At Marchand’s hideout:

Marchand *drags Metrea down a long flight of stone stairs to a lower level, approaches a room with a large wooden door*  I think it’s time for a nice little reunion with your sister, my dear.  Oh, and her new friend Miranda.  It’ll be like a nice party.  I know you two haven’t seen eye to eye most of your lives, which is quite tragic.  After all, you’re sisters.  Here’s your opportunity to make amends before it’s too late.  And it’ll give me a chance to prepare for our little ritual, in which you will play a very important part, as you know.  *still hanging onto her tightly, he digs in a pocket for a key to the door*

Metrea *Struggling*  Wait Marchand, this is insane!   I'm much more valuable to you alive.  Marchand, you promised to share your immortality with me not death.  Damn it Marchand, let go of me.  *Twisting around she shimmers and suddenly Marchand finds himself holding on to a snarling cheetah.*

Marchand *looks at her in surprise*  Oh, Metrea, darling, please behave yourself.  *he fixes her with an icy cold evil eye*  Yes, we would’ve been quite the team.  I would’ve shared immortality with you if I could’ve gotten the gypsy and the brat.  But they’re not here now, and you are.  Daughters and stepdaughters come and go.  Chances at immortality are not so commonplace.  I can’t wait forever to do this.  *he glares at her fiercely*

Metrea *The cat shudders under his gaze and Metrea is forced once more into her true form.  Horrified, she pleads*  But we can still get the gypsy. We can use them … *Indicates Kat and Miranda* as bait and lure her here.  Why are you doing this?  We still hold all the cards.

Marchand:  Because, my dear, I’m tired.  You’ve heard the expression about a bird in the hand.  Please don’t tempt me with such schemes.  You don’t think I haven’t already thought of that?  What if we try it, and we fail, and then I’ve also lost this opportunity I have right before me?  No, love, I’m sorry, but I simply can’t keep messing around with that gypsy.  Once I’m immortal, I’ll settle with her.  *finds the key, opens the door*  Now, then, in you go.  *shoves her into the room, slams the door shut, locks it*

Metrea *Screams after Marchand to no avail.  Her shouts are met by silence.*

Kat *Nastily*  Well, dear sister, caught like a rat in yer own trap.  You dirty little connivin' bitch.  *Steps towards her but is stopped by Miranda*

Miranda:  Don't, Kat.  The baby, as long as we're breathing we still have a chance.

Kat *Scowling at Metrea*  If by chance we live through this luv, I'll be for 'untin' ye down and killin' ye like the filthy animal ye are.  Savvy?

*Miranda leads Kat to the opposite side of the room as Metrea watches them and tries once more to shape shift with no success.  Whatever Marchand did has neutralized her power.*

In the main room of the hideout:

Carver *eyeing Abberline’s gunshot wound*  So, then, Nate, ye reckon there’s a first aid kit in this drafty ol’ place?

Nate:  I have no idea, Captain.  I do hope we can manage to control these two.  After all, we’re just stupid henchmen.  *they laugh*

Ichy *looks both fearfully and defiantly at Carver and Nate hovering over them, takes off his coat and rips his shirt to make a bandage for the wound, he suddenly stops and gives Carver another look, and his eyes go wide, he quickly puts on his coat again before starting to bind the wound*  You shouldn't have done that.

Abberline *rises into a sitting position, wincing with pain*  Don't let him do anything to Kat and my baby, Crane.

Ichy *sadly*  There is nothing I can do.  And it seems that we have got even more problems .. *glances again at Carver's cold eyes, shudders*

Carver *grins at Ichy, showing a hint of fangs*  Aye, ye’ve clocked me, ‘ave ye, laddie?  I find yer use o’ th’ trappin’s most amusin’.  I regret te inform ye that white roses an’ such are a minor irritant to me at best.  Or worst, dependin' on yer viewpoint.  Now Loralee, she were mightily bothered by them roses.  We all ‘ave our Achilles heel, don’t we?  Yer friend’s ‘ere appears t’ be lead.  *laughs*

Ichy *to Carver*  I - I am not a-a-afraid of vampires.  *glances worried at Abberline's bandage where blood is starting to seep through, getting bolder*  There is scientific proof that all vampires are vulnerable, if the roses don't work against you, something else does.

