A Pale Shade of Night

A Pale Shade of Night

Chapter 17: Bothersome Familiars, Possessive Dark Lords, and Broken House-Elves

Arcana absently scratched at a particularly dry patch of skin and leaned over a large table that the Dark Lord had magically transported into his rooms. Her quill hopped out of her hand of its own accord and dipped itself in the inkwell. Arcana snatched it back before it started writing on its own as well. The Dark Lord stroked Nagini's head as the snake shifted her coils around him. After much petulant hissing, he had finally consented to let Nagini join him, much to the snake's delight.

Seeing that the Dark Lord was going to keep her there for some time, Arcana had taken off her outer robes as well as the thick leather and mithril parts of her hunting attire. They sat in a haphazard pile by her chair, which was just a bit too high to let her feet rest fully on the floor. At least this chair didn't creak like the one by the fire.

The table was already covered in sheets of parchment filled with scribbled notes and diagrams. Their handwriting styles were very distinct - the Dark Lord's precise yet scratched out eagerly, and hers more elegant and bearing a rather archaic flavor. The temperamental quill twitched in Arcana's hand.

"You should be the one to negotiate with the demon, my lord, which means I should hold the wards." Arcana held her quill tighter to keep it from slipping away. "And if I am to hold the wards, they should be cast in the fae style," Arcana said.

"The ritual will be based on Wizarding summoning practices. Your way is fueled by needless paranoia." The Dark Lord looked down at Arcana coldly from the other side of the table. He impatiently tapped his well-behaved quill against a silver goblet brimming with some foul potion. Arcana was unsure whether it smelled better or worse than the open book by his side that reeked of Dark magic.

"The precautions aren't needless if they keep us alive and in this world, my lord. Wizarding magic is too shallow." The Dark Lord narrowed his eyes, and Arcana sighed, quieting her temper - it always got too near to the surface when she was with him for long. "My understanding of it is too shallow for me to cast effective wards against an Iddimu." Arcana gave up on the quill and let it go. It skittered off to a clean sheet of parchment and started writing frantically.

"Fae magic is too strenuous. You will exhaust yourself and you will fall, just like with Kalrash's grimoire." The Dark Lord paused to scribble a note, and Arcana scowled at the reminder of the old warlord. The scars on her magic ached for a moment. "You struggle to cast anything that requires much inner strength, always needing to draw on the magic of the land. A very dangerous weakness, my fae," the Dark Lord said softly.

Arcana's Dark Mark tingled for the first time since the Dark Lord had punished her earlier that evening, reminding her of the consequences of that weakness. The brand had been very quiet since then, lying dormant and coated in dried blood under her gloves. Arcana looked away from the Dark Lord, angry at her limitations and how well he knew many of them.

He had made good use of that particular weakness when he captured her on his land. She could not coax, draw, or pull power from it when he denied her access, and when surrounded by a dozen Death Eaters . . .

Arcana sighed and brought herself back to the present.

"Then let me draw on your land, my lord." She looked up, making her request with as much quiet authority as she dared. "Access is yours to grant. I can weave much better protective magic that way, and then we can integrate it into a more traditional Wizarding ritual. It will be a bit tricky to blend the distinct styles, but you understand magic well enough to do it. I can't say the same for most other wizards."

The Dark Lord's amusement at Arcana's careful flattery showed only around his eyes.

"Indeed, but how much time will it take, Arcana? I am not on an immortal's schedule yet."

"You can twist curses, my lord, quite deftly in fact. With that background, it will hopefully not take long. Interfacing my magic with yours is only a step beyond that."

Nagini left the Dark Lord and slithered around Arcana's feet. She ignored the snake's strange fixation with her, thinking it must be some odd instinct or snakish reason that she would never understand.

"Again my fae becomes a teacher," the Dark Lord said softly. He drank from the goblet, watching avidly for Arcana's reaction. The familiar cold façade dropped over her face, her mental defenses strengthening without conscious thought.

"My past has long since passed, my lord." Arcana hoped to avoid direct questioning. Even though she could deny him answers since the protection of her bound secrets was part of their original contract, it would certainly shatter the Dark Lord's current reasonable mood. He had been very volatile that day.

"You will tell me one day. You will want to tell me, my fae." His thin lips quirked upwards, and he plucked their magical bond. His rotted red-black magic thrummed along the cords. Arcana resisted the urge to shake her head and shove the Darkness away, and instead let it wash over her. It was vile, yet it was not.

