A Pale Shade of Night

A Pale Shade of Night

Chapter 14: Alexandria Part 2 -- Names and Temptations

Arcana woke from a fitful sleep with itchy skin and sore fingers. The skin toughening charm she had used last night had not been enough to save her under-worked fingers, but at least they were not blistered. All night she had been troubled by bleak, formless dreams that finally coalesced in the hour before dawn. She had been fighting Death Eaters as Muirgheal - outnumbered and outmatched, much as it had happened in her waking hours nearly twenty years ago. She killed one young wizard - she remembered his true death vividly - but she could not block the wands of a dozen skilled wizards, and a powerful stunning curse struck her back.

Bound in iron, they took her to the Dark Lord and dropped her at his feet. He had not recognized her and scoffed at her fervent declaration that she was Arcana. He mockingly implored her to remove the glamour if she was his fae, but she could not find the magical seams and the false appearance would not crack. The Death Eaters laughed at her terror and confusion, McNair holding her fast while she strained against her chains. She looked within and could not tell whether she was Arcana or Muirgheal, but it did not matter long because the Dark Lord killed her carelessly and threw her corpse to the edge of the forest where the thestrals tore at her dead flesh.

The courtyards were quiet at breakfast, and there was a distinct lack of Dark witches and wizards among the crowd, as they were rarely early risers. Arcana nodded in passing to a few witches and wizards that she had met in Husaline's courtyard and then claimed a comfortable chair away from all conversations. Spiced tea and a plate of food cleared the last nightmarish cobwebs from Arcana's mind, and her focus returned.

This morning she would finally obtain the demon's name, and then she would convince Isabella to tell her every single horrible thing that could go wrong when trying to summon it. At least that was the plan. Arcana picked at the food on her plate and scowled when she caught a whiff of Muggle pollution on the salt-tainted breeze. She had to dissuade the Dark Lord from attempting the summoning, but that was not going to be easy. The prospect of summoning a demon had not even given him pause when Arcana had told him the course this path would take. The Dark Lord had simply nodded, and then pursed his lips in irritation that she had paused mid-report. Arcana swore that he would have done the same if she had said he would need to raze the Earth in hopes of taking one step toward his doomed immortality. The wizard was insane.

Arcana already had far too clear an understanding of the dangers that a demon posed to both fae and human, but the Dark Lord would scorn her arguments. He would consider her reasons too personal, too insubstantial, and utterly inconsequential to himself. Arcana needed to know the specifics, needed to learn the impossible complexity the summoning ritual would demand - how all the protections would fail, how the circles would collapse, how the demon would slip the bonds of its agreement and take the Dark Lord back to its realm. With one of the Iddimu that was the best scenario. If the Dark Lord failed to hold it, such a powerful demon would instantly recognize her presence, even if she were on the other side of the world. It would hunt her down, and the earth would cry as it burnt a path of destruction through fragile life. Arcana shuddered, shoved away her terrifying musings, and thought through her plan one last time.

The demon magic began reaching out for Arcana as soon as she stepped into the Archives. Isabella immediately raised her eyes from her work and peered at Arcana through the thick haze of incense. Her face twisted into a sour expression, deepening the lines on her wrinkled face.

"You actually came back," Isabella said incredulously.

Arcana stood up straighter. "I will not leave empty-handed, Isabella."

The witched grimaced. "Get out of my Archives."

At this point the Dark Lord's servants would have invoked his title and expected all opposition to crumble. Pride, and the likelihood of dangerous gossip, silenced Arcana's tongue. "No," she said, crossing her arms over her chest. She suppressed the flare of rage that was threatening to immolate the veil of Muirgheal's personality. This was not part of the plan.

Isabella's chair scraped against the floor and she stood, straightening from her normally stooped posture. She slowly walked to Arcana, her dark eyes smoldering like hot coals. Standing only a couple feet from Arcana, Isabella glared into steel blue eyes, unknowing of the power that lay right under the false skin. "Get out," Isabella ordered.

Arcana cooled her anger to a practiced icy calm and met Isabella's gaze, which was not difficult given that the witch was only a couple inches taller than her. The Dark Lord hardly commanded Arcana. This old witch had no power over her. If the situation had not been so serious she would have laughed.