Abberline *wearily*  Crane, Marchand is trying to kill my wife and my unborn child and you waste you time with that crap.  *he glances at Carver without any interest, then tries to concentrate on what to do with Nate, after having understood that Constable Crane is of no use, the man must be insane, talking about vampires ... But at least both Carver and Nate direct their attention to Crane.  He can't do nothing, he can't stand the thought of the worst happening to him again, losing once again his family, and in blind rage he kicks Nate, Nate yelps and with a surprised expression falls - but he falls straight on Abberline's wounded leg, and the pain hits him so hard that he is unable to try to wrench the gun out of Nate's hand*  I'll kill you, I swear I will kill you ... 

Nate *stands up, keeps his gun on Abberline, scowls*  You’ll kill nobody.  Metrea was right about one thing.  It’s over.  You will not escape on my watch again.  I could kill you right now, but Marchand wants you kept alive.  *smirks*  No doubt he plans to have you witness the ritual involving your wife and her sister.  I don’t imagine it’ll be pretty.  But given your life’s work, your visions, and your time spent in the opium dens, you’re no stranger to sordid sights, are you?  Should be nothing you can’t handle.

Marchand *enters room*  Well, how are we all holding up?

Carver *keeping his eyes on Ichy*  Nate ‘ere seems to ‘ave his hands full with th’ Inspector.  *snickers; Nate glowers at him*

Marchand *sighs*  I thought as much.  *he approaches them, looks at Nate, holds a hand out, speaks in a patient tone*  Give me the gun, and sedate him.  That’s why we acquired that substance, remember?  Really, Nate, I’m beginning to think you need a vacation.

Nate *glances at Abberline*  I … I was afraid to try, with just Carver and myself here.  I thought he might escape … he’s very stubborn …

Marchand *nods, still patient*  I understand, I understand … he’s relentless.  Most annoying.  But he won’t go anywhere now.  Go ahead.  *he takes the gun from Nate, turns to Abberline, points the gun at him and gazes at him intensely, giving him the cold eye as he did with Metrea.  Abberline flinches, tries not to look at him; but the pull is too strong, and he finds himself unable to move, though inside he struggles to make his muscles respond and get away from Nate, who’s now coming at him with a syringe he removed from his coat pocket.  Marchand speaks to Abberline*  Don’t be too concerned about this little shot, Inspector.  It’s quite mild, especially compared to what you’re accustomed to.  *shakes his head*  So sad to have a junkie for a son-in-law.  Perhaps I can get you into some sort of rehab after this is all over.  Oh, I know there will no longer be any reason for us to interact at that time, because by then Kat will have served me as a daughter should, and you’ll be a respectable widower once more.  But out of the goodness of my heart, and the family we once were, I will be all too happy to assist you.  *nods toward the syringe Nate holds*  This is just a mild sedative.  It won’t knock you out, you’ll still be aware of everything around you.  But you won’t be able to move … and if my prayers are answered, you won’t be able to speak.  I won’t place bets on that one, because your will to shoot off your big mouth is very strong.  *watches as Nate crouches down, pushes up Abberline’s sleeve and administers the shot.  He nods as he sees Abberline’s eyes glaze over, the drug taking effect almost immediately*  Much better.  *He holds the gun out as Nate stands up; Nate takes the gun from him, and goes to stand next to Carver, the two of them guarding Ichy and Abberline.  Marchand addresses Carver and Nate*  Now, I trust the two of you can manage a cowering Mr. Crane and a smacked-out investigator for an hour or so without further assistance from me?  *he looks at them pointedly; they both nod vigorously*  Good.  I have things to do to prepare for the ritual.  *he glares at them a little uncertainly, then turns, leaves the room*

