Exton

Grace hangs up the phone. Within the hour... she had not expected the appointment to be quite so soon. She eases herself from her desk chair, reaching for the walker Tori had gotten for her. Torrent is there to steady her for a moment.

"Do ye want me to go with you?"

She lays a pale hand against his chocolate toned cheek. Her flesh is tissue thin, chill to the touch. He presses a kiss into her palm. "No my Friend. I need to do this without either you or Tori. You need to understand."

He nods and urges her to sit on a chair. A silver comb appears in his hand and he gently dresses her hair.

The hour passes quickly, too quickly. Mortuis helps Grace settle in the front seat. He loads her walker in the back. Torrent stops him a moment, "She is not good, Mortuis, if something happens... call me. I will be there."

Mortuis inclines his head and slips behind the wheel. Soon they are out of sight. Torrent settles into a chair on the sidewalk and closes his eyes. He sends his thoughts to the small bits of his energy still finding their way into her essence. She is nervous, but confident. This is something she not only needs to do, this is something she WANTS to do.

The Victorian house is not quite what Grace expected. She truly assumed they would meet at the mortuary. The man who meets them at the door elegantly motions them inside. They follow him into a simply furnished living room. Grace admires the antique furnishings. "This is a lovely room."

Another man steps quietly into the room. He carries a tray, laden with a teapot and cups. "Thank you. We get little in the way of company, but we try to keep it pleasant for those who do join us. Won't you sit?"

His voice startles her. It is grandfatherly and kind, with a striking resemblance to Boris Karloff. She smiles. "May I say, that you have a definitive voice sir. You sound much like my favorite actor, Boris Karloff."

He sets the tray on a table. "Thank you. I have been told I sound like him. That he is a favorite of yours, is a lovely thought. I am Mr. Sweeney. You have already met Mr. Mole. Now, my dear lady. How may we help you?"

Mortuis helps Grace settle on the settee. She opens her purse and pulls out a sheet of paper. Handing the document to Mr. Sweeney, she tells them, "Gentlemen, I am sighted, as the Fae say. I know the truth of you, and have come to you for help in my passing from this world. My soul has already been claimed by my God, Herne. My body is mine to dispose of. That sheet of paper is a legal document giving your "Mortuary" the right to harvest any usable organs or tissues." She watches their long somber faces.

They nod slowly, listening. Mr. Mole licks his lips. He asks, in a voice reminiscent of Marty Feldman imitating Eyegore, " Why any usable?"

She smiles sadly. "I am dying gentleman. I have cancer. I do not know what is edible to your kind, but I wish you to take what you would like. The rest, I ask that you cremate. I have an associate to whom I would have the ashes released. Her name is Tourmaline. She will then dispose of my ashes as stated in my letter to her." She cocks her head. "Can you help me?"

Mr. Sweeney reads slowly, pointing out nuances in the document to Mr. Mole. "Everything seems to be in order. We would be delighted to... help you."

"Thank you, Gentlemen." She hands them a small envelope. "For your troubles, and anything you may need." The envelope contains a small bundle of cash. Their eyes widen at the sum. "What is not used for my disposition use for yourselves."

She smiles up at Mortuis, setting down her empty cup. "Mortuis, I hate to impose, but I find myself tiring. Would you be so kind as to take me home?" As he helps her rise, she nods to the Ghouls. "I appreciate everything you will be doing for me."

Mr. Sweeney smiles. It is sincere and open, unlike the careful smiles both men had shown earlier on their horsey features. "We will be honored Miss Grace. Let us see you out."

As Mortuis helps her settle in the hearse, he chuckles quietly. "You have dealt with unusual creatures before, Milady Grace?"

She grins at him. "I think almost everyone is unusual Mortuis. Some just... a little more than others." She hums quietly to herself as Mortuis slides behind the wheel and heads for her apartment.