

Catherine took the hand he offered, warm and soft and strong. Like Jonathan's. She withdrew as fast as she could without being entirely rude.

"Catherine," she replied. "Catherine Baker."

It hurt. It hurt so much that she couldn't introduce herself as Catherine Caster. She'd wanted to be able to do that for so long, to finally officially belong to him, and now she never would. And never was a word that she'd never been able to grasp before. She'd said "I'd never do that", just like that, so many little nevers strewn about randomly, without real meaning. Now it had a meaning, and oh, how she hated it.

Sylvester smiled again, not commenting on how he already knew that, simply leaving and then reappearing with a plate carrying a big load of chocolate cake. It made the cold inside her thaw a little, just a tiny little bit, and she was so thankful for the gesture.

"There you go," he said as he placed it in front of her. "I'll come by again to check if you've eaten it all. No sneaking." And then he was off again, because someone had called for the bill.

She did her best, really, but her appetite had left along with Jonathan, and it hadn't come back. When she was done, about half of the cake was still left on the plate.

ᚱᚱᚱ

The next time she looked up, it was directly into Nathaniel's determined face. He almost looked like someone preparing for a battle, eyebrows contracted, eyes sparkling, jaw set.

"We've got to talk," he said.

"What, breaking up with me already?"

That seemed to get him off track. "What?"

"I'm sorry." She really was. Just joking about being with someone else seemed wrong, she didn't even know why she said it.

"No, it's okay, I just... you surprised me."

"Huh."

It was awkward, she'd never had anything to say to him, that made conversations hard. And surprising, every time again, because he was just so different from Jonathan. When he didn't say anything, though, she had to prod, because the way he was staring at her made her skin crawl.

"You wanted to talk?"

"Ah, yeah." He scratched his ear, some curls falling into his face, covering his eyes. "Can we... get out of here?"

"No." She wouldn't go anywhere with him before she knew exactly what he wanted. And even if she knew, she probably wouldn't anyway.

"Yeah, thought so. Was worth a try."

He adjusted a chair for himself to sit in, and Catherine took a moment to look at him. The shadows beneath his eyes were so dark they were almost black, his hair looked like it hadn't seen a comb in a long while. His skin was paler than Catherine knew it would normally be, and he wasn't wearing his jewellery. The last times she'd seen him, he'd had piercings in his ears, a lip ring, and was wearing studded bracelets, ever the teenage rebel. He'd grown up. He'd grown up and he was grieving for his brother, and here she was being mean to him. But she couldn't bring herself to feel guilty. That would be just too much to handle for her right now.

"Soo..." he started out, but stopped himself immediately. "See, I don't know how to say this. Chances are you're going to want to have me admitted at the end of it, but please just hear me out, okay? And don't get loud. Because this is important, and you need to hear it, because you're in danger, but I'd rather just you hear it, and not everyone in our immediate surroundings, yeah?"

"Is your family involved with organized crime?" It just burst out of her, she couldn't stop herself. But he looked surprised, and she would take that as a good sign.

"Why would you think that?" He looked intrigued, genuinely interested, as if he couldn't possibly find an answer to that question by himself. Maybe he'd never been involved in this, Catherine figured. Jonathan had been the firstborn, the one who was introduced to business.

"Because most of the family money comes out of nowhere."

Nathaniel frowned. "No, out of real estate. I mean, are you sure?"

She nodded and buried her face in her hands, trying to escape his eyes. "There's almost no money coming in with the real estate stuff. It's just... they sold things, expensive things, that must've materialized out of nowhere. You know how you have lists of everything you own? Every single thing in the mansion is catalogued. Every bookshelf in one of the flats is recorded. But all the stuff Jon's been selling and making money off of the last years? There's nothing there about it. Nothing. It's as if it never existed."

He looked taken aback by that, his eyes darting through the room, before fixating back on her. "Are you sure?" he repeated.

"Yeah." Her voice broke and she had to clear her throat before she could continue. "I took a look at it all. I mean, I'm not completely through with it, I'm still missing the employment records, but... What could I see there? Except for that they paid them."

"That they paid me, for example. What the hell..."

She nodded. That summed the situation up pretty accurately.

"So, what did you want to tell me?" It scared her, that word. Danger. You're in danger. From what? From what if he didn't know about the thing with the money? What else could there possibly be? What else was there that Jonathan had kept secret from her and couldn't explain anymore?

He stuttered and fidgeted, finally settling on: "Have you ever read Lord of the Rings?"

"Is this supposed to be funny?" she asked. "Because I don't think it is."

That made Nathaniel shrink back a little, grappling for words, running a hand through his hair, tugging on it. "No, of course not. Just... this is freaking complicated, alright?" he groaned. "So have you?"

Hoping her eyes were properly conveying her disgust, she nodded.

"So, you know the Elves and Middle Earth and shit?"

"Yes." She was getting impatient.

