A Pale Shade of Night

A Pale Shade of Night

Chapter 1: A Prelude to Unpleasant Things

Dark shadows and grim faces hid more than nasty hexes in Knockturn Alley. Behind the half-rotted woolen cloak of gritty normalcy, a vast market for illegal merchandise and services flourished both above and below the cobblestone alleyways for those who knew where to look and how to ask - all right under the noses of the Ministry of Magic's ever-present Aurors. In the darkened stores and narrow streets it was nearly impossible to root out the banned products from those that, while technically legal, could still be quite hazardous in the wrong hands. Dark Arts practitioners, grave robbers, and experimentalists were only a few of the dangers one faced in Knockturn Alley. Most hid their faces with hoods and charms and clung to the shadows, shying away from any respectable passers by. Very few people in Knockturn Alley wished to be recognized, especially in light of the Dark Lord's rebirth. The Ministry of Magic made valiant attempts to track who came and left, but they would never really know what really happened down that dark, grimy and dangerous Alley.

Little had changed here since the news of the Dark Lord's return had spread throughout the wizarding world. As usual, a few grim locals shuffled by the rows of forbidding shops that would buy, sell, and trade almost everything that an adept of the Dark Arts could desire. Unlike the curious fools that snuck down Knockturn Alley for adventure and often wound up in pieces, the regular denizens developed a sixth sense for that which went bump in the night.

The dour witches and wizards shied away slightly as one dark figure passed. After years in the Dark permeated Alley, they knew whom to avoid. Perhaps they found that the stench of evil was even stronger around the truly Dark ones. Or, perhaps it was just the way the small figure glided through the shadows, as if it knew nothing would dare come near. A few eyes surreptitiously glanced toward it, hoping not to be noticed. Information could be a most valuable commodity, if it could be gathered safely.

The figure continued on, heedless of its observers. Even as the sounds of its soft footsteps and swishing robes faded into the early morning gloom, one set of secretive eyes narrowed in thought. The presence of this dark witch had not gone unrecognized, nor would her passing be forgotten. The select few who recalled the old stories shuddered and drew further back into the shadows. The soul hunter had returned.

Nothing besides the fact of her existence was really known about the soul hunter. Occasionally, in the dead of night during the first war, rumors of her power had been whispered in the darkest corners of Knockturn Alley. All who remembered the tales understood that her return was a sign: a sign that the Dark Lord was on the move.

*** *** ***

In a remote nook of Knockturn Alley, the soul hunter stopped before an old, gloomy shop. Dark paint was chipping off the panes of the dirty storefront windows. The dank street was littered with a few murky puddles, as it had rained recently. Not all the rain in England, though, could wash the stains off these old cobblestones.

The air was thick and humid, carrying all sounds further than one might expect. The soul hunter stood before the shop, still for a moment, perhaps listening for a spy to be betrayed by a step or even a breath. Although, if anyone had dared to follow, he would have little to report. The hunter was little more than a pitch-black shadow against the dark grime of the alley. A high collared cape hid much of her face and a wide brimmed witch's hat was pulled low over her eyes.

The witch raised a black-gloved hand to open the shop's decrepit door. Her cloak slid back from her arm, revealing heavy black robes. Dim light glinted off a set of sharp silvery claws as her hand grasped the dingy metal doorknob and turned. Her care had paid off. No one saw the dark shadow of the soul hunter enter this store of forbidden magics, just as she had planned.

At the door's creak, a young clerk looked up from his ledger to tend to his latest customer. It had been a fairly quiet day with only regulars stopping by. He froze, quill still pressed to paper, when he saw the shadowed witch slip into the shop. Although he had just recently begun his apprenticeship with the shop owner, he had grown up familiar with Darker magic and could tell that this witch was truly dangerous, not just one of the normal ominous folk that called Knockturn home.

The hunter moved slowly through the shop, perusing shelves. The place was packed from dusty floor to shadowy ceiling with arcane, disturbing, and mostly Dark merchandise. Strange dried herbs and dead things hung from the rafters. Some of them looked like they had been there for a long time and were covered in dusty cobwebs.

