In the days that followed, Baal's walking Tower—an unbeatable structure now parked between Tear Lake and the Morningstar—became a spectacle, drawing the townspeople and outsiders alike. With intrigue hanging in the air like a mist, business at the Morningstar Manor flourished anew. The locals chatted excitedly about the phenomenon as they filled the rooms and the salon, their pockets full of tokens loosening with the novelty of it all. It was as if the hoard of undead never reached the outskirts of Ravendrift a week before.

It was a frenetic pace, one that conveniently allowed no time for reflection on the startling series of events that had recently unfolded. Everyone was occupied—too occupied, perhaps.

Bram, who miraculously came back among the living, moved through his routines with Kirara, playing tag and cards as if stepping back from the afterlife was as ordinary as a walk in the park.

Adamastor, Finnea, and Perdita juggled their duties in the kitchen, attended to room service, and managed the salon with renewed zeal. Even Baal, who could usually be found lost in brooding thoughts, picked up his violin occasionally to entertain the guests.

The frenzied activity seemed almost an unspoken pact among them, a silent agreement to keep going without confronting the bizarre reality that had gripped their lives. No one talked about Bram's resurrection or the appearance of the walking tower now rooted like an ancient obelisk at their doorstep.

Conversations buzzed around trivial matters—weather forecasts, business upticks, the latest town gossip—as if these could drown out the questions they were all too afraid to ask.

Nord, too, was swept up in this collective act of denial or distraction. She confined herself to her store, shutting the door for hours at a time as if seeking sanctuary in her work. And so, nobody mentioned her prolonged disappearances or questioned why she had withdrawn.

Likewise, except for the regular visits by Sirdona, no one acknowledged the unnerving presence of Ursula, who lay bound with duct tape and half-injured in a guest room upstairs.

Ursula's presence in the bowels of Morningstar Manor hung like an unvoiced whisper, a spectre haunting the edges of everyone's thoughts but never uttered aloud. Ensconced in a room under the vigilant watch of Dumdum, leaned against the doorjamb, his eyes heavy with the weight of his own fiasco. He had failed to warn Ravendrift of the hoard of undead that was coming—a failure made all the more bitter by the fact that the danger had already invaded Lake Tear long before he'd even saddled his pony.

However, life at Morningstar Manor had resumed its ordinary flow, like a river that had briefly surged. Still, it now seemed to have returned to its predictable course. But beneath the guise of normality, a palpable tension stretched thin. It was as if they were all walking on a frozen lake, unaware that the ice could crack at any moment, again.

Lucero, the owner of Mme Bougie, swaggered into this tableau, an electric aura of self-assurance pulsing around him. Dressed to the nines in a well-tailored suit, a fur coat slung outrageously over his shoulders, and a fedora tilted at a jaunty angle complemented by his raven moustache, he looked every inch the man who could bend reality to his will.

Lucero paused, fully expecting someone to rush over to greet him. Still, everyone around continued to hurry past, oblivious or uncaring.

Merlin, a twinkle in his eyes and his cheeks - always - flushed with the recent joy of Bram's grandiose miracle, sauntered over to Lucero. "They've been a bit swamped lately," he said, his voice tinged with an almost euphoric relief that was contagious to anyone else. "I'm sure someone will attend to you shortly. Patience, my friend."

"Patience is a commodity I'm currently short on," Lucero snapped, his eyes narrowing. "If I can afford to have my day and business disrupted, Miss Morningstar can likewise." With that, he marched over to the grand piano at the corner of the room and, mimicking an act that Nord had once scandalously performed, slammed his palms onto the keys with a discordant crash.

All activity in the room ceased; all eyes were now fixated on Lucero. "I want to see Ursula, now!" he bellowed, locking eyes with each person in the room, daring anyone to defy him.

Baal, standing on a raised platform as if in preparation for an address, stepped down, his eyes meeting Lucero's. The air between them sizzled with an electric charge, and for a moment, the room held its collective breath.

"I'll take you to her," Baal said, his voice tinged with a gravity that brooked no argument. He gestured toward the winding staircase that led to the manor's upper quarters. As they began to ascend, every eye in the room followed them, each person silently pondering what this new chapter would bring to the ever-complicated saga of Morningstar Manor.

