Rye dame, Rye dame,

Where are you?

Huh? Kid, is that you?

Child of sorrow, maid of rue~

Hey, talk to me, I know that it's you.

Kid?!

WAKE UP.

Firenze's eyes snapped open in haste, jolting himself up, he looked around.

The room was shrouded in the pale light of the sunset. The window was still open, the breeze rippling across the satin curtains. The cuckoo clock had already chimed six times, and the cuckoo had apparently given up trying to wake him.

He sat on the bed, rubbing his eyes and wishing for a cup of hot cocoa. The sun had fully set in the horizon and the skies were red as his irritated eyes. Sliding off, he noted the creature's sudden absence.

The headache persisted even after the sound sleep, which annoyed him even more.

There were muddy paw prints on the floor and leading all the way across till the window sill. The creature must've jumped on the buildings nearby and bounded off home, much to his happiness. He gently brushed off the red fur on his coat, and found clumps of dirt clinging to his skin.

On running a finger through his hair, he got a mixture of dandruff, blood, mud, and assorted foliage.

Boy, I need to take a bath.

Yes, you do. Phew, you smell like a pig let loose in a country fair!

And you're back, kid. What was all the chanting about?

None of your business. How far are we into getting separated?

Look, I'm very confused right now, alright? You pop out of nowhere in my head yesterday, you refuse to let me think about whatever Neil said to me with your screaming and chanting. You also refuse from giving me an explanation about what had happened yesterday.

You were attacked by a werewolf. You have a ghost stuffed inside you. You are being chased by a grain spirit and the man who calls himself my Master. At the end of the whole chasing and hunting process, you'll either die or live as vegetable. Oh, and either way, your friends are going to the grave.

I want you to save me, yourself, and everyone else involved from that man.

Firenze walked into the shower, throwing his clothes in a heap near the bathroom entrance. A slight gasp escaped from his mouth as he closed his eyes and felt hot thick water cascading down.

How far are you into figuring out where we are?

Not far at all, Barry. I'm working on it. All I can is that we're at a hotel called Niravellin.

Just as I thought, guess I'll be needed to solve this.

The next thing he felt was his head being rammed against the wall. It was like an involuntary reaction, not strong enough to cause lasting damage. Firenze reeled in pain as he held his forehead, the water calming the throbbing.

He stumbled out of the shower, grabbed a towel and dried himself.

What was that for?!

Idiot. You could've talked to your boss right then and there! You could've asked. . . I can't believe your stupidity and laziness. You probably think tomatoes are fruits, don't you?

Tomatoes are fruits.

I rest my case. You are hopeless, I tell you, hopeless!

Hurry up now, someone very unwelcome is coming to knock, we have to run. We have work to do.

Hold on a second, farm boy. I refuse to work with you unless it involves you getting out of my body.

It does involve getting out of this body. Wait, your body? That's hilarious.

Firenze quickly jumped into his clothes just in time to have his foot bashed against the bedpost. He fell on the floor, muttering all the curses that any teenage boy shouldn't be faced with, hoping that it would dissuade Barry from making any further moves. And it didn't help, as he felt a small bump on his forehead.

It's my body too now, Mister and don't get too comfortable.

The knocking did arrive a few seconds later, followed by a nasal call,

"Hello? Room service!"

He slowly got up and inched towards the door. He unlocked it and turned the knob, watching the shadows and light seeping in from underneath the door.

It was the maid lady from earlier, with her black hair flopping in the wind and dark eyes fixed on the bump on his head. A bit of her red lipstick tinted her perfect smile. She was in a Victorian maid uniform. Her feather duster fell on his coat, and immediately began clearing away the dirt.

When she was done, she said,

"Hello there Mr. Di Mario, would you like your laundry to be done as well?"

Idiot.

I couldn't care less about your opinion!

The maid's brow furrowed at his sudden change in facial expression. She moved closer to him and asked, her voice attaining a concerned tone,

"Is something the problem, sir?"

"No, absolutely nothing, just clean the room and get me a new towel."

Who's this annoying person?

It's just hotel staff. They are pretty. . .

Oh, she's pretty huh?

