When the salon had people in it Fletcher Hodges found somewhere else to sit. He was nervous by nature, feeling more comfortable in a room filled with artifacts then a room filled with people. In fact, the only time he felt comfortable in a room filled with people was when he was talking about artifacts. He hated open house because President Perkins expected him to be out and about, speaking with guests about the club and his role in it. Of course that wasn’t so bad when all they wanted to know about was the artifacts. However, the personal questions but him on edge.

But for now he was safe in an empty salon. Hathaway was squirreled away, hiding from someone, or something. Fletcher didn’t really take notice of Hathaway Browne. As the curator, he and Hathaway had nothing to discuss. Hathaway rarely brought back artifacts from his travels, and when he did they were generally reproductions of those already found. Once, Pamelia had joked that Hathaway went to the museums around the world and bought souvenirs.

Fletcher hadn’t had the heart to tell her that he had found a price tag on the bottom of one of Hathaway’s artifacts. Although Hodges had his doubts that Browne would still be a member if he wasn’t one of the founders.

Today had been a quiet day for him, as the curator he spent most of his time behind the scenes of the club. He had been labeling artifacts downstairs for Pamelia. Samantha had asked him to develop some photographs for her, and he still had that to do this afternoon. But for now he was enjoying his break time in the empty salon.

Upstairs he heard the door open, and a man appeared at the railing of the mezzanine. He wore a black suit and fedora pulled low over one side of his face. His red tie gleamed against the stark white of his shirt, and he carried with him a silver tipped cane with a skull as the handle. Fletcher brought his feet off the table and cleared his throat. “Can I help you, sir?” he called up.

“I’m looking for a Mr. Hathaway Browne,” the man said, his voice gravely. “You know him?”

Fletcher nodded, rising to his feet. “I’ll get him for you…” he said, uncertainty brimming in his voice. “Who may I say is calling?”

“The Axe,” the man snarled at Fletcher. “Tell him the Axe is here to see him.”

In the library Hathaway was showing Ali Cat around. Her hair was swooped over one shoulder, and she was smiling up at him. Fletcher opened the door and cleared his throat. Hathaway had been leaned over, with Ali Cat between him and the bookshelf. “Mr. Browne, you have a visitor,” Fletcher said.

Hathaway lifted his gaze from Ali Cat to Fletcher and arched his eyebrows. “Tell them I’m busy,” Hathaway replied.

“Too busy to see a Mr. Axe?” Fletcher asked softly. Hathaway tensed up. “Shall I send him away Mr. Browne?” Fletcher continued. Hathaway shook his head and pulled away from the wall.

Out in the salon Hathaway glanced up and scanned the mezzanine rail. No one lingered along the sides, watching him. Feeling a sense of foreboding, Hathaway turned slowly toward the archway that led to the stairs. In the archway, where the 1937 Open House Banner had hung just a few days earlier, was Alonzo Sarina. Hathaway fought the urge to swallow loudly.

“Hello, Mr. Sarina. I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure,” Hathaway said, stepping forward with his hand outstretched.

A cold stare met him, even and fierce from dark eyes. The silver tipped, skull capped cane gleamed in the lights of the club, and his fedora shadowed his face from view. Ali Cat stepped around him, moving between Hathaway and Alonzo.

Instinctively, Hathaway placed his arm in front of her and stepped to block her from the notorious gangster. For a moment he forgot that Ali Cat was indeed Sarina’s daughter. The Axe watched him for a long moment, not moving, and then slowly took a step forward.

Calmly, Hathaway stood his ground, lightly pushing Ali Cat back a step, further from Alonzo Sarina. Deep down, Hathaway’s heart was hammering against his ribs and he was fighting the urge to lick his dry lips in an effort to moisten his dry mouth.

Fletcher watched from a safe distance, confused more than slightly. Hathaway Browne was not this brave. He usually ran when something even remotely dangerous began. Not to say that he was a coward, he just believed the saying, “He who fights and runs away lives to fight another day.” In fact, he often lived his life by it. But Hathaway was astounding Fletcher, his generally tucked tail fluffed and his attack stance casually hidden by stillness.