Baal and Lucero rounded the corner, their footsteps echoing in the corridor. Dumdum was slumped against Ursula's door, his tiny green frame vibrating with snores even as he attempted to remain upright. Baal rolled his eyes, took a moment to compose himself, and then nudged the snoring goblin carefully with his boot.

"I'm awake! I'm awake!" Dumdum jolted upright, his eyes blinking rapidly as if trying to dispel the fog of sleep. His hand instinctively reached for the door.

"Go get some rest, Dumdum. You're clearly in no shape to be on guard duty," Baal said, his voice dripping with thinly veiled mockery.

"No, no, I stay! I'm on duty!" Dumdum insisted, trying to square his sagging shoulders, but his wavering posture betrayed his exhaustion.

Baal locked eyes with him, exuding an authority that silenced any further objections. "You're not on duty. You're exhausted. Go, now."

Dumdum looked as if he was about to argue, but the weight of his own fatigue seemed to press down on him, deflating his resistance. "Fine," he muttered and then shuffled away, each step a laborious effort. He disappeared into the depths of the hallway, his grumbles echoing back like the forlorn cries of a defeated creature.

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Baal shook his head, trying not to laugh but also relieved to be rid of the additional complication. He unlocked the door and held it open, gesturing for Lucero to enter.

"Madams first."

Lucero entered the room, his eyes adjusting to the muted light. There she was—Ursula, shackled to the bed by a gleaming silver band. Her pallor was a shade lighter than he remembered, the vitality sapped from her like colour from a fading painting.

One arm was set in a cast, a stark, white contrast against the dark sheets. Her eyes met his, a mix of caution and curiosity, her lips quivering in a strange hybrid of a smile and a frown. Baal lingered by the door, his eyes darting between the two, unable to gauge the intent behind Lucero's visit, probably to take her back to Mme Bougie.

In a single fluid motion, Lucero shrugged off his fur coat, letting it pool on the floor. His steps were plotted, each one resounding in the silence of the room. Then, with a swift movement that cut through the air like a blade, he delivered a resonant slap across Ursula's face.

The sound shattered the room's uneasy quiet, sending a shockwave that seemed to rattle the very walls. Baal, caught off-guard, froze for a split second, his eyes widening in disbelief.

"How dare you!" Lucero's voice was tinged with a venomous mixture of anger and betrayal, each syllable slicing through the room's thick tension. "How dare you after everything I did for you! Plotting against vampires and then working with them! For what?"

Ursula recoiled from the impact. Her cheek flushed red, but her eyes—those eyes were defiant, a storm brewing in the depths of her irises.

Baal finally found his voice, stepping forward, his posture rigid with indignation. "That's enough, Lucero. I think..."

Lucero turned his gaze toward Baal, his eyes ablaze. "Don't meddle, Baal. This is between me and my 'finest' girl." He paused, inhaling deeply as though gathering the shards of his shattered composure. "What was the endgame, Ursula? Tokens? Do you want to go back to being a blood doll? What's the end game? What did they promise you?"

Ursula finally spoke, her voice surprisingly steady despite her constrained position and a stinging cheek. "You think I want to be a whore for the rest of my life? I want to be someone; I want to be my own person!"

Lucero's eyes bore into Ursula's, a cold fire dancing in their depths. "I've never held anyone back. The girls who work for me at Mme Bougie have choices, and I respect those choices. Whether they disrobe or not is their decision, not mine. But what I won't tolerate—what I can't tolerate—are traitors, liars, and opportunists who exploit my contacts and my clientele for their own sordid gains."

Pausing to take a deep breath, Lucero exhaled slowly as if expelling the last vestiges of his own restraint. "If Mr. Berith has no objections," he gestured toward Baal, who stood silently, observing, "I'll have someone bring your belongings here. But consider yourself dismissed from Mme Bougie. And any illusion of friendship you held? Consider it shattered, dead. I'm done."

With that, Lucero turned on his heels, grabbing his fur coat from the floor. As he reached the doorway, he paused, not looking back, his voice tinged with finality. "I wish you nothing but the best, Ursula. Just make sure it's far, far, very far away from me and my protégées."

Lucero's footsteps receded into the distance. Each echo was a fading remnant of the storm that had just passed through the room. Ursula kept her gaze averted, staring at a nondescript point on the floor. Baal, equally unsure of where to start, sat down on the edge of her bed. With a tinge of irony, he broke the silence, "Well, it seems you're stuck with us now."

