"No." Marcus' refusal echoed through the dreary landscape.

Josie stopped next to a broken tombstone, turned around, and shrugged her shoulders. "Very well. Stay put then. I'll only be, but a minute."

She watched the boy crouch at the base of the barren tree and wrap his arms around his knees in protection from the cold. Pulling her hood up and covering her long, dark hair, Josie started off in the direction of the mysterious crypt.

Or rather, what she suspected to be the right direction. The increasingly blizzard-like conditions didn't help as the girl stumbled between the raised graves, venturing deeper and deeper into the burial grounds. Sharp, crystallized snowflakes hit her unprotected face, stinging the soft flesh. Her nose was also going numb from the frigid temperature, but Josie kept putting one foot in front of the other, determined to get her answer.

The quiet was unnerving; not even the wind seemed to be making any noise in the place reserved for the dead. Pulling her hands into her sleeves, Josie raised them to her face when movement in the corner of her eye drew her attention. Her heart beat rapidly as she turned her head, but the heavy snowfall blocked everything further than a few feet away.

She was sure she'd seen something and this time, it had to be more than just the trees. No matter. She had her objectives, and no invisible obstacle was going to stop her. If the foe decided to materialize, she'd deal with it in due course.

Straining to normalize her breath, Josie willed herself to ignore her fears and keep going. Spinning on her heels, she found something in her way and let out a small shriek in surprise. All her courage dissipated and she almost bolted straight back to Marcus' side before realizing she'd almost smacked into a statue of a woeful-looking angel pointing upward.

Letting out an exaggerated sigh, the girl began to giggle. Why, she'd almost cowered in fright from a piece of rock! She would have continued on laughing nonsensically, too if the wind hadn't howled and reminded her time was of the essence. Drawing her cloak even closer around herself, Josie stepped around the angel and spotted a familiar-looking crypt.

Trudging through the blizzard, the girl wiggled her toes between steps to keep them warm. It was no use. By the time she reached the small, stone building's entrance, her bootie was full of wet snow.

After pushing open the unsecured iron gate, Josie stepped up onto the raised floor. Cautiously inching forward out of trepidation - both from slipping and from being so close to seeing the name on the tomb - it took her many, agonizingly long seconds to reach the back wall.

The surface was covered with a thin layer of frost blown in through the window openings on either side. Josie recalled the approximate location of the blank tablet the two mysterious women etched in front of her, and she stopped in front of that spot. Raising her hand, she wiped the smooth stone in one smooth arc.

The act revealed two letters more or less in the middle of the tablet: N-B.

Josie froze, her hand still resting on the cold surface in front of her. Her name contained those letters. If she continued to clear away the snow, would she reveal her full moniker? Would the name JOSEPHINE LYTTLETON-BRADLEY stare back at her?

With her fingers now shaking, she was less sure she wanted to know. She continued to glare at the two telltale letters for a few more seconds until a bone chilling screamed pierced the quiet.

"Marcus!" Josie exhaled the exclamation. Turning toward the exit, she instinctively began running to her friend. She got all the way to the crypt's iron gate when she abruptly stopped. Without thinking, she reversed course and returned to the wall of tombs. Using her sleeve, she hastily scrubbed off the frozen snowflakes around the two already revealed letters.

MRS MARGARET DAWSON-BLACKBURN

A flood of relief washed over the girl as a name other than her own appeared. With that mystery solved, she could now concentrate on getting to Marcus Mayweather. Darting out of the funerary monument, she ran to the cemetery's fence and followed the perimeter toward the gates. All the while, the name of the dead woman spun through her head.

Margaret Dawson-Blackburn. Who was that woman? For some reason, the name was somewhat familiar. Margaret. Did she know any Margarets? Or Peggys or Mags or Margies? Yes, that was it!

Josie's breathing became more ragged, but not just from her sprint through the calf-deep snow. She'd met a Margie in the manor just a few days earlier. Sam had also called her Mrs. Thomas Blackburn. She already looked ill when she arrived at the residence and mysteriously disappeared the next day. Donatella had said the woman had left, but perhaps her trip away from the manor had been a short one leading just a few hundred feed away straight to the ancient crypt.