Hathaway’s hand was still outstretched toward the Axe, his limb never shaking. Alonzo Sarina met his gaze, his dark eyes piercing Hathaway’s blue. “What are you doing here, Alison?” Alonzo asked his daughter, not removing his hawk-like glare.

Ali Cat cleared her throat and said, “I won’t let you hurt him, Father.” Alonzo’s sharp eyes narrowed at his daughter, who was leaning around Hathaway’s shoulder. Instinctively, Hathaway softly pushed her back behind him.

Alonzo’s eyes shifted to the man once more. “What do you think you’re protecting her from?” He demanded, dark eyes glinting with anger. “She’s my daughter, do you think I’ll hurt her?”

“I can’t let her between us,” Hathaway replied. “If she gets between us and gets hurt I’ll never forgive myself,” he continued, holding Sarina’s gaze. The Axe leaned back an inch, but didn’t move his feet. “I’d prefer that she stay behind me and allow you to kill me then have her come between us and have her get hurt.”

Ali Cat cleared her throat, drawing Alonzo Sarina’s gaze back to her. She peered over Hathaway’s shoulder, her curly black hair draping the leather of his jacket. Alonzo held her gaze for a long moment, then took a step backwards, relaxing his grip on the cane.

“Alison,” Alonzo said softly. Her eyes lifted to him, half hidden behind a curtain of dark hair. “Do you wish that I make him pay, darling?”

“No, Father,” Ali Cat whispered softly into Hathaway’s sleeve. “I would like you to leave him alone, Father. He didn’t hurt me, he never would.” Alonzo Sarina took another step back, watching Hathaway for a long moment.

“For you, dear,” he replied softly, “Anything.” He calmly took a step back, finally removing his eyes from Hathaway and glancing to her. She stayed behind Hathaway. “Are you coming, Alison?”

“No,” she replied softly, coming around Hathaway as she spoke. “I’ll stay here for awhile.”

Without acknowledging Hathaway, Alonzo nodded almost imperceptibly and turned on his heel. In a moment he was up the stairs and gone. Hathaway was astounded at how fast he could move. He vanished like a ninja.

Hathaway sank into a chair, sighing with relief. Ali Cat sat down on the sofa, watching him carefully. “Are you all right, Hathaway?” she asked calmly. Hathaway nodded. “Good. You did really well with that. I’ve seen lesser men cower before him.” Hathaway placed his head in his hand and sighed again. “Are you sure you’re all right?” Ali Cat asked.

“I’m fine, Ali. I’m just trying to catch my bearings. I don’t think I’ve come that close to death in awhile.” Fletcher snorted. Surprised, Hathaway glanced up. “Damn it, old man, I’d forgotten you were there!”

A door opened and Samantha came strolling out from behind the bar. “Kungaloosh, everyone,” she said, “Have any of you seen Pamelia around here?”

“No,” Hathaway replied. “She and Ripley vanished sometime this morning and haven’t returned.” Samantha arched her eyebrows suggestively. Hathaway rolled his eyes. “Make up your mind, Samantha. First Evie and Tobias, now Pamelia and Tobias! Have you met Ripley? He isn’t that charming!”

From nowhere, Otis appeared saying, “You’ve got that right, Browne. Have any of you seen that young guy? Emil Screwball?”

“Bleehall,” Samantha corrected. Otis rolled his eyes. “Last I saw he was downstairs in the storage room, going through the boxes.”

Fletcher jumped to his feet and took off on a mad dash to the basements. Samantha turned back to Hathaway and Ali Cat, and frowned. “Hathaway, darling, you look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she said softly.

Browne nodded, and put his head back in his hand. “Yeah, it was me.”

“Oh,” Samantha said knowingly. “I see. You met the Axe.” Hathaway nodded, “And you came out intact? Interesting.”