Carver *to Ichy*  Over to that chair, laddie, where I can keep an eye on ye.  An’ no tricks, or we’ll serve ye up some o’ what th’ Inspector’s ‘avin’.  *Ichy moves reluctantly away from Abberline, takes the chair near the fireplace.  He glances first at Nate, then Carver, then looks worriedly at Abberline, who’s looking very pale; he wracks his brain, trying to think of other substances that can be used against vampires*

In the locked room:

Miranda *looks fearfully at Metrea, whispers to Kat*  She really is a witch, isn't she …  And a shapeshifter.  Kat, there must be some way to get us out of here.  Where are your powers, now everybody else in your family has exceptional powers, what about you?  *frantic, takes her hands*  I want out of here!  I don't want to die, I just want to live!  If Ichabod knew about me, he would already be saving me from these monsters, he would not desert me here ...  *sniffs*  The Inspector gave me a shimmering white wedding gown.  Will I ever be able to use it?

Kat:  I got nothin', least nothin' I can use.  I be thinkin' the dyin’ is not yer worry.  It be what ye'll be after if ye be gifted te Carver.  Sorry luv, but that be the read I get on it.  *Glares at Metrea*  At least Manouche be still out there somewhere.  All we can do is wait for the opportune moment.

Miranda:  I'll be rather dead than in the hands of that horrible Carver.  *starts to sob*  Ichy, were are you, can you hear me?  *she stops and wipes her eyes on her sleeve*  Manouche?  What could she do against these thugs?  They would not dare to do anything to an expecting woman and an unborn child, the Inspector won't let them harm you, but I fear that it is too late, too late …  My beautiful wedding dress will be unused.  Oh why did he have to give it to me!

Kat:  What ye think I be 'ere for, a bloody tea party?  Me and sweet sister be 'ere te be main attraction at Marchand's blood and bath soiree.  Savvy?

Outside Marchand’s hideout:

Manouche *has retreated back into the woods in the shadow of Marchand's fortress, hoping no one will find her before she can complete the ceremony to destroy Marchand.  After building a small fire, she takes out Marchand’s tooth, and the material she cut from his robe.  She wraps the tooth in the cloth, sets it aside.  She reaches in another pocket, removes a root from a mandragora plant, quickly bends it into a simple shape of a man, fastens it to the wrapped tooth, chants:*

Mandragora, fera jamais la médecine t'à ce sommeil qui tu owedst hier

*She stops, pulls a small jar from another pocket, opens it, sprinkles an ash-like substance over the bundle, then ties the bundle to a long stick, holds it out over the flame, mumbles to herself*  Te pabaren mange memelia.  *she then chants* 

Adref, adref am y cyntaf, Hwch Ddu Gwta a gipio'r olaf

*She watches for a moment, then jumps back slightly in surprise as the flame touches the bundle and sends off multi-colored sparks for a moment, then settles back down.  She removes the bundle from the fire, sets it aside, takes a small knife from her pocket, winces as she makes a small cut to one of her fingers.  She holds her finger over the bundle, lets fall several drops of her powerful blood onto the cloth.  She then picks up the stick, brings it to the fire, holds it over the flame, closes her eyes, begins the final chant*

Aux cieux, au puits à la fin du monde, aux profondeurs de la Pègre, aux fonds de lacs d'esprit-rempli et aux mers ...

*She pauses, opens her eyes, and swears under her breath as she hears the sound of someone approaching; she blinks back tears as she worries and wonders what has happened to prevent Raven from warning her.  Then she feels panic, realizing whoever it is may be upon her before she can finish.  She squeezes her eyes shut, ignoring the sound, continues chanting, faster*

Autour de la terre, à la lune et au soleil, aux étoiles lointaines et de retour encore ...