"May I be of service . . . uh," the clerk stuttered, not knowing how to address the witch.

The witch set down a vicious looking onyx knife and turned to the nervous clerk. Her soft voice was startled the clerk. "What is your name, young man?"

Despite its softness, her voice carried a menacing tone. Clearly, this witch was used to being obeyed. Her glance was enough to chill him to the bone. He swore he could feel her eyes look right through him, even from behind the dark glasses she wore.

The witch glided up to the counter where the clerk sat.

Realizing he had not yet answered, he quickly squeaked, "Darien," in fright. The witch nodded, and looked at him critically.

"Apprentice Darien," she said quietly, "please inform your master, Jeriol, that Arcana," she paused for emphasis, "wishes to do business with him."

Darien shuddered. Even though the name was unfamiliar, there were certain customers that would only deal with his master. "Of course, uh," he paused, still unsure as to the proper way to address this witch. "I will tell him, right away." Darien got up quickly, unnerved by the witch's words and rather sharp canines. He would be glad to let his master deal with this Arcana, and just hoped that she wanted nothing to do with him. Though Darien was young, he already knew far too much about the many ways a live human could be used in Dark rituals. Besides, there was no way she could be fully human, and nasty Dark rituals were how most got to be that way.

Once the young clerk had fled to the back of the shop, the soul hunter Arcana sighed tiredly. She shifted her stance to carefully lean against the old black counter, trying to take the pressure off of her aching body. Deep in thought, she gently ran a clawed finger along one particularly deep scratch in the dark wood.

It was about to begin again.

The sound of footsteps and hushed voices echoed into the front room of the shop. The hunter stood straight and quickly brought herself back to reality.

An older wizard with sharp blue eyes made his way to the counter where Arcana stood. He wore dark gray robes accented with heavy black embroidery and ever-changing runes that Arcana recognized as the symbols of a millennia-old cult. Steel gray hair, a few shades lighter than his robe, hung loose just past the wizard's shoulders. Darien meekly followed his master, and then returned to the ledger, not looking once at the witch. The old wizard seemed to find his apprentice's behavior amusing, as his lips twitched in a cruel smile.

"Lady Arcana," he addressed the hunter cautiously, "it has been a long time, indeed." She only nodded in response. "Please, come to the back with me, where we can discuss your business," he looked toward the front door with meaning, "without interruptions."

His voice sounded harsh, as if he had been yelling recently. Probably at that pathetic apprentice, Arcana mused. She tilted her head slightly, regarding the older wizard. "That would be for the best, Jeriol," she said, letting a hint of impatience creep into her voice. This day had already been far too long, and it was only morning.

With a bit of worry in his old eyes, Jeriol motioned for Arcana to follow. "If you would then follow, Lady," he asked and turned to return to the back rooms.

Arcana followed silently, hoping to give Jeriol no clues to her mood. When she wished it, she could be unreadable, except to one wizard. She could not always fool him. The shopkeepers in Knockturn Alley knew how dangerous it was to misjudge a customer and Arcana used that to her full advantage whenever she dealt with them. As she followed the dark wizard Jeriol down a set of stone stairs, Arcana folded the high collar of her cape away from her face. Pale lips quirked in a slight smirk at how she could still disturb Jeriol, even though they had done business together many times before.

Arcana always wondered at the depth of Jeriol's cellar. She could feel the great age of this place, and knew that it must have been dug in the early days of Knockturn Alley. Legs getting tired, she took a stronger grip on the smooth stone handrail. It would be foolish to trip and give away her exhausted state, which she had managed to hide so far this morning.

Finally reaching the bottom of the steps, Jeriol led Arcana to a dark sitting room. Flickering light from floating candles glanced off the shelves of gilt books that lined the room from floor to ceiling. Two dark green, threadbare chairs framed a small, but ornate fireplace in the far wall. The room looked much the same as it had the last time Arcana had visited.