Ali Cat was about to comment when a door opened somewhere in the long hallway and Emil Bleehall came dashing out. He tripped and hit the floor, sprawling out with a muffled screech. Samantha rolled her eyes and frowned. “Bleehall,” she sighed, leaning to help him up. “Are you all right?”

He rolled over and grimaced. “Yes, thank you,” he said softly, hoisting himself off the ground without her help. “Mr. Hodges came screaming down the stairs at me, yelling something about going through boxes. He wouldn’t listen to me when I tried to tell him that I was only writing a letter!” He brushed himself off.

“A love letter?” Samantha asked, arching an eyebrow. Hathaway sighed and rolled his eyes. Emil turned beet red and tucked the pad of paper into his pocket. “Oh, my! It is a love letter! To whom? A young lady in Ohio?”

Emil shook his head and pushed his hands into his pockets. “No, Ms. Sterling. It’s a letter to Miss D. Vine. She’s in Africa with Ms. Quinn, and I miss her terribly.”

Hathaway’s head popped up as he regarded the boy. “My D. Vine?” he asked. Samantha and Otis swiveled to stare at him. “What have you got going on with my D. Vine, Bleehall?” Samantha’s eyes widened as Hathaway rose to his feet to tower over the boy. Emil gulped loudly. “What have the two of you done?” He cried, grabbing the boy’s shirt and pulling him off his feet.

“Jus-jus-jus- just talked, Mr. Browne!” Emil stammered, the flush in his cheeks disappearing. He went deathly pale as he continued, “We just talked, I swear!”

Hathaway cleared his throat and set the boy down on the floor once again. “Good, you see that that is all you do, young man. Or you’ll have to answer to me,” Hathaway said turning away. Samantha continued to stare at him openly. Otis shook his head and stepped back to allow Hathaway to pass. “Shut up, Wren,” Hathaway mumbled as he pushed past him and into the door down to their bed chambers.

“Well, that was interesting,” a voice said. Ali Cat looked around, trying to find the speaker.

“Yes, Colonel, very interesting,” Samantha replied. Ali Cat glanced up to where Samantha was looking, screamed and fell off the couch. Samantha stifled a laugh. Seeing a talking puppet for the first time was rather frightening. “Ali Cat, this is Colonel Critchlow Suchbench. He is the spirit of a British Officer who found residence here, in the club. He’s the head of security, and the leader of the Glee Club.”

Colonel smiled and tipped his hat to her. “Kungaloosh, Miss Sarina. Sorry I haven’t said anything until now, but I’ve been on duty.” Ali Cat rose to her feet and gave him a scared smile. “No need to be frightened, Miss Sarina. I won’t harm you. I’m bolted to the armoire.”

The door downstairs in the landing opened and Pamelia came running in, out of breath. “Help! Help!” she cried, falling to her knees on the carpet. Samantha and Otis went dashing over, grabbing her just as she fell. Her hair was disheveled, her dress was wet and she was sobbing. Samantha laid her down on the floor, and only then noticed that she was bleeding from a gash on her arm.

“What happened, Pammy?” she whispered even as Otis ran to get a first aid kit.

“It got him,” Pamelia sobbed, her face pale as death. “It got him, I barely got away.”

“What got who?” Ali Cat asked, coming to Samantha’s side to help her shred Pamelia’s sleeve. Otis appeared with the kit as they ripped it apart.

“Tobias...” Pamelia whispered, “Tobias is gone… It got him…”

“What got him, Pamelia?” Otis asked in a soft voice, almost kind. “The spirit. The evil spirit of the lake. The one that took over the club last Halloween. It’s still there, and he wanted to see it. It drowned him. He went under, and never came back up.” Samantha sat back on her haunches and looked out at the cool, cold flat lake behind the club. Somewhere underneath that shimmery surface lay an evil they couldn’t comprehend, and it had stolen the only one who could fight it.

“I’ll get a message to Evie. She’ll want to know,” Otis said softly. “Samantha, can you take Pamelia to bed?” Samantha nodded, drawing her attention back to Pamelia. Yes, Evie would want to know.