When Remiel came to, he found himself back in his cottage, with no idea how he got there. The candles were mysteriously alight, the Ars Lycanthropos propped up on his table, as if staring at him accusingly.
Remiel turned and looked at himself in the mirror. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair rangy and unkempt, his cheeks unshaven. He looked, in short, like a man on the verge of going mad. He remembered how certain he had been about Aiden, and he flinched visibly, as if struck by an invisible assailant.
"Who iz it?" he murmured to himself. "Who iz it? Beguile'z Miztrezz? Ze Unholy Potato? Luciuz Corneliuz? Who is zer monzter?"
He took off his glasses, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Ezoterik Myobi. Yas, it muzt be her. I vuz right to suzpect her initially."
Sighing, glancing at the mirror, noting that he had picked up a slight tic at the left corner of his mouth, he went out to make the accusation.