Jeriol gestured for the hunter to sit. "Please sit, Lady Arcana."

An odd note in his voice caught Arcana's ear. Jeriol was watching her far too closely.

"It looks like you had a rather," he grimaced, "difficult night."

Arcana glared back at him for a moment, annoyed that he was able to read her so easily. Maybe Jeriol knew her better than she had given him credit for. "Yes," she snarled, "he was in a rather foul mood." Her anger simmered as memories of last night flooded her mind. He would pay for this, she swore, and she would regain her freedom.

Shaking herself out of the unpleasant memories, Arcana sat down gingerly in one of the green chairs while Jeriol watched cautiously from a distance.

"I think we could both use a good cup of tea," Jeriol said, steering the topic away from the tense subject of the reborn Voldemort.

"That would be most welcome, Jeriol," she replied tiredly.

Arcana was quite glad the old wizard decided to drop the previous line of conversation, since it would have only led to questions she was loathe to answer. Besides, she had no wish to alienate one of the few people that would still hold a civilized conversation with her these days.

The tired hunter removed her hat and dark glasses and set them carefully on the green rug by her chair. Hair the color of moonlit snow was bound securely atop her head. She wore it so that only the tips of her pointed ears were visible. Near colorless eyes squinted slightly as her black pupils contracted, adjusting to the change in light.

Arcana leaned her head against the back of the chair and closed her eyes, waiting for the promised cup of tea.

A sharp pain tore through her left forearm. Cold, silvery grey eyes shot open again in surprise, and Arcana hissed. Jeriol turned away from his preparations at the noise. Arcana cringed slightly, flexing her left hand.

"It appears I was mistaken," she said bitterly.

Jeriol gave the hunter a questioning look.

She grumbled and then explained, "He is in a rather foul mood."

Arcana watched as Jeriol blanched in horror. The pale hunter chuckled mirthlessly, firelight dancing in her eyes. "You would think," she mused, "that he would have better things to do," she gritted her teeth and hissed as the Mark flared, "than bother me."

The old wizard looked quite distraught with being anywhere near to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, even if it was only through the Mark on Arcana's arm.

Arcana sighed in frustration. Even though he set up shop in Knockturn Alley and could act the part of a Dark wizard, Jeriol had always been more interested in ancient forbidden magics than the Dark Arts proper. He had no desire to get tangled up with Dark Lords, not that she could blame him.

"Don't worry, old man. It only hurts." Her cheek twitched as the Mark continued to burn. "It's not a tracking device. The Dark Lord can call all he wants, but I have to come to him." Arcana was very glad that was the case.

Arcana was relieved her explanation seemed to mollify the wizard slightly. At least he began to return to his normal coloration and turned back to making the tea. In addition to being a good conversationalist, Jeriol was the only wizard on this side of the mortal world that sold what Arcana needed. She had no desire to strain their business relationship.

Arcana felt the Mark start to bleed again and then the pain ebbed away. He must still be feeling rather vengeful, providing her with a constant, painful, and visible reminder that he expected obedience. Or perhaps, the hunter smirked wryly, the half-snake Dark Lord was indeed trying to track her, using the scent of her blood.

It was tempting to remove the glove and deal with the bleeding, but it seemed like too much effort for something that would eventually stop on its own. A little more dried blood would do her no harm.

Jeriol conjured a small table between the chairs, and with a flick of his oak wand, the tea tray floated over and gently settled on the table. Jeriol then sat opposite Arcana and poured their tea. Handing Arcana her cup he mentioned neutrally, "You should stop that bleeding. It will only attract unwanted attention when you leave."

The hunter took the cup and snarled softly. "So you did go through with the sensory enhancement ritual." Jeriol gave her a small smirk.

She took a long sip of tea and sighed, a slight smile playing in her eyes. "Wonderful, as always, Jeriol." His tea always lightened her mood, which she was grateful for, especially today.

Arcana looked at her left arm, then back to the wizard, frowning again, "Well, if you insist."

