"Yes," the creature replied in a deadpan tone, its voice strangely dissonant and hollow. "I know you would."

Grozier chuckled. "Of course you do." Then he turned away and began to pace. "But I didn't just show up to taunt or threaten my lovely sister tonight. No, I have most exciting news." He moved beside Bartimus, who had been standing in the shadows at the corner of the room, staying out of the way until needed, as usual. Grozier clapped the mage on the shoulder in a gesture of camaraderie, then spun and continued his pacing.

"It seems that various members of the Matrell family have gotten themselves into some unfortunate scrapes today. Sadly, the family is being whittled down to nothing, little by little."

Marga gasped, unable to contain her sudden dread.

"Oh, yes," Grozier replied, picking up on the woman's fear. "Apparently, the ship that was carrying Lieutenant Vambran Matrell and Quartermaster Kovrim Lazelle sank off the coast of Reth today, and all hands are presumed dead or missing." His tone had turned solemn, though it was a mocking gesture, for the man could not contain his smile as he spoke. "It seems that neither man will be coming home from campaign this season," he finished, almost chuckling in his glee.

Marga wanted to strangle him. Her heart ached with the news.

"And as it turns out, two other members of the family have been waylaid in the dark of night in a more unsavory neighborhood of Arrabar. I'm sorry to report that Xaphira and Emriana Matrell won't be finding their way home again, either."

"No!" Marga cried, lunging up from her chair, horrified. "No! You didn't do this! Please tell me you did not hurt them!" She charged toward her brother, her hands balled into fists, and began to pound at him, slamming both fists into his chest, trying to cuff him about the face and head.

Grozier, in his initial shock, did nothing to stop his sister at first, but then he began to step back, away from her assault, and managed to clamp his hands around her wrists, restraining her. "Stop it!" he demanded, driving her back from him, driving her down.

Marga crumpled then, sagging to the floor in agony. It had been by her hand that the two women, Emriana and Xaphira, had been harmed. Her betrayal had led Grozier and his accomplices to find them. Marga could not stand that guilt. She buried her face in her arms, right there on the floor, and sobbed.

I did it. I killed them, she thought as she cried. The same as if I'd held the weapon myself. Why has all of this happened to me? Waukeen, what did I do to cross you, to bring this down upon myself?

Marga could feel Grozier step around his sister and continue pacing. He apparently was refusing to be upstaged during his gleeful telling of the horrid tale.

"Regrettably, after the unfortunate events of last month, that leaves only three family members alive, and two of those are… not of age, yet."

Marga sat up, realizing where her brother was going with his explanations.

He was looking at her, an expectant smile upon his face. "Yes, Marga, dear, I knew you would figure it out. Tonight, the only person who stands between the wealth of House Matrell and your two children is Hetta herself."

"No," Marga said weakly, helplessly. "Don't."

"Oh, I don't intend to," he said, still smiling. "I think we'll leave that for a different member of the family." He turned to the gray-skinned creature, still standing and watching as Grozier had strutted in pride through the room. "I'm sure you have an idea of who might get close to Grandmother Hetta tonight," he said to the thing.

"Absolutely," the creature remarked, and right before Marga's eyes, it began to change, to shift. It grew taller and filled out, adapting a human form all too familiar to the woman. It was as if she were looking in a reflecting glass.

"No!" she cried, trying to rise to her feet. "You cannot do this! Stop it!" Marga demanded, moving toward the thing, the false version of herself. "Leave her alone!"

But Grozier stepped between Marga and the imitation of her, grabbed his sister by the arms. "No, no," he said, wrapping his arms around her when she began to flail at him, hit him, trying to get past him and at the false version of herself. "You and I are going to wait right here, and it'll all be over," he said.

But Marga would not be denied. She fought like a wild thing, for she knew that she could not bear the shame and guilt of allowing her treachery to the Matrells to be continued. She had to stop the wretched creature before it got out of her chambers. She had to stop it! She began to shout, to scream at the top of her lungs, hoping someone, a servant, would hear and expose the plot.

"Bartimus, if you please," Marga heard Grozier say, raising his voice to be heard over her screams. "She's going to bring the entire household down on us, making this noise."

Marga kicked and punched at Grozier, and from his winces, she could see that she was having an effect. He released her then, and she lunged forward, trying to grab her imposter and strangle it, but she never made it across the floor. In the blink of an eye, she felt herself lose mobility, felt her body stiffen and freeze in place, caught in mid-step as she had been dashing across the room.

Marga's horror was complete then, for she found that she could still breathe, and could see-though only in the direction she had been staring, which had been right at her imposter-but she could not move a muscle otherwise. The woman could also hear, and Grozier was laughing. It made her blood run cold.

"Very nice, Bartimus, I must say," her brother said, chuckling, as he moved in front of Marga. "She looks quite humorous." Then he turned his attention away from his sister and toward her duplicate. "You know what to do," he said to the thing as he handed it something Marga could not see.

The creature nodded. "Yes," it replied. "She will die in her sleep, and no one will be the wiser."

"And you're certain you can get to her?" Grozier asked. "There is only one chance at this."

"Do not worry," Marga's double replied, altering its voice until it became the perfect likeness of her own. "I will reach the old woman without trouble or incident."

Grozier chuckled again. "Of course, I should never have doubted. Then off with you," he said.

The false Marga turned and departed.

Marga, frozen in place, wanted so desperately to scream.

Vambran felt an exposed bit of root jab him in the ribs as he tumbled across the ground, desperately dodging the gout of liquid vomited forth by the snake before him. The mercenary officer grunted in pain but refused to stop rolling, jumping to his feet several paces away from where he had originally been standing. The ground where he had been a moment before sizzled and hissed where the foul secretion landed, and he shuddered, imagining what it would have done if it had struck him.

Though he was intensely wary of the giant snake turning to pursue him, Vambran also had a thought in the back of his mind for the men coming behind him, the professional hunters who were tracking both him and his soldiers through the forest. His agitation that the trackers could catch up to the seven members of the Sapphire Crescent only made it more difficult to concentrate on the battle at hand

The snake lunged at Vambran, and he shifted his stance to one side and sliced with his sword at the creature's neck. The blow landed true, but the gouge he created was only a narrow furrow, the blade inhibited by the thick scales covering the reptile. Still, the snake did not like that one bit and hissed malevolently as it recoiled from him, swaying and watching its quarry with beady, frightening eyes that glowed in the dusk.