"Good, Arcana." She could feel the Dark Lord's satisfaction through the bond before it settled into the soft hum in the back of her mind and under her skin where the Dark Mark lay. "You may cast the wards as you like, but they must be compatible with my magic." Arcana nodded, accepting her partial victory. It was just like him to make her squirm before giving in. Bloody Dark Lord.

Nagini had twisted up around one of the table legs and was inching towards Arcana across the tabletop. Some of the snake's bulk was still near Arcana's feet and she had the sudden urge to step on it. Nagini's tongue flicked at Arcana's left hand.

"I sssmell blood," Nagini hissed, delighted. "Ssstrange blood."

"Nagini, let my fae alone," the Dark Lord chastised. Arcana caught hints of humor and mild annoyance shimmering in his magic. Nagini hissed in defeat and slid off the table, going to coil around the Dark Lord's feet again.

"You did bleed, my fae. I can smell it too." The Dark Lord looked down at her left arm and his nostrils flared. Arcana wanted to press her arm against her stomach and hide it under her open robes, but she stayed still. Her Dark Mark warmed, stinging slightly under his inspection.

"Take off your gloves. There is no Wizarding iron here to burn you."

Arcana gritted her teeth and obeyed. Her tight black sleeve was stained with dried blood, the rusty mark running from elbow to wrist. At the Dark Lord's prompting, she pulled the sleeve back and extended her arm to him across the table. Her skin was sticky with half-dried blood and itched all the more for it. He took her thin wrist and pulled her forward.

"Fragile, and so susceptible to magic." The Dark Lord ran his finger over the brand, and it stung sharply. Thin lines of fresh blood welled up. "My Death Eaters certainly don't bleed so easily for me."

Arcana locked away her seething hatred, but the Dark Lord felt it anyway. He smiled and released her wrist.

"It should be cleaned. Come." Arcana swore internally, but stood as commanded. He certainly enjoyed these games.

The Dark Lord led Arcana through his bedchambers and into his bathroom, directing her toward the sink. The faucet, to Arcana's complete lack of surprise, was a fanged serpent. Its mouth opened and water poured out, pooling in the basin. Arcana lowered her arm into the pleasantly cool water and gently washed off the clotted blood. The Dark Lord stepped behind her and touched his wand to her rolled up sleeve. Arcana flinched, and he grasped the back of her neck to hold her still. The bite marks stung under his fingers. A flick of his wand and her sleeve was clean.

Arcana looked down, not wanting to meet his reflected gaze in the mirror, and the Dark Lord chuckled. After Xerusk, the Dark Lord's touch felt cold and hard, like iron. It was empty, but incessant, demanding, draining.

"My, we are jumpy." Amusement coloring his magic, the Dark Lord pulled Arcana's collar aside and examined the bite marks more closely. She stood perfectly still, leaning over the sink. Under the water blood flowed from the Dark Mark in thin, smoky red streams.

"Who was it, my fae?" The Dark Lord's bony fingers methodically poked at the bruised bites, assessing the damage to his possession. Arcana pushed her growing anger down and endured the inspection.

"A vampire I have known for a while," Arcana said submissively. She had killed wizards for asking less impertinent questions.

The Dark Lord had no right to pry into her private affairs, but he clearly did not care and prodded at her mental barriers, looking for a hint of the vampire's identity. Arcana became like shadow and the Dark Lord's magic slipped away, finding no purchase.

"I will wait until you tell me freely - which you will one day - unless this becomes a habit and hinders your work." Some of the tension coiled inside Arcana loosened despite the cold manipulation woven through his words. Manipulation she could handle. Arcana was just thankful that her escapade had not set off his violent possessiveness. That would have been painful.

Arcana gently rubbed her Dark Mark under the water to distract herself from the Dark Lord's continued poking at her bruised neck. He would not wait for her to tell him about the vampire, but would immediately contact his spies in Alexandria. Even if they did trace her back to Xerusk, the vampire could take care of himself. She felt what might have been a twinge of guilt for not thinking of him sooner. Keeping others out of danger had rarely been her priority. Staying alive always came first.

The Dark Lord let go of Arcana's neck and handed her a towel. She dried off her arm and carefully dabbed the Dark Mark until the blood stopped oozing. The Dark Lord took the towel and banished it with a wave. Arcana started to roll her sleeve back down, but he stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. The hem of his robes brushed against her ankle.

"Leave it." He looked down at the reddened brand, and the magic stirred under Arcana's skin. Perhaps he was feeling possessive after all.

She lowered her arm and looked into the mirror. An emotionless mask stared back. The skin was irritated and peeling around her eyes, as if the white paint was coming off, revealing the pale pink ceramic underneath. Light grey glass eyes peered out from behind the mask, but a flash of silver betrayed the life inside them.

