The gray striped tabby flicked its tail and wound his way in and through the utilitarian white candles that lined the mantle. Their flames flicked and swayed with the disturbance in the air.

"You wretched feline.. Off!" Fury hissed and swatted Quinnley. He retaliated and struck back with sharpened claws. His ears twitched back then forward and he jumped off the mantle as if it had been his idea all along.

"I should have left you on the streets in Edinburgh! " Her words though, were empty. Truth of the matter was that Quinnley had been her closest companion for years. Mainly due in part that he couldn't talk and she could lock him in a bathroom if he got out of hand.

The cat in question was wrapping himself around a clawed foot of the armoire that had coincidentally been acquired at the same time.. Fury drew a finger across the red oak door. It was immaculate. Her house was always immaculate.

It had not always been the case.

Edinburgh, Scotland. The Royal Mile. A few years in the past.

There was the promise of snow. But, not enough of a promise to keep people indoors. They milled along the streets pressing their faces to the shop windows, ducking into bars and taverns that lay hidden within the alleys and closes. Fury looked down at the street with a hint of disdain. Her hands were braced against the window frame. Flecks of red paint fell to the floor and covered her palms. Apparently, the landlord was negligent. But, Fury could ill afford to make a scene at this time. So, she dealt with the shabby surroundings with the knowledge that her own home was still being kept up.

The grandfather clock chimed ten times. Then fell silent again for another hour, tic tock, tic tock. For some the witching hour is midnight, for others-three a.m. For Fury it was whenever she would meet with himself. Time slowed. The air froze. Her breath curled into wisps even though the fire still blazed in the hearth behind her.

She felt the threading of fingers through her hair and the knuckles pressed along her spine. Her own hands suffered from no such actions-they merely gripped the window frame.


"I am sorry. But, I can't give them to you. " Somewhere deep inside Fury still believed in right and wrong. Sometimes though she walked a crisscrossed path over that line. Tonight though she walked along the lighter side. She knew her words would not be what he wanted to hear. The rings. The heavenly bonds of an angel's soul were her's and she was not about to hand them over to the darkest angel of all. Her soul had been forfeit for centuries. At least she could keep work of her darkest hour safe. Souls are tricky business.

The fingers, or rather the digits of darkness worm their way through the flesh and pressed through her skull. However much the pain, her resolve had been fire tempered through the years. She could shut out the memories and the pain. No words were spoken just a promise of another visit in twenty years. He would release her if she would release the rings.

Twenty years is like twenty days when you have nothing but time.

It seemed like it took hours, but the minute had clinked to two minutes past as Fury loosened her grip. The room was suffocating, and the air was still palpable with the threadings of Lusiphur. No more than a few long strides took her out of the apartment and down the rickety steps to the street. The snow started to pick up in its journey to the ground. Big, fat flakes fell dusting her hair and the white woolen peacoat. An ice queen for a winter festival. She drew stares as she moved. If she were cognizant of them it didn't register. Her expression was carefully impassive almost as if she were made of wax.

There is something about the crisp winter air that clears the head. Perhaps, it is that shock to the senses or maybe it's that the cold isn't burden with the humidity of summer when the air is pregnant with the promise of rain.

Humidity in winter is lighter and brings snow.

Fury kept her chin tucked in as she headed up the hill towards the castle. Except Edinburgh castle was not her destination. No, she slipped into one of the less bustling alleyways and headed for the antiquities dealer. The man, Cameron, kept odd hours. He and his band of esoteric hunting buddies felt that the night was perfect this.
The door chimed the bells as she pushed it open. Hello, hello. come out where ever you are.

The Scotsman emerged from his office almost immediately. His look of anticipation morphed into one of cool, polite hospitality.

"Ms. Lovat, wha' brings ye at this late hour? I don't suppose you considered my offer of joining our little group?" He dared his voice not to sound hopeful. But, he failed. Fury took note and shook her head flinging melt snowflakes to the floor as drops of water.

"No, Mr.MacKenzie, I wish to purchase your armoire." She pointed to the piece in question. It stood behind the counter, a menancing tower of oak and Celtic knotwork. The man just gasped and shook his head.

"I'm verra sorry, mum. But, it isna fer sale. "

"It is now." Money spoke volumes. Fury pulled out an enveloped from the inner pocket of her coat and slapped it on the counter.

"That should be enough for the piece and your shop. But, I only want the armoire and everything in it." Cameron opened and closed his mouth looking like a fish out of water and gasping for breath.

"I.. but, I've never opened it. It can't be opened." That was apparently of no consequence to Fury. She dismissed his words.

"Bring it to my home a week from today." His reply was clipped by the door being shut and the ringing of bells in its wake.
Fury headed back through the falling snow and down the hill. She had made it about halfway to her apartment when it came out of nowhere.
A snow ball covered bundle of kitten attached itself neatly to Fury's perfectly coiffed hair. It hissed. It spat and swatted a silver curl. Fury meanwhile was trying to disentangle the creature from her hair. But, the kitten dug in and aimed a well placed bite of needle milk teeth into the webbing of her hand. She shrieked and bent over now letting gravity do the work in removing herself of the kitten. But, the kitten had other ideas. He wormed and clawed his way in through the collar of her coat until he had dug in somewhere between her shoulder blades. She was tired and no longer had the desire to fight with a kitten out in the snow.

Trudging back to her place with a kitten growling and digging its claws into her back. It would seem a trip to acquire one thing, had ended with the acquisition of two.

__________________________________________

A twist of lips at the memory as she traced the engraved wood. The doors were still sealed shut. But, she had no inclinations of trying to open them. The piece hummed with magic but, she did not care for its secrets. It was merely aesthetically pleasing,and had a certain calming quality about it.

At least for her it did, and also for Quinnley as well. The cat had curled up underneath to nap. She left the feline to his dreams while she went to go find a memory in a song.