After the cloaking spell which Isolde knew would render any vision confusion of the flat invisible to all but maybe Erlind, she noticed the smell of paint and varnish was still noticeable. The candles had helped refresh the air some, but still Isolde decided to camouflage that as well. Rummaging around in her small closet, she came out with a table easel, a blank canvas, her old palette, some brushes and her oil painting kit. Along with a full set of paint, some twisted and half consumed, the kit contained linseed oil and turpentine, pungent odors themselves.<br/><br/>She set these out on the coffee table and painted a flat background for a landscape. A few flicks of the wrist with blue and purple and she had the starting of mountains in a distant plain. Rather than risk ruining her clothes, she donned an old bungalow apron that looked like a cross between a house coat and a day dress. The room was cold so the garment helped her stay warm. The bright blue was now faded and the fabric was soft, but Isolde wasn’t expecting company. She paused long enough to toss that mane of red hair into a top knot, out of the way because oil paint was quite evil when mixed with hair.<br/>The painting was coming along well and Isolde took a break to put on a kettle for tea. Taking the paint brush in hand, she studied her painting, chewing on the wooden end of the brush as she thought. A loud knock ripped through the peace of her flat. With a frown, Isolde went to the door, holding the paint brush like a cigarette holder between her fingers. She flung the door back, for what did a powerful witch really fear from mortals?<br/><br/>Isolde stared from one to the other of the people who stood on the landing, a blonde woman, a young Nazi officer, the well-dressed advocate from the seminar, whatever his name was and Erlind. She stared at him in open mouthed surprise and bit back a caustic remark. He was, is, a demon and they are liars everyone, she reminded herself. One didn’t pick up a snake and be angry when it bit. That is what snakes were wont to do and demons were no different!<br/>Recovering her poise, Isolde smiled and graciously invited them in, gesturing with the hand that held the paint brush.<br/><br/>“Please, come in from that cold stairway. I was about to have tea. Would any of you care for some? Erlind, it is good to see you again. I see you are faring well. And Sir Advocate, forgive me if your name escapes me, it is a pleasure to see you again as well.”<br/><br/>She nodded to the young man and then extended her hand to the woman,<br/><br/>“I’m Isolde Devereaux. To what may I attribute this visit? “Isolde said, shutting the door as the visitors came in. “I’m quite sure this is not a typical social call.”