"Jesus." He wrung his hands. "Don't run away, okay? Don't get angry, promise me. I'll explain."

Again, she nodded.

"They're real."

For a moment, he left it at that, just waiting, observing her response. She, on the other side, was still waiting for the rest of it. It hadn't registered that he actually meant it, not until he asked: "You okay?" That's when she started to giggle. She wasn't even angry, this was too delicious.

Nathaniel looked upset. "This is not funny!" he hissed, but she was just cracking up. So he let her laugh, continued to look at her helplessly, and only continued when she was done. "It's not funny, I mean it."

"Sure."

"No, I..."

"... want to tell me that there's Elves hidden in the forest and that's where all the money comes from?"

"That's actually quite possible."

She snorted. "Of course. Now could you please stop wasting my time with this rubbish? I have work to do."

"I'm sure there's someone who's been looking after the finances all this time," he whined, and she rolled her eyes.

"Yes, there is. And he's lying through his teeth. I want to get behind this."

"You won't, though. Not if you don't have all the information." Nathaniel tugged on his hair again, facial expression tense. He was just as uncomfortable as her – and he certainly wasn't looking like he was playing a prank on her, which was terrifying. Then again, she didn't know what would scare her more: Him being delusional and fixated on her, or what he said being true. He shook her head to get that thought out of it. Stupid.

"So what you're saying is that an Elvish syndicate has been paying your family money to do – what, exactly? Keep the existence of fairy dust a secret?" Playing along made her feel light, giddy almost. This was the first genuine conversation she'd had in a long time, even if it was completely ridiculous. But at least it didn't have anything to do with different models of coffins, or defending her innocence. She'd had it with those subjects.

"Elvish syndicate? Do you hear yourself when you're talking?"

"Do you? They're real, yeah. And the monster in my closet loves bedazzling its fur," she quipped, exasperated.

"Can you please take me seriously for a moment? Please?" Nathaniel begged, and she didn't quite understand the expression on his face, all big eyes and frown and pinched mouth.

"The second you stop talking about mythical creatures like they're real, sure. I'm grieving, Nathaniel, not completely mental. Now would you please either sober up or go away?"

"I'm not drunk." He was almost shouting by then.

"You're making a scene. What was it you said about our immediate surroundings?"

"Because I thought you'd be-"

"Gullible enough to buy that crap?"she interrupted him in a hiss. "Tough luck. Now leave!"

The motion she made towards the door was quite clear, and he followed her command, shoulders slumped, like a defeated soldier.

Sylvester came over to bring her a new cup of tea, and she ignored the fact that he had stayed completely out of sight while Nathaniel was there, and not waited a single table.

ᚱᚱᚱ

When Catherine left the Café that day, it was already getting dark. She'd been the last one to be in there, Sylvester had probably closed shop much later than usual, just so she could stay a little longer. Smiling to herself, she walked across the parking lot towards the road. She'd come by foot that morning, determined and appearing much more confident than she felt, telling the reporters to leave her the hell alone and stop destroying every chance at a normal life she was ever going to get in this damned village. Forgoing the expletives, of course, that would've just gotten her more coverage.

There was a light breeze, and it was a bit cool, but her thin cardigan was enough to keep her warm. Late summer had always been her favourite time of the year, with the moderate temperature, not too warm, not too cold, and with the biggest chance of it not raining. Which sometimes was a feat in Britain, admittedly, but it only made the sunny days more special. The leaves of the trees were rustling softly. Somewhere an owl hooted. Satisfied that the world around her was at peace, she clutched her bag tighter to her chest. It would be a long time before she was at peace.

"Excuse me."

The words made her spin on her heels. There was a woman in the middle of the road, her features partially concealed by the darkness. Her white dress, almost resembling a toga, was tattered and dirty, as if she'd been wearing it for years, her long blond braid tugged on by the wind for an equally long time. The bare feet Catherine could make out beneath what was left of the seam of the dress made her shudder, thinking of how cold that had to be.

"Yes?" she answered carefully.

"It has been found that you will be the new Keeper," the woman said. Her voice was almost lost in the wind, an airy, somewhat ethereal sound, graceful and musical.

That made her frown. Keeper? What was that supposed to be? And then it dawned on her. The old dress, the wild hair, the absent look in the woman's eyes... She had to be troubled somehow, suffering delusions.

"Has it?" she questioned her. "Who told you that?" The tone of her voice was light and unaffected, but she was cautious, apprehensive of what the woman wanted with her. Should she go back to town and seek help, or was she harmless?

"Fate." That definitely cleared things up for Catherine, because while she had occasionally talked to herself, fate had never spoken to her. But the woman seemed very convinced of what she was saying. She looked to be very sure of herself in general, feet apart, shoulders back, arms by her sides. It was as if the temperature didn't affect her, and neither did the fact that she was standing in the middle of a deserted road with a stranger while it was getting darker and darker.

"And why did fate tell you that, did they say?"