She reluctantly set down the cup of comforting tea and pulled up the loose sleeve of her robe. Jeriol raised his eyebrows as Arcana unbuckled the black armor that protected the back of her forearm and hand.

He whistled, "Only you could find that armor these days," then snorted, "and in black, too." She smiled slightly at his comment. He truly did have a gift for drawing her out and lightening her dark thoughts.

"I still have a few good connections," she said mysteriously, eyes twinkling, "and I painted it black."

The hunter carefully laid the armor on her lap and started working on the elbow length leather glove. She hissed in pain as it irritated the Dark Mark. When Arcana finally pulled the glove off, it too was laid on her lap, exposing a very pale hand streaked with both fresh and dried blood. The Mark had obviously bled more than once recently.

Jeriol looked less than happy with the prospect of seeing the Mark on the hunter's arm. Arcana noticed his hesitation. "You were the one who thought this was a good idea," she shot back vehemently.

Jeriol flinched. "Sorry," she apologized, and then muttered, "I am not in the best of moods either." The wizard looked at the blood soaked sleeve, rather disgusted.

"That is understandable," he said carefully, not meeting Arcana's eyes.

Arcana slowly peeled the last layer of cloth off her arm, carefully pulling the tight black sleeve back, revealing more bloodstained skin. She cringed as the fabric rubbed against the bleeding brand. Finally uncovered, the Dark Mark glared up at Arcana, who sneered back, and Jeriol, who shuddered.

"What a way to ruin a good cup of tea," the hunter murmured darkly. "Jeriol," she asked, "do you have something I could use for this?"

Jeriol summoned a white cloth, without comment. Arcana deftly caught it out of the air with her right hand and carefully pressed it to the Mark. With a muttered charm the hunter cleaned the blood off her arm and clothes. "Can't use magic on it," she explained. "Would only make it worse, and alert him." Arcana closed her eyes and leaned back, a bitter expression on her ageless face.

Jeriol poured himself more tea and watched Arcana silently, holding the cup close as if to warm himself. Eyes still closed, the hunter reached for her tea and the cup flew into her right hand. After taking a few more sips, she came out of her reverie. "I will need about double the amount of all my usual supplies, and everything on this list." A parchment sheet flew from a hidden pocket in the hunter's robe and hovered before Jeriol.

Jeriol plucked it out of the air and furrowed this brow. "Luckily I have most of these in stock," he said thoughtfully, "though it may take me a few weeks to locate this much fire sand," he continued to read, "and the shards of an ice dragon egg may take me a lot longer than that," he said with concern.

Arcana nodded in understanding. "That's fine." She went back to tending the Mark. "Those are just for a personal project of mine."

The hunter looked up to see Jeriol's curious gaze. She smiled tiredly, "Not this time, old man. I may show you when it is done, but not before." Jeriol didn't look too disappointed.

"Well?" The hunter asked, suddenly feeling impatient. "The sooner you bring me what I need, the sooner you get paid."

Jeriol chuckled at this and Arcana smirked, knowing that as much as the wizard liked to share a cup of tea for the conversation and the useful information, he would much rather have more gold in his pockets.

"I assume payment will occur in the usual fashion?" Jeriol asked.

"Yes, yes," Arcana assured. "I trust you to charge a fair price for your goods." Jeriol would include a small fee for his silence, but as a wizard used to dealing with dangerous clients, and seeing what they were capable of, Arcana knew he would never dare to abuse her trust. There were a few perks to being feared, she thought with a small smile. She was forced to admit, at least to herself, that she had missed them.

As Jeriol left the room to gather Arcana's purchases, she watched the rippling hem of his robe, hoping that he would hurry. Despite the good tea and easy conversation, all Arcana wanted right now was to sleep in a safe place far from Knockturn Alley and far from the Dark Lord. Besides, she would have to hunt tonight.

Arcana peeled the cloth off the brand and threw it into the fire. It burned brightly, leaving no trace of blood that could be used in potions or rituals. One could never be too careful when it came to magic.