Nagini slithered into the bathroom, agitated. The snake was clingy tonight. "I'm hungry," she complained, "and I don't want more ratsss."

"Soon, Nagini. Go back to the fire." Nagini slithered back out of the room, hissing happily to herself about tasty meat, and the Dark Lord chuckled.

The Dark Lord grasped Arcana's left wrist and pulled her away from the mirror. Her stomach rumbled, and she belatedly realized she had not eaten for hours. The Dark Lord's fingers tightened, and her Mark hummed.

"Ah, you must be fed as well, Arcana."

"I would appreciate it, my lord." She kept the hatred out of her voice, but the Dark Lord still knew of it. At least he had not compared her to his familiar again.

The Dark Lord directed Arcana back out through his bedroom, keeping ahold of her wrist. Despite Arcana's desire to pull away, she dared not. The Dark Lord did not like physical contact in general, but used it sparingly when it served his needs, such as forcing Arcana to confront her inability to act as she wished when his will was against hers. It was not so base a motive as pure physical intimidation, though there was an element of that as well. He would use magic, not his too-thin body, to restrain her if he deemed it necessary.

Arcana was agile, but if a wizard or a strong witch actually got a firm grip on her, she could not break it. Of course, there were ways to make them let her go, but she could never use them - would never dare use them - on the Dark Lord.

Back in his living room the Dark Lord released Arcana's wrist only to catch her chin in his cold fingers. He turned her head to get a good look at her peeling skin, and Arcana clenched her hands, again enduring being examined like a prize racing horse.

"It is nothing more than a temporary annoyance, my lord," Arcana said, trying to cut short the inspection before he demanded she disrobe.

"Then see that it is healed promptly." The Dark Lord let go and spun on his heel, his black robes swishing about his ankles. Arcana glared at his back for a moment before pulling out her chair and sitting down at the parchment-strewn table.

The Dark Lord ate little, preferring to drink his potion and continue talking while Arcana took a very late dinner. Shelly had taken most of Arcana's discarded hunting garb after bringing the food, and had then folded Arcana's cloak and laid it over the creaky chair by the hearth. By the crackling fire Nagini gorged herself on something that was most definitely not rats, and, by the smell, Arcana supposed the meat had likely been cut from one of the Dark Lord's recent victims. Shelly had brought that as well, and had seemed very eager to be rid of it.

The Dark Lord's potion was dark and thick, and smelled not just foul, but odd. Despite her sensitive nose, Arcana couldn't figure out what was in it, but she imagined it was some kind of strengthening draught. He still looked frail, even in the heavy robes he normally wore. Any physical weakness would not matter as long as his body could handle his magic. He was plenty strong magically, and was growing more so as the months passed.

They worked until dawn, with Arcana consuming tea throughout the night to stay awake. Even as the sun rose in the sky the Dark Lord continued to work tirelessly, but Arcana's thoughts dragged through the mire of her exhausted mind.

"My lord," she said, interrupting his murmuring, "you may not need sleep, but I do." She normally didn't mind that he did not keep a consistent schedule, but he usually remembered that she needed more rest than he.

"Go," he dismissed her absentmindedly, too engrossed in his work to notice her irritable tone. "I will call you back this afternoon. There may be interruptions later today when my Death Eaters come to report."

Arcana scowled, but was too tired to argue. She threw her cloak over her shoulders and pulled the hood low over her eyes.

"Good day, my lord," she said, offering the Dark Lord a shallow bow. He waved at her to go, and she gladly left.

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

The week flew by in a haze of magical theory punctuated only by a few hours of fitful sleep when Arcana could convince the Dark Lord to let her leave his side. She had taken to dressing in several layers so that she would be comfortable in his rooms and yet not freeze in the corridors. Shelly always refolded the discarded cloak and robes when she brought the first pot of tea. Arcana kept her gloves on despite the Dark Lord's assurance that there was no tainted iron in his rooms, if only to have one more layer between his crimson eyes and the brand on her arm.

The area around the table in the Dark Lord's rooms had taken on the look of organized chaos. There were stacks of bound parchment, stacks of Dark Arts books, inkwells, and quills in various states of destruction. The table itself bore its share of ink stains, and, to Arcana's amusement, the Dark Lord had taken to using the skull of a particularly ugly Subterranean Sharpsnaptser as a paperweight.

Arcana was frustrated, irritated, and yet somehow energized by the challenges that the Dark Lord had laid before her. She did not often have to stretch her mind and magic quite like this, and she could not help but be reminded of other times. Times before war and exile. Times that were long dead and buried.