*But she knows it’s too late, and she stops chanting as the footsteps come closer; the brush is pushed out of the way, and she turns to see who it is*  By th’ bloody powers … Jack Sparrow!

Jack:  CAPTAIN Jack Sparrow.  *looks around, frowns*  Oh, bugger.  *starts to leave, then does a double-take*  No – wait, I take that back.  This is the right place.  Though it looks sadly, tragically devoid of rum.  *steps forward a little unsteadily, glances around, then looks at Manouche*  You don’t want to be finishing that little song, luv.  *looks at her closely, eyes narrowed as he sees she’s staring at him*  What?

Manouche *eyes wide*  S-sorry, mate, I don’t mean t’ stare.  It’s jus’ that … blimey, we never see ye ‘round ‘ere …

Jack:  Ahh, that’s to maintain me air of mystery, savvy?  And it worked, didn’t it?  I was the last person you expected to see, wasn’t I?  Makes for a much more impactful entrance …

Manouche:  That’s not a word.

Jack:  Hm?

Manouche:  Impactful.  It’s not a word.

Jack:  And how can a word not be a word if it’s already been used in the spoken … word? 

Manouche:  It jus’ ain’t.  Ye could say “a powerful entrance” … or “a grand, sweepin’ entrance” … or ye could even say ye made an impact with yer entrance …

Jack:  But what if I were to tell you that I were speakin’ in the vernacular?

Manouche *shrugs*  Wouldn’t matter.  It’s not a word.  How ‘bout “a startlin’ entrance”?  ‘Cause I were startled, an’ that’s a fact.

Jack *nods*  And no doubt it was a startlin’ that you won’t soon forget.  Right.  Now that that’s sorted, I’m off.  Ta.  *turns to leave*

Manouche:  Wait!  ‘Ang on!  Why’d ye come ‘ere in th’ first place?  Why did ye tell me that?

Jack *turns, looks at her like she’s not quite right*  Tell you what, luv?

Manouche:  That I don’t want to be finishin’ that lil’ song.

Jack *brightens*  Oh!  Ah yes, the song …

Manouche:  It ain’t really a song, mate … *Jack glares at her, reaches for his pistol; she holds her hands up, adds hastily*  Not that it matters!  I mean, song, chant ... bloody similar, aren’t they?  *smiles disarmingly*  But … why don’t I want t’ be finishin’ it?

Jack *leans closer to her*  Because it’s dangerous.  Be careful what you wish for, savvy?  I know what you’re trying to do, and it’s admirable, to be sure.  But you don’t know what else’ll come of it.

Manouche:  Do you?

Jack *blinks*  Do I what?

Manouche:  Know what else’ll come of it.  The chant … ceremony … th’ song.

Jack:  Oh.  Aye, I know.  *leans still closer*  Think of it this way, luv … would I be making one o’ me patented … startling entrances … if there were no danger?

Manouche:  I reckon not.  *hesitates*  That’s all well an’ good, but … me mates are in terrible trouble.  I don’t know how else t’ help ‘em but t’ go ahead with this.  We all need t’ be rid o’ this bastard …

Jack:  There are other ways.  Besides, you’ve already saved your mates.  *nods toward fire*  Despite the interruption, you have just now caused sufficient damage to your adversary, with your little dollies an’ your jar o’ dirt, thereby placing him in a weakened state.  *puts his hands on her shoulders, turns her slightly so she’s facing toward the hideout, motions toward it*  Now … if you stand here quietly and watch for, oh, ten or fifteen minutes … well, maybe a half-hour … or it could be just twenty minutes … you’ll see that I’m right.  Your mates’ll come runnin’ from that mausoleum for all they’re worth.  Just be sure you’re ready to join ‘em when they do.  Pirate’s code, savvy?  You don’t want to fall behind.

