The beggar woke and spoke once more. Lorelei looked up at the sign of The Black Widow, judging whether the jagged point was long enough to hang Vesta up by her drab robe. No, she would scream. No, they were so close.

Lorelei continued down the alleyway with Vesta in tow, her prone form bobbing slightly as Lorelei's wand bobbed with every step. The chill in the air did little to mask the sewer stink of Knockturn, the moldy rubbish smell that seeped into the cracked cobblestones and brick walls. Vesta Baddrick should feel right at home.

She stopped at the back door, halting Vesta's movement with an abrupt jerk of her wand. The door was pale as ash, with a hexagon pattern at the top and a web of grooves leading to the center of the wood. Lore traced a groove to a point in the middle and tapped it with her wand, curious if it would respond while Vesta still floated beside her.

A small, hexagonal shape about the size of her fist indented the surface of the wood an inch or two in. Lore smiled, and pulled the key out of her pocket. She set the black, metal spider inside the hexagonal indentation.

She waited, at ease in the damp chill.

A dark red beam of light grew from the red marking on the spider's back and lit the grooves until the web reached the edges of the door. It glowed for a few seconds, and then the indentation in the middle of the door fell open. The spider scurried inside the shop. Lorelei heard the latch click. As she pulled the door open, the glowing web faded, and the door smoothed again, looking worn and gray.

The back door closed behind them with a heavy thud. The spider key remained hidden in the shadows. Lorelei dropped Vesta next to one of the locked cages in the long hall, and waved her wand at the lights.

The hall lit up. The muggle in the locked cage stirred and groaned and opened his eyes to see Vesta, dumped unceremoniously next to the bars.

"Wakey, wakey," Lorelei sing-songed, giving them a moment to get acquainted.

When Hunt didn't immediately let her down, Vesta sighed heavily and let herself slump against the awkward suspension, her arms dangling down too long for the pinstriped sleeves. At being abruptly stopped, Vesta craned her neck around and watched Hunt's elaborate ritual with a fascinated curl of her lip.

Thump. Hunt dropped Vesta directly onto her back, nearly cracking her head against some iron bars.

"Hag," she spat.  For someone who claimed to have done all that hard workd to snatch Vesta out of a long inky sleep, Hunt was being rather careless with the carcass.

She looked over her shoulder at the haggard form in the cage. He looked back. Vesta snapped her stained teeth at him. Once she steadied herself on her own two feet, she rolled her head around to Hunt again.

"I'm not hungry," she said eyes wide.

Lorelei let out a low laugh that ended in a disappointed sigh. Not hungry after her brush with death. Fine, fine. She'd wanted to see what Vesta was made of by dropping her so close to the defenseless muggle. Vesta knew this place, but had she experienced it? Did she realize what Nicola Randall would do to anyone who snatched up a meal of hers?

Lore was doing her a favor, making her stronger through a bit of fun and strife, but Vesta was like a newborn, hurling epithets with hate in her eyes.

She'd either grow or she wouldn't. Hate would turn to gratitude or it wouldn't, and Lorelei would watch her own back like she always did.

"This one's no fun anyway. He looks deader than you were."

She glanced at the silent muggle, barely seeing him. A stick with limbs, a sour smell, worth much less than the spider key she'd used. The souls of muggles could not become pentrals. Too dull, too limited.

Keeping an eye on Vesta in her periphery vision, Lorelei turned and headed further inside. At the cellar door, she opened it and gestured Vesta towards the stairs.

There were some things in the rotting corners of the world Vesta didn't stomach and the past-times of Moira Randall and, apparently, Lorelei Hunt counted among them. Every leg of their little odyssey was a sick puppet show morality tale. Vesta brushed past Hunt and made her way down the steep, worn steps into the cellar. The stairs went down further than one would think. Every time Vesta thought her foot would hit stone, they found another smoothed wooden tread.

Leading the way into a dark hole without a wand felt stupid, but contradicting Lorelei Hunt had proven to be ... a certain inconvenience. She was only in the pitch black for a moment longer. As soon as her hit the bottom a lamp flickered on. The space looked like the cellar of any other pub, cobby and smelling of wet and forgotten things. But there under the lamp and on top of a dark rug was a table that was recently tended to.

Vesta approached. A carved wooden bird sat on its carved wooden pedestal at the center of the table. It looked abjectly mundane and a little sad, like the sculpture didn't know if it was meant to be a crow or a magpie. Vesta turned around with a sigh and shook her hand at the bird and the table and the lamp.

"And what's this, Hunt? Lovely murder-hole but I don't see what I came back for."

Lorelei eyed Vesta beside the table, proud of the beggar for making it all the way down the stairs with nary a complaint or a stumble. She felt proud for an instant, and then her boredom returned.
 
At Vesta's question, at her lack. of. initiative, Lore glanced at the wooden bird meaningfully, then back at Vesta. Portkey! Not for the infirm. Not for the dying or recently reborn. Vesta would survive again if she had to, though.

Lorelei crept closer, a predatory smile flickering on her face. She waved her wand at the lamp, plunging them in darkness. Her other hand was already reaching for Vesta's wrist, grabbing at it to slam her palm atop the portkey. A caged bird for a bird.

Having done her duty, Lorelei released her victim and stood in the dark of the cellar. Goodbye, bright harsh soul. Goodbye, until tomorrow.