The stranger chuckled. "Fate is not a person, Fate is an entity. But you knew that, didn't you?"

Taken aback, and definitely not liking the direction this was going in, Catherine tried to distance herself by taking a step back. Fear was bubbling up in the pit of her stomach.

"I'm sorry, no, I didn't know that. But you never stop learning, right?" She laughed nervously. "Is there someone I can call so that they come and help you?"

Apparently confused, the woman tilted her head to the side. "I do not require help, thank you. Let me just mark you, and I will be on my way."

"Mark me?" Now Catherine really was alarmed. That didn't sound good.

"As the next Keeper." This seemed to be self-evident to her – and it was not understandable that Catherine would even ask about it. "Since you did not come to us, I had to come to you. Pity, the ceremony would have been beautiful."

"What do you mean, I didn't come, I... I don't know what you're talking about!" Catherine exclaimed, her voice betraying a mix of anger and fear.

The woman was upset. "Nonsense. Claiming ignorance will be of no use to you, girl. I know it is a heavy burden to bear, but this is not my fault."

"Not your... get away from me!" With that, she started to walk into the direction of her home, terrified, but determined not to show it. She just wanted to get away from this madwoman, into the security of the mansion, where she could put on one of Jonathan's old shirts and lie in bed. But the stranger grabbed her arm.

"You will not leave until I have marked you, child." Child? That woman could not be much older than her, thirty at most. And holy Lord, please, she needed some help.

"Could... could you please explain this... this Keeper-thing to me?" Maybe this would win her time, maybe someone would come by, or she would come up with a plan.

"There is nothing difficult about the concept, my dear." It seemed that this whole thing was amusing to her. "You simply have to maintain the balance. Like your beloved did."

"What balance?" And what did Jonathan have to do with this person?

The woman sighs deeply. "Between the species. Mostly the Elves, but whenever the Dwarves decide to climb out of their holes, there is a lot of mediation needed."

Elves. Elves. Catherine almost laughed out loud. Oh hell no. "What kind of sick joke is this?" she burst out. "Are you Nathaniel's friend? Or did he pay you to do this? Because I swear to God, he will pay for this. Dearly."

Again, she turned to leave, and again, she was held back.

"Do not disrespect me." The woman's eyes were shooting sparks of fury.

Catherine groans. "Your attitude issues are really not my problem. Just leave me alone. And kindly tell Nate to sod off, that would really help me."

"Denial does not suit a Lady."

"I am no Lady." Leave me alone, leave me alone, leave me alone! Now!!

"But you will be. Now hold still."

"And what if I don't?"

"Then it will hurt more than is strictly necessary." That was the first time she saw the glint of a blade in the dark. Her body went stiff with fear. No.

"Please, I'm sure we can work something out that will be beneficial for both of us," she immediately tried to negotiate. Images flashed in her head, two possibilities standing out bright and clear: She would either fight and live, or die and be with Jonathan. For a moment, this was like a siren's call to her. To be with Jon again. To have him back... But she would have to die for that. And in a split second, she realized that she didn't want that. She didn't want to die. She wanted to live and celebrate his memory.

But it didn't look good for her. The woman chuckled. "This will be beneficial for both of us."

"No, please!" She settled for pleading then, tears prickling in her eyes, voice wavering. Tugging on her arm was of no use, the woman only tightened her grip on it.

"Compose yourself. This is ridiculous."

And Catherine cried and struggled and even screamed, but it didn't help, it didn't deter her attacker.

Then she saw the knife flash again, towards her, closed her eyes, cried out – and was suddenly free, falling to the ground. Horrified, she looked around, pressing herself to the pavement as if that was going to protect her somehow.

But she was gone, the woman had disappeared, and Catherine was now completely alone.

She ran, then. As fast as she could, stumbling several times, but thankfully never falling, until she had locked the mansion door behind herself. It was only at that time, when all the adrenaline was wearing off, that she felt the pain in her right arm. She was already going to shrug it off, but then it occurred to her that something, wet and warm, was running down her arm. It was blood, an angry, fresh red, in a stark contrast to her pale skin. A whimper escaped her. Slowly, she peeled her jacket off and stood in front of the big mirror in the entrance hall, fearing what she would find. It's probably nothing, she reasoned while steeling herself to look at the damage. There was an R there, pointy and strangely resembling some kind of rune, carved into her flesh.

But as she was standing there, panting and bleeding, the only thing she could really think about was if it looked like she could have possibly done this to herself. Because she really wanted to go to the police, but it would only make things worse for her if they somehow suspected this was another one of her schemes.

Author's Note:

Hello, ladies (and gents?). Cool that you've stuck with me so far. If you liked this chapter, please leave a vote, that would mean really much to me. If not, feel free to tell me why so I can improve myself. Don't be shy about pointing out any mistakes, I'm always looking to get better.

So what (ahem, of course I meant WHO) do you think is that woman? Leave me your guesses in the comments!