She is. Just shut up.

You adults are just obsessed about love, aren't you? Go on, then, take her hand and sing her a serenade!

"Will you just shut up!"

The maid moved backwards and knocked over a clay vase, falling down. A rather sharp shard embedded itself in her porcelain white and fragile arm, making blood flow down and wet her dress. Her eyes were wide in fear and were filling up with tears. She sat there staring at him, making him feel guilty,

"I'm sorry, I was just trying to help, Mr. Di Mario."

She mumbled, wiping her tears with the hem of her skirt. She put her face in her hands and began sobbing.

Holy crap!

Kneeling, he helped her stand up, tore a piece of cloth off his shirt and began dressing her arm. She placed her head on his arm, and began touching his brown locks dreamily. He shifted, slightly wary of the woman, and tried to shake her off.

Barry was doing no favor either. Presently, he gave very helpful advise.

Tell her to put her head on your shoulder, jackass, it would be easier for her to kiss you on your cheek.

Do me a favour, brat, just shut it!

Why should I shut up, nitwit?! You're the one who's gonna get into trouble helping the harlot. And if you get into trouble, I do too. . . If something bad happens, I promise you that I will make you regret this day.

You're bluffing.

Wait. . . something. . .

Barry, what's wrong?

A blast of fresh air hit him on the face.

The curtains of the still open window dropped down, the blades of the leaves in the intact vase nearby stopped waving. He felt an uncanny stillness blanket the room, everything came to a standstill. There was absolute silence.

Firenze got up slowly, eyes fixed on the dark corridors before him.

Something's up.

Rye dame, Rye dame~

Where are you?

"Child of sorrow. . ." He heard a whisper from up ahead.

He propped the woman against a nearby wall and walked forward. He felt his hands brush against something hard lying on the floor and picked it up. He shut his eyes in sudden pain and on opening them, he found his surroundings to be hazy, as if covered with mist.

The temperature drop as he moved forward was rapid. He couldn't feel his limbs, yet he was able to move down the rooms. He assured himself that he was armed with one of the bigger, sharper fragments of the broken vase if something were to attack him.

In front of one of them was a man in a white suit, the very same man he had seen earlier in the morning. He was locking the door, carrying a huge suitcase and chewing something. The man looked at him, his face registered recognition and surprise,

"Di Mario? Firenze Di Mario?"

Ash McHart!

Firenze smiled in relief as he sighed and moved forward, towards the PA. His ears took in the sounds of welcome conveyed by Ash eagerly, and of thunder rolling in the skies outside. The sound of heavy rain clashing against the building roof could be heard, as he saw the man throw open his arms for a hug,

"Are you alright, bud? We were searching for you. The entire team had been running through the entire town looking for the both of you."

The sharp object still in his hand ripped out, slashing across Ash's neck. He saw his other hand pushing the man against a wall, and the object embedding itself deep in his throat. Blood gushed out, choking the man's sounds and filling the newly opened hole in his neck.

He spluttered, and thrashed against his arm, but to no avail. The red liquid coated the carpets, his shoes and turned the man's white shirt a glimmering shade of scarlet.

The half alive man's eyes followed him to a socket on the wall nearby, in which an electric lantern was plugged in. Removing the lamp from its original place, he walked to Ash's bleeding left thigh and placed it on it. He saw Firenze's lips curve into a sad smile, as he stood up,

"Goodbye, Ash. You will be useful."

He brought down his feet hard on the still glowing bulb of the lamp. The smell of charred meat and burnt rusted iron filled his nostrils, the cries of plea his ears.

A hand fell on his shoulders, a familiar one that too.

"Master?"

"Good boy! At this rate, I can get your supper ready in two days. You wouldn't want to stay here any further. The ladies here have lost their loyalty towards their master now; they'll catch you in a heartbeat. "

Firenze nodded and walked back to his room.

Bill lighted a cigar, and kneeled down in front of Ash's electrocuted body. Taking a look at the empty walnut husks still clutched in Ash's hands, he said,

"Too bad you're too trusting. It's a dangerous world filled with traitors and liars. See you in hell."