Josie shuddered as she reached the gate. The base of the large, leafless elm was empty. Her friend was gone.

"Marcus! Marcus, where are you?" She yelled, all the while spinning around to scour every visible surface.

In response, she received another shriek from the distance.

It came from past the cemetery, and Josie gathered her last remaining strength to follow it. There were no tracks in the now knee-deep snow, but she was sure she was going the right way. Now running along the outside of the fence, she rounded the corner before seeing the rest of the landscape.

Past the enclosed area reserved for burying the dead and surrounded on three sides by forest, stood a large body of water. Even from this proximity, its surface appeared frozen - not a surprise given the current weather. It was what - or rather, who - that stood at the edge of the lake, which startled the girl.

The figure in a red, hooded cloak was unmistakable. Her ebony hair trailed around her beautiful face, flowing onto her chest.

Donatella. She stood in the distance, waiting.

Straightening her shoulders, Josie approached. "Where's Marcus? What did you do to him?" The girl yelled as soon as she was within earshot of her Great Aunt.

Donatella tilted her head slightly, pausing long enough for Josie to narrow the gap. "I didn't do anything to the boy because he was never here."

"What?" Josie stopped a body-length away and frowned. "That's absurd. I saw him. I spoke to him. I touched him. He was as real as you or me."

"Was he now?" The woman took a step toward her.

"Stop! Don't come near me," Josie shrieked, her body trembling with fear. "You did something to him. I don't know what, but when I get home I'm getting Father to call the constables. They'll come and figure it all out."

Donatella wrinkled her brows and took another step toward the girl. "I'm afraid that's not going to be possible."

"Why not?" Josie sidestepped her Great Aunt, placing herself between the lake and the woman.

"Ah, just as I had suspected. You're able to finally ask what you couldn't before." Donatella smiled. "And that, my dear, means you're ready." Pulling her left hand out from within the folds of her cloak, Donatella looked over her shoulder toward the cemetery and motioned for someone to step forward. Almost immediately, shadowy figures began to emerge from the snowfall behind her.

Josie's eyes widened, trying to make out the newcomers. She gasped as first Morrigan and Countess Bathory, then Dr. Hyde and Wesley, and finally, the Mollick brothers came into view. Gathering around her Great Aunt, they stood silently as the woman continued to speak.

"You won't remember any of this, Josie. Not until you're about to take your last living breath." Donatella's kind tone belied the ominous words.

The girl shook her head and took a step backwards. "What does that mean? Why am I here? Why can't I go home?"

Donatella lifted her right hand, revealing not a velvet glove as on the other, but a metallic gauntlet fit for a medieval knight. Bewildered, Josie stared at the unusual item. It was almost beautiful and definitely more ornate than something a warrior would wear on his hands for battle. Delicate scrolls decorated the individual plates that made up the joints, and the fingers ended with sharp claws that would make holding a sword nearly impossible.

Before the girl could ponder the glove's significance, Donatella rushed toward her and thrust her weaponized hand forward, jabbing the razor-like claws into Josie's belly. The girl drew in her breath as a sharp pain radiated from her mid-section throughout the rest of her body.

"I'm sorry, my dear." Donatella shook her head. "I had hoped it wouldn't have to come to this, but we've run out of time. Just remember what I told you when you first arrived. Things work differently here, and nothing is as it appears."

Josie struggled to speak. More accurately, she wanted nothing more than to scream - in pain, in frustration, in anger - but no sound would leave her suddenly parched throat.

Stepping backwards, her foot touched the slick surface of the frozen lake. The ice crunched as it gave way, knocking the girl off balance. Josie fell into the frigid water, the broken shards cutting through her cloak and tights. Her skin prickled as it went increasingly numb.

Josie! Come to us. Come! The voices called again, more forceful - and clearer - than ever before and for the first time, Josie wasn't afraid.

I'm coming, she thought before closing her eyes and drifting downwards into the black abyss.

Author's Note: For some reason, this chapter was especially hard for me to put onto paper. It's not as complete as some of the others, so I'd really appreciate your feedback. We're also just one more chapter away from the end and the next one will be epic (I hope!).