"I'm not leaving until we talk, Isabella."

Isabella sneered, unimpressed with Muirgheal's show of quiet strength. Part of Arcana grinned slyly at her successful deception, but her pride raged that the witch took her so lightly.

"Not in here, false-druid." Isabella shook her finger at Arcana, as if she was scolding a child - the image of a sinister grandmother. Arcana was torn between snapping the offending finger off and laughing. "The magic is already after you, and I don't want to set the wards again."

Arcana would play Isabella's game, knowing she would win. If the witch wanted to talk elsewhere, she would follow. Arcana was relieved that she would not need to use magical means to convince Isabella to talk. Despite her mad amusement at the Isabella's grandmotherly image, Arcana knew that this witch was far more dangerous and astute than that Skeeter woman, and it would take more than a well-placed thought to manipulate her.

Isabella's hand darted out and tried to grab Arcana's arm, but it only hit air. Arcana had the agility of the fae, and instincts that were far more sensitive than a human's - traits that had saved her life many times. Isabella let out a raspy laugh and smiled hideously. Arcana's skin prickled as her amusement vanished, and she stepped back, putting space between them that would give her the advantage if spells started flying. She would have to block and dodge - casting in here would be suicide. She forced the High magic inside to be still, fearing those tendrils of demon magic and the silver glimmer in her eyes that would betray her.

"Mageborn indeed," Isabella chuckled. "Yes, yes, we will talk. Now get out of my Archives."

Cold dread welled up inside Arcana. The ring of tainted steel being drawn from its sheath echoed in her memories, and she felt the ghosts of death and the stickiness of wizard blood drying on her hands. What did the witch know? Anger forgotten, Arcana dumbly followed Isabella and watched as the witch warded the Archives with a flourish of complex wandwork and an overly long Latin incantation. Great iron gates clanged shut and the persistent hum of demon magic in Arcana's mind was suddenly silenced. She could not sense any hit-wizards waiting in the shadows, but the Library's numerous charms and the wards around the Demon Archives were like a dense fog in her mind's eye. Arcana readied several curses to cast in case Isabella or anyone else attacked. The demon magic could not reach her now, though she saw it writhing hungrily behind the iron gates.

Isabella's dark eyes glittered sinisterly. Evil grandmother indeed, Arcana mused darkly. "Oh no, there's no need to be concerned about your life presently. It will be our secret." A secret that Arcana knew Isabella would spill if the Summoners' Guild came after her again. She kept the spells ready in the back of her mind.

There was no doubt now that Muirgheal would need to vanish for at least a generation. If Isabella told the Guild about her they would soon realize what she really was, and they would take her, even if it meant stealing her from the Dark Lord himself. If one of the older liches pulled itself away from its obsession long enough to track her down, not even the Dark Lord could stop it, though he would probably survive the encounter unless the lich believed him to be a future source of trouble. The relatively quick death by the tainted steel blade of a Ministry Auror was sounding better and better. It was a fate she would much rather meet than the one she would suffer at the hand of one of the Guild's liches. She only had so long to live anyway, and-

Arcana stopped her thoughts, refusing to believe that there was no way to avoid her ever-nearing death. Isabella, on the other hand, had just signed her death warrant. She was simply too close to the truth to be allowed to live. Arcana would have to watch her, and find a quiet place to kill her when the time came.

Isabella's office was dark and dusty. Arcana sat down on the uncomfortable chair in front of Isabella's neglected desk and, suppressing a hearty sneeze, scanned the space for unfriendly spells. All she found were wards that had been neglected so long they were of no use. The witch rummaged around until she found a scrap of parchment, a battered quill, and an ink well that was in dire need of a good polishing.

"I won't say it, especially not here," Isabella mumbled, clearly comfortable and believing she had the upper hand, "and you better read fast. Parchment can't hold this script for long."

Isabella wrote out the name and handed the already smoking scrap of parchment to Arcana. Orange smoldering runes burnt their way into Arcana's mind.