It would have been easier if Arcana could have worked alone in the relative peace of her rooms, but she was denied even that small reprieve. Even though she and the Dark Lord were working on distinct parts of the summoning ritual, their magic had to merge seamlessly, and they frequently had to verify that it would all intertwine tightly in the end. To make matters worse, it had taken less than a day for Arcana to realize that the Dark Lord's immense power, his skill with a wand, his reservoir of knowledge, and amazing magical instinct, for a wizard anyway, could not compensate for his lack of experience.

The Dark Lord did not have a millennium or three behind him. He had not even reached his first centennial. He forged ahead, writing incantations as fast as his fingers could move the quill over parchment, lost in mad obsession, not seeing the dissonance, the interference patterns his magic would create when blended with hers. Arcana supposed that she should not expect him to be able to see it, but it aggravated her to no end, especially when he complained about her slow pace.

The Dark Lord shoved a sheet of parchment under Arcana's nose. She took it without comment, carefully read through the complex incantation, and sighed.

"This will set up ripples in my wards, my lord." The Dark Lord's third revision of a particularly tricky part of the ritual was no cleaner than the original.

"Why?" The venom that the Dark Lord could inject into that single word was staggering. "Where does it disrupt your non-existent wards this time, fae?"

Arcana stood and went to the Dark Lord's side of the table, parchment in hand.

"Here," Arcana said, pointing to a line of Latin, "and here," she said and pointed again, "and this," she said, gesturing to the formal spell he had created to open a Door to the demon's plane, "will tear my wards apart before it collapses and kills us."

"You found no faults with the Door last time, Arcana."

"The preparations were adequate for it last time, my lord." Arcana viciously pointed to the previous version, lying abandoned on the table. She had explained this twice already, but he refused to listen. "You can't just tweak it and leave the formal spell nearly intact. It has to be cohesive."

Arcana returned to her seat. The Dark Lord got tetchy when she stood over him for long.

"It is cohesive. I know my magic."

Arcana sighed.

"Not well enough, my lord. You can't expect to force the Door open with your power, no matter how great it is. It will get flung back at you, and at me. The ritual ground must be stabilized - "

"Not again, Arcana." The Dark Lord set his quill aside with much restraint. "I heard you the first time. I have summoned before, and you forget your place."

"I work better when I do, my lord." Arcana's Dark Mark burned for a moment, and she leashed her temper. Venting her frustrations would only lead to pain. Arcana dipped her quill into an inkwell and prepared to write again.

"Then why have you made so little progress, fae?" Arcana set aside the quill, keeping her face and posture clear of irritation by sheer will alone. "Perhaps if I could see your wards, I would not be forced through these endless revisions," he snapped, his fingers unconsciously twitching, as if yearning to be clutching his wand.

"I have never done this before, my lord," Arcana bit out sharply, frustration cracking her composure. "I have no source material. I have no help." She counted each problem off on her clawed fingers. "Setting the layered protections for three people, two casters included, is like trying to weave spider silk without ending up with a sticky, tangled mess! This is no simple swish and flick matter. Being a wizard, that is something you can't seem to understand, my lord."

The Dark Lord drew his wand and leveled it at Arcana's throat. A lead weight settled in her stomach.

"Cursing me will only slow down my work, my lord." Arcana prepared to disassociate her mind from the coming pain as best she could.

The Dark Lord leaned across the table. The tip of his wand dug into the soft flesh underneath her chin. She stared back defiantly, despite the fear snaking around under her ribs. The slight crinkling around his eyes spelled out volumes of hatred and infuriation. Arcana swore that he angered her on purpose, wanting an excuse to punish her for understanding magic better than him. Why he bothered with the pretence was what she did not understand.

"If you work any slower, Arcana, those spiders will weave cobwebs between your fingers." The Dark Lord's wand tapped the nearly healed vampire bites. "Too distracted? Too sated to concentrate?" Everything about him was just daring Arcana to unleash her tongue, and several creative insults were whirling around in her head, eager to be aired.

A brisk knock at the door prevented Arcana from replying, but the Dark Lord saw the fury roiling beneath her cold demeanor. He shot her a scathing glare and turned away in a swirl of robes.

"Continue on the wards. No need to concern yourself with the petty details of politics."

"As you wish, my lord," Arcana said emptily to his back, keeping her anger within. She drew her hood up to hide her face and picked up her quill again, noting the new ink stain on the table where the tip had sat. At least this quill did not try to run off and write its own lurid novel.

