TigerEgern

The lover's nest. That's what the servants at the Donahue mansions called the place. To any ordinary person, the mansion would represent an unfathomable fortune. To the Donahues, it was little more than a spare cottage. When not occupied by the family, the servants would bring their own lovers here. Nesting, they called it. The butler knew perfectly well. Not that he harbored any such urges. The rages of puberty had not instilled a grain of lust into his body. He served and commanded. No more. No less. Now, the nest laid empty. The unnerving sense of possession lingered. As if echoes of silent screams bounced between the walls for all eternity. The power line had been disconnected, the water main shut off, and the backup generator drained of fuel. The mansion was dead. Laid to an untimely rest. The crew from the utility company had all but fled in panic, once their unenviable task had been completed. No man was brave or foolish enough to set foot on the property. Let alone inside the

"Sister Brown, we weren't expecting you this soon," the blood whispered said. Or communicated. The words formed like abstract notions in her cerebral cortex and then took form as a sentence somewhere in her brain. "I am Operative 17," she replied. With words. The blood whisperers had ears, and a keen sense of hearing, too. They didn't hear the words as words, though, and had to go through the same cognitive process of decoding as she had. "You were Operative 17. Now, you are Sister Brown. The boy with oil on his hands said so. And he sees things that no other mortal sees," the blood whisperer replied. She clenched her jaws. "I am not a Sister, I am..." her protest was abruptly cut off by the blood whisperer. "You WERE Operative 17. Now, you ARE Sister Brown. The boy with oil on his hands has spoken!" the blood whisperer thundered. The words lashed against her mind like a bullwhip. She tried to fortify herself and reply harshly, but ended up lowering her head. "What do you want