Xhal Thos Ia Maakalli.

The parchment caught fire and Arcana dropped it. She coughed and tried to wave the smoke away, closing her eyes against the sting. She felt more than saw the words etched in her mind. Nothing would be worth summoning that; not her freedom from the Dark Lord, not the end of her banishment, not the healing of the scars on her magic, nothing. She imagined the Ministry officials asking why she turned herself in, despite her now imminent execution, and she then imagined smiling back coldly and staying silent. She would hold that secret smile until the dagger ran her through, knowing that she at least died on her own terms, not those of the Dark Lord, and not those of a foul demonic beast.

"Was I right, Maga?" Isabella quipped, referring to her comment the day before about providing the name of Arcana's murderer. She betrayed her excitement by slipping back into her native tongue, using the Italian term for witch.

"I don't know. I'm not dead yet," Arcana said flatly, feeling a strange relief to be able to speak for herself, even if it was under the guise of a glamour. She shook off her dreamy vision of death and saw the fiery writing hovering behind her eyes.

Isabella scowled, her hope of obtaining more profitable information quashed. "You, especially you, would be mad to attempt this. It will go wrong, Muirgheal," she declared, looming over Arcana, her gnarled hands gripping the edge of the desk.

Arcana ran her hands through her glamoured hair and sighed. She had read about the Iddimu long ago and almost wished she did not carry the burden of that knowledge. The scrolls were kept by a group of fae summoners; the only mage circle that had permission to work with demons. They were all far older and more powerful than her, and yet they still feared the focus of their work

"Oh, I'm sure it would go very wrong," Arcana said bitterly, again speaking as herself. She wondered how much longer she could hold onto Muirgheal and if it mattered any longer. The eyes of mortals seemed to pierce her soul these days, accusing, cursing, hating. It was like the Dark Lord was staring at her through all of them. Arcana shivered and gritted her teeth. Now was not the time for any more foolish introspection, but the struggle might be exactly what she wanted Isabella to see. A wicked smile threatened to ruin the image, but Arcana kept it on the inside.

"By all means, Isabella, tell me every which way it will go wrong, in the most graphic terms if you please," Arcana implored in the most frustrated tone she could manage.

Isabella stared at Arcana in disbelief for a moment and then blinked slowly before laughing again in that raspy voice. Triumphant, Arcana let her bitter smile break free. "Muirgheal, you have gotten yourself into a mire of trouble, haven't you? But I'll help you out. You owe me, Maga." Isabella glared down at Arcana, who considered giving the wretch a clean death as repayment, but only if she was truthful.

"Besides, our secret is of no use to me if you're dead," Isabella continued. "Though your corpse would be worth something on the open market." Arcana scowled, and Isabella ignored her darkening expression. "What I would do to hear the whole story behind this, but I know you're not that stupid, Maga, not when you've fooled so many with your druid deception." Arcana gripped the armrests of her chair, the fae hidden under Muirgheal bucking against the insult. "Mageborn indeed, and here I'd thought the blood was too thin after all this time."

Isabella waved her wand at the chair behind her desk and dust flew everywhere. Arcana sneezed and tried to brush off her now dusty robes, and Isabella sat down in the dust-free chair, looking most unapologetic.

"You are lucky to have me, Maga." Isabella tucked her wand away, and Arcana sensed a hint of the rotted Darkness that was the witch's magic. "Where to begin? Let me see, mistakes in drawing up the protection circles are always very messy."

*** *** *** ***

A few hours later Arcana lounged by the unicorn fountain, sipping from a glass of cold water and carefully organizing in her mind the knowledge Isabella had imparted. Whether unwittingly or not, the witch had taught Arcana much about Wizarding summoning practices and summoning the Iddimu in particular. Isabella had said information about the latter was all theoretical because the Guild did not summon them, but Arcana saw through the lie. At the very least, members of the Guild had tried to summon the Iddimu, though it was impossible to know if any had survived. That Isabella knew so much - far too much - about summoning the Iddimu was something Arcana would remember.