The interruption was a lucky break. One flick of the Dark Lord's wrist and she would have been screaming for him. Not liking to have a group of wizards at her back, she shifted her chair so that she could watch the proceedings out of the corner of her eye. She scribbled nonsense in the corner of her sheet of parchment, trying to remember what she had been doing before the Dark Lord had ordered her to examine his spellwork.

Her ire faded as she delved back into the magic. Four Death Eaters knelt at the Dark Lord's feet.

Snatches of conversation caught Arcana's ears, making it difficult to concentrate. Weaving wards on parchment alone, trying to visualize them in her mind without working the actual magic was strenuous even without distraction. The mention of dementors stilled her hand.

"Heavy, cold mist has covered the whole village, my lord. There is much unrest, but no unusual deaths have been reported."

The Dark Lord nodded. "They can follow orders as long as there is food involved. Inform me if they begin to get too enthusiastic, McNair. It is early yet for that."

"As you wish, my lord."

Arcana caught Bellatrix staring at her, black eyes glittering about gaunt cheeks. The witch had chosen her seat so she could watch both the Dark Lord and Arcana without turning her head, perhaps thinking she could hide her examination from him.

"Bella, come here," the Dark Lord said softly. Bellatrix immediately sank to her knees before the Dark Lord. He drew his wand and ran it down her cheek. Her eyes went wide.

"Crucio."

Bellatrix keened and thrashed under the curse, grabbing at the Dark Lord's boots. He raised his wand and grasped her chin. Arcana's skin prickled, all too familiar with those cold fingers. Bellatrix stared unblinkingly up at the Dark Lord.

"Don't distract my fae, Bella." Arcana flinched. Bellatrix did not. "She makes little enough progress as it is." The Dark Lord turned to Arcana, and she saw the shadow of a cruel smile. Rudolphus Lestrange's lip curled in disgust - he loathed Arcana - and McNair grinned at her maliciously. Both Lucius and Bellatrix ignored her presence completely.

"Back to work, my fae."

Arcana kept her eyes on her parchment after that, but despite the Dark Lord's order, she still kept half of her attention focused on his meeting. His tactics were solid. He had initiated a campaign of fear, but was still holding back on major attacks. He had issued demands to the Ministry, having no reason to hide from them any longer. If they did not comply, then this might blossom into a true war. Blood red petals falling from blackened, twisted vines. Red eyes shadowed in swirling black robes. Red-black rotted magic.

In the midst of the Dark Lord's logical strategies lay his singular obsession with Harry Potter. He wanted the prophecy, he wanted to know what the boy was doing, and he wanted Snape to come back from Hogwarts to tell him. With his position in the enemy camp, Snape had become very useful to the Dark Lord, and the Dark Lord liked to remind his other Death Eaters of that fact.

At this rate, Arcana saw the Potter boy as the most likely cause of the Dark Lord's downfall, if only because of the distraction he created. She silently saluted Potter and wished him luck, promising to offer her thanks in person if he did manage to kill the Dark Lord. She could do it right after crushing the dead wizard's wand hand beneath her boot.

When the Death Eaters had left, the Dark Lord returned to the table and went back to staring at his own spread of parchment without a word. Arcana carefully reset an Arithmetical simulation of her wards and began weaving them on parchment once again. Upon adding the third layer of the wards, they collapsed. Again. At least she had not been actually casting. With the disintegration of her control the magic would have flooded back through her, leaving her bedridden for several days. With the number of times her simulated wards had failed today alone, she would have been out of commission for a month.

Creating these wards was the most aggravating thing Arcana had attempted for centuries. The theory was sound, but the details of weaving multilayered wards for three people - two casters and one sacrifice - were just too complicated. She could not see it all in her head at once. This was going to take longer than the Dark Lord had allotted her, but he need not know that yet. There was still a chance that she could force one more miracle out of her magic.

Arcana set aside her quill and rubbed her temples, wishing Shelly were around to banish her coming headache.

"Failed again, did they?" The Dark Lord looked up from his work, and Arcana barely resisted the temptation to snarl out exactly what she was thinking. The only thing that restrained her tongue was the knowledge that she was already overdue to get cursed. The Dark Lord had only kept his temper lately because he wanted her working, and screaming got in the way of that.

"The wards worked better than last time, my lord," Arcana said. It was true, after all. She had not been able to get that far before, but her progress was still minimal. She rubbed her temples again as the ache settled behind her eyes.

The Dark Lord snapped his fingers, and Shelly appeared with a crack.

"Master," Shelly bowed low. "What can Shelly do?"

Annoyed, the Dark Lord waved his hand toward Arcana and then went back to his work.

"Oh, does . . . Hunter Arcana have another headache?" Shelly whispered. Arcana nodded, beckoning her near. The