"I've had worse," Ursula replied, her voice subdued but laced with stubborn resilience.

"So, should we continue this conversation Lucero-style?" Baal quipped, trying to lighten the atmosphere. "I can always call Nord in here. She has a mean slap." He rubbed his hand against his cheek as if it was yesterday.

"What do you want, demon?" Ursula cut through the banter, her eyes finally meeting his.

Baal sighed, his playful demeanour slipping away, replaced by a more earnest urgency. "I want what everyone wants to know: What the hell happened? Why did you attack my tower? And then, why did you attack Nord? What was the grand plan?"

"Do you think we were friends?" she shot back, a mocking smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

Baal looked at her earnestly. "The friends of my friends are still my friends. So yes, enlighten me."

Ursula sighed, the defiance in her eyes giving way to something more vulnerable. "Adamastor lied to me," she began, her voice tinged with bitterness.

"In what way?" Baal probed, intrigued and slightly taken aback by the shift in her demeanour.

"He said he was dying. He promised me a job here. That there will be a vacancy once he is gone. He said he'd saved up something for me. I mourned a death that never happened! I fucking cried!" Her words dripped with anger and regret, each syllable punctuated by her clenched fists.

Baal met her gaze squarely, the air between them thickening as he weighed his words carefully. "Ursula, Adamastor actually died."

"Are you trying to make a fool of me?" Her eyes narrowed, disbelief etched across her face.

"I can't lie; you know that. Adamastor did die. He just also happened to come back—as a human. That's all I know."

Confusion clouded Ursula's features, "So why didn't he... why didn't he contact me?"

"He doesn't remember anything from his time as a vampire, possibly because of the contract we made. And that includes you," Baal explained, a wry smile forming at the corners of his mouth. "We've all tried to take him to Mme Bougie to see you, but he wasn't thrilled about visiting a... well..."

"A brothel! You mean a brothel," Ursula snapped, filling in the blanks.

"Yes, a brothel," Baal acknowledged, the tension in the room palpable but slowly dissipating.

"He's human?" Ursula asked, the hard edge in her voice softening.

"Yes, he's human now. Goes to bed early and everything," Baal said, almost amused.

"He sleeps?" Ursula's voice was tinged with astonishment, her eyes widening, "Does he eat?"

He nodded, "He's not the same, Ursula. Whether that's a good or bad thing is for you to decide. Adamastor wanted to spend his last night with you. He really cared, you know? He believed he'd be truly dead. But things changed, and no one knew about the promises he'd made to you. Otherwise, we would have taken care of you," Baal finished.

The demon guessed Ursula's intentions, the unvarnished truth landing heavily in the space between them. "You just wanted a better life, huh? Got sick of playing the part, putting up with the stench of alcohol and cigars, not even recognizing your own skin anymore? So you thought a handful of tokens would fix it all?"

"Yes," Ursula admitted, her voice tinged with resignation. "That's exactly it."

"And you're aware of Restelo's plans? His intentions?" Baal questioned, casting her a sideways glance that hinted at his waning patience.

"How do you—"

"I'm getting really tired of people underestimating me," Baal interjected, standing up and beginning to pace the room, his fingers interlocked as if he were contemplating a complex puzzle. "Here's the deal: we make a contract. You spill every last drop of information on this convoluted vampire melodrama, and I guarantee your pockets will never run dry of tokens again."

"That's it?" Ursula eyed him warily, clearly suspicious of the simplicity of his offer.

Baal paused, meeting her gaze directly. "I'll also need a couple of happy memories from you. That's the deal. Take it or leave it."

Ursula looked at him, her eyes probing as if searching for a hidden catch. But what she found in his gaze was a strange blend of earnestness and calculation. Here - was a demon offering a second chance, and as much as her instincts screamed caution, the lure of escaping her past miseries tugged at her soul.

It was a high-stakes gamble, a chance to rewrite her narrative at the cost of memories she held dear. But then again, what good were memories when her present was a mess and her future uncertain?

"Alright," Ursula finally said, her voice tinged with a mixture of relief and apprehension. "We have a deal."

A sly grin spread across Baal's face as he felt the scales of power and fate tip ever so slightly in his favour. "Excellent. Then let's begin, shall we?"