Her watchfulness was too little and too late, she thought bitterly. All the caution in the world would never fix some mistakes, or heal some wounds. Arcana angrily pulled her sleeve down, hissing as it brushed against the Mark. She then tugged the long, black glove back on, and re-buckled her armor.

When Jeriol returned with several packages floating behind him, Arcana was standing before the fire, pulling her witch's hat down low over her face. The little humanity she had shown Jeriol was gone. The soul hunter that caused all of Knockturn Alley to shudder was back.

Jeriol flinched at the sight. "Your packages, Lady Arcana," he spoke deferentially, noting her change in mood.

Arcana summoned the packages with a gesture, shrunk them, and placed them inside her robes. She walked up to the old wizard and tilted her head back to look him in the eyes. She had to say this, despite how it pained her.

"It would be best if we avoided these conversations in the future, Jeriol. From now on, only business" she intoned firmly. Without another word Arcana walked past him. The desire to leave churned unpleasantly. She paused at the door, feeling the need to explain.

Half turning back toward him she added, "I would not want anything to happen to you," she smiled sadly, "and we both know how he gets," she finished with a short hiss as the Mark flared again.

She refused to look at Jeriol. His fearful and pitying expression would be too painful to see.

Arcana the soul hunter then turned swiftly and walked out, robes billowing behind, leaving the wizard standing alone in the flickering firelight.

The Dark Lord wanted to break her. His reaction last night was proof enough of that. If he sensed any weakness, he would exploit it fully. He had already found more than enough chinks in Arcana's armor to keep a strong hold on her and he relished every chance to poke at those cracks with hot iron when she asserted her power. To maintain what freedom she had, weaknesses like Jeriol had to be kept hidden from the Dark Lord's piercing crimson gaze.

Stepping back into the front of the shop, Arcana could feel Darien's secretive and worried gaze at her back. She swept past him silently toward the door, but paused noticing again the onyx knife. It was really a nasty piece of work. The original craftsmanship was most certainty Druidic, but at some point it had been cursed, twisting the knife into a Dark sacrificial weapon.

She hefted the dagger and held it up to the flickering candlelight, examining the blade for flaws. It was perfect, Arcana realized with awe. She could not let such a powerful weapon fall into another's hands. Besides, she could see several uses for an onyx blade possessing such unusual magic.

The young clerk jumped when she laid the knife before him. Arcana spoke with a voice both velvety soft and deadly, "I will take this."

Darien started, eyes going wide. Arcana watched as he glanced between her and the knife, perhaps thinking about the horrors she would wreak with it.

"I will need the sheath as well," Arcana commented, annoyance rippling across her words. She raised one light eyebrow, impatient.

The sheaths of magical blades were normally kept separate from the blades themselves. Often, they were needed to control the power of the blade, or were needed for the blade to function properly. Either way, it would be stupid to steal an enchanted weapon without its counterpart.

Darien started to go through the cupboards behind the counter, trying to conceal his shaking hands from the hunter's veiled eyes.

Arcana removed a small, but heavy pouch of gold from her robes and set it beside the knife without comment. When Darien returned with the sheath, the hunter took it from his hands and deftly slid the blade inside.

At the clerk's flinch Arcana frowned. "You had best get used to the true Darkness if you continue to study here," she said. The hunter fastened her newly sheathed knife to her belt and then looked at Darien once more. "The Dark Lord truly has risen once more, and with him many will fall into the shadows, pulling down all around them for company."

Arcana then turned, robes swirling about her, leaving Darien standing alone to ponder her disturbing and cryptic words. The black shrouded soul hunter left the small shop of ancient and forbidden magic, stepping back into the ever dank and dreary streets of Knockturn Alley.

Avoiding a particularly questionable puddle, Arcana strode down the street at a measured pace. When the hunter knew she was unwatched, she Disapparated silently. The only sign of her dark presence was the wistful sigh of air moving to fill in the void she left behind.