Gulls wheeled across the peaceful grey sky, unaware of the madness below. Momentarily slipping into their simplicity and freedom assuaged Arcana's irritated nerves. She had accomplished what the Dark Lord had charged her to do, and the likelihood of suffering another round of the Cruciatus Curse was low given that the Daily Prophet had quickly relegated the story of her appearance at Hogwarts to a short paragraph on the back page. She did not want to go back to him, but she feared staying here and hiding in the open even more than his unpredictable temper. He had reasons to keep her alive. The rest of the Wizarding world did not.

A sparkling mosaic in the fountain that Arcana had not noticed at night drew her attention down from the sky. A lush forest scene was depicted underneath the gleaming water, and when the unicorn statue bowed to touch its horn to the water, the ripples sent a breeze through the trees and tiny tile birds fluttering from their perches. Arcana reached out to touch the water, but pulled her hand back sharply when she saw a familiar creature peek out from behind the tall ferns within the mosaic. The statue looked down at Arcana with blank marble eyes. Her breath quickened, and she saw something malicious hidden in the white stone. It was a wizard's work, but the wizard must have been mageborn, and from a time when they could travel to the fae realms. There was no other explanation for the inclusion of those particular creatures in the mosaic. When Arcana looked again with her second sight she saw faint silvery threads of High magic woven through the fountain. It was not much, but if she had touched it unprepared, the High magic would have shattered her glamour.

No, she could never accept the offer of sanctuary, even without her entanglements with the Dark Lord. She was not Muirgheal. She would never be Muirgheal. She was Arcana, and she would hide, not from the Dark Lord, but from the wizards that thought to protect her from him.

When the dark wings of night settled over the day, Arcana donned a hooded cloak and left the Library. She found a deserted alley, Transfigured her cloak, and carefully laid a second glamour over the first. It was not as strong, but it would suffice for the short time it was needed. She walked down an ancient set of stairs where one of Alexandria's old cisterns had once sat to the equivalent of an Alexandrian Wizarding Underground station.

Apparition in the city was very restricted due to the close mingling of Wizarding and Muggle neighborhoods. Unlike London, there was more than one major Wizarding section of the city, and many small neighborhoods as well. To prevent Muggles from getting suspicious, Alexandrian wizards had appropriated the vast network of underground waterworks for transportation. Muggle archeologists were always a problem, but a squad of full time Obliviators kept them at bay.

Hundreds of lamps lit the station with a warm yellow glow. Arcana frowned at the cacophony of numerous hollering "drivers" who were touting the speed of their flying carpets and their fares to various locations. Amidst it all, one distressed wizard was trying to fly an unwilling caravan of heavily loaded carpets down the main traffic lane. A taxi carpet zoomed past the caravan and knocked off the first wizard's hat, prompting another yelling match. Several cargo-laden carpets began to list dangerously and drift back into the tunnel. There was a loud swoosh and angry swearing as another taxi carpet had a near miss with a case of what looked to be shrunken heads. Arcana shook her head at the scene and wove through the crowded station until she found a relatively sane looking witch sitting on a relatively well maintained carpet.

"One passenger to the Old Harbor?" Arcana queried.

"One Galleon, three Sickles," the witch said in a thick accent.

Arcana nodded, even though the price was outrageous. It was the Dark Lord's money after all. "Fine." The witch looked at Arcana like she was mad for not bartering. "Consider your tip included."

"Ah, good kind of tourist." The witch floated the carpet lower and Arcana climbed on. "Ten minute ride, and you not fall off."

"Appreciated," Arcana muttered. She grabbed ahold of the fringed edge of the carpet anyway. In some parts of the underground tunnels, the carpet traffic flew well above the bottom of the waterworks.

Arcana was not sure why she was going. It would be far safer to remain at the Library under the guise of Muirgheal, but it had been so long, and the familiar curling smoke of desire had ensnared her. Arcana had truly had every intention of ignoring Xerusk, yet she still found herself heeding his call.

Once at the Old Harbor station, Arcana paid the carpet witch and walked up the stairs to the street. The sea smell was more pungent here, and the rhythmic crashing of waves against the pier was pleasant. This part of Wizarding Alexandria catered to tourists, and the street was lined with shops, open-air stands, and establishments that sold food and drink of all kinds. A terribly out of tune drinking song drifted out from the open door of a pub, but then suddenly dissolved into a fit of squawking. Arcana dared a passing glance and saw that half of the patrons had been Transfigured into large yellow birds.