Manouche *looks at the fire, sighs; the ceremony has been broken anyway.  She would have to start over, and she doesn’t know if it will work once interrupted and resumed.  She turns to him*  Are you truly certain about all this?

Jack *raises eyebrows*  Have I ever given you reason not to trust me?

Manouche:  No.  No, as a matter o’ fact, ye ‘aven’t.

Jack *eyes wide*  I haven’t?  *looks away, surprised, contemplating*  I haven’t …

Manouche:  I reckon I believe ye, if fer no other reason that ye ‘ave nothin’ to gain by comin’ an’ tellin’ it to me.  *eyes him curiously*  But how do you know all this?

Jack *holds hands out, grins*  I’m Captain Jack Sparrow.

Manouche *grins back*  So it would seem.  *peers at him closely*  I do believe ye ‘ave one or two more gold teeth than th’ last time I saw ye, luv.  I, ah, reckon yer now about t’ demonstrate yer startlin’ exit?

Jack *shakes head*  Negative, negatory, no.  Seeing as how I’ve already managed to startle upon entrance, to leave in a similar fashion would be self-defeating and anti-climactic.  And I’m sure, being in the same trade, you’ll agree with me that the element of surprise is crucial.  A startling entrance demands an altogether different type of exit.  I shall instead make a grand exit, in keeping with the classic tradition that is a pirate trademark, whilst remaining true to my own inimitable je ne sais quoi.  Now remember … ten minutes to a half hour … from now.  *he pulls a watch from his pocket, and Manouche tries to hide her amazement as she recognizes the watch as one of Portsmith’s.  He puts the watch away, satisfied*  I promise you, they’ll be along.  *he takes her hand gallantly*  Milady, I bid you adieu.  *he kisses her hand, smiles roguishly, turns, cuts quite a dashing figure as he leaps into the brush, and Manouche watches him admiringly, listening to him as he yells back*  You will always remember this … as the day … that you were advised by …  *she winces as she hears a loud crash, followed by a yelp of pain*

Manouche *calls out*  Ahh … thorn bushes?

Jack *trying to keep his voice steady*  A little assist, if you don’t mind, darling … no worries, you have plenty of time …

Manouche *shakes her head*  Aye, so ye informed me.  *glances back at Marchand’s fortress a little fearfully, then turns, takes out her knife, cuts her way through the brush to help Jack*

And inside Marchand’s hideout:

Marchand *unlocks the door to the room, speaks to Kat, Metrea and Miranda*  All right, ladies, the tea party is over.  It’s time to do what we must do.  No need to look so miserable about it, we all have to go sometime.  Aren’t you glad you can be providing a service?  How many people can say they’ve done something for a greater good when they’re about to expire … *he pauses, rocks on his feet, slightly unsteady, shakes his head; then continues*  As I was saying … no tricks now.  Metrea can vouch for my powers, you really have no escape … and I don’t think you would want to run out and leave your gentlemen upstairs to suffer for your cowardice, would you?  *his voice trails off as he suddenly feels odd … he’s surprised to find he feels a little dizzy*  Wh-what’s this?  If I didn’t know better, I’d ……. *he reaches out and presses hands against the wall, a sheen on his skin; he brings one hand to his face, takes it away, cries out in alarm as he sees the green ooze on his fingers*  No … it can’t be … *he slides down to the floor, his hand leaving a streak of residue on the stone wall where he had been leaning.  He realizes what’s happening, and he lets out a bloodcurdling howl*  DAMN THAT GYPSY TO HELL!!!!  I’LL SEE HER DRAWN AND QUARTERED IF IT’S THE LAST THING I DO!!!!!  *he lies on the floor, like a creature from another world, almost liquefying right before the horrified eyes of Kat, Metrea and Miranda, who covers her eyes with her hands.  He awkwardly reaches for them, but they elude his grasp, and he curses, at least that’s what they think he’s doing, but it’s hard to tell because his speech has become garbled and impossible to understand as he founders, a putrid mass at their feet*