A block later, across the street from the local Gringott's branch, Arcana walked past a snake charmer whose cobras seemed to all stare at her accusingly. In her mind, she saw one cobra with angry red eyes rear up and hiss, barring her way. She shook off the image and stepped into the shadows to Transfigure her cloak again, this time into a Muggle coat, and then left the Wizarding section of the Old Harbor. She had not been followed since leaving the Library, and even if the Dark Lord's spies were watching, they would not pursue a random witch into the Muggle part of the city.

The Muggle pier had changed since she had last walked down it, unlike the Wizarding pier, but she found Xerusk's spot without difficulty. She looked out on the dark, oil-coated waters and scowled at the stench. Large freighters and cruise ships - strange hulks of magicless metal - floated offshore, disturbing in their silence and stillness, and a constant flow of Muggles walked up and down the pier, talking animatedly and sometimes drunkenly in several languages.

Arcana felt out of place in this magically barren, alien world. She was familiar enough with it, finding it easier to hide amongst Muggles than wizards, but she did not like it. She leaned back against the pier's railing and watched the Muggles walk about under the harsh artificial lights, imagining them aging and dying before her eyes. Be they Muggles or wizards, it really did not matter if they died now or later. They all died, give or take a few decades. Death was as natural to them as it was as unnatural to her. It still seemed strange sometimes, even after living amongst them for so long.

A group of Muggles unconsciously separated as Xerusk walked though their midst. His dark eyes glittered and a smug grin split his face when he saw Arcana waiting. She had often found his mix of human vitality, vampiric predacity, and pure age to be rather arousing; a situation she rarely encountered in this world. Humans simply could not hold her interest, not even for a night.

"You're early," Xerusk said softly. Arcana could smell the blood on his breath. He had already fed at least once tonight. With dark hair, dark eyes, and a strong build, he easily lured meals to him even without using his vampiric gifts.

"So are you," Arcana noted. Xerusk could not really see through Arcana's glamours, but he always could tell it was her, no matter the skin she wore. A muscle in her cheek twitched as the faded bite mark tingled again. He stepped closer; the predator backing his prey into a corner. The last shreds of Muirgheal's personality blurred and then melted away, leaving only the fae standing there in human form, hidden beneath the double glamour.

"Dark hair does not suit you, fae," he leaned down and whispered. Arcana stared into his eyes and flushed as his vampiric magic did its subtle work. She supposed it was ironic that she was far more comfortable in the arms of this butcher than in the sanctuary of the Library or the protection of the Dark Lord's fortress, but she and Xerusk had developed a mutually beneficial relationship over time, and she knew he would not betray her.

This was completely different from the night that the Dark Lord had tempted the clan leaders Iraunor and Lauxela with Arcana's blood. Those two would have had no respect for her blood, as it would not have been offered freely. The Dark Lord had been only using Arcana to entice them, and had been using them to remind her that she was subject to his every whim. Aside from everything else, they had reeked of death, decay, and old blood. They had nothing she desired and were far too young for her tastes. Xerusk was, at the very least, interesting enough to compensate for the more distasteful aspects of being undead, and he knew that if he did betray Arcana, he would be headed for one last walk in the sun.

"I could keep you quite comfortably," Xerusk said. He pulled the coat collar away from Arcana's neck and stroked her already sensitized skin. The glamour did not alter her sense of touch, and she was quite pleased about that at the moment. She closed her eyes in surrender and tilted her head to give him better access. "Though I can no longer feast on the-"

"I know, the blood of ten virgins every night," Arcana muttered. "Keep talking and I might change my mind." She felt his deep chuckle resonate in her chest. His laugh was the same, and that sameness was comforting in a world that seemed to swirl around her in a whirlwind of endless, mind numbing change.

"Doubtful, but if you insist." Xerusk roughly wrapped his hand around the back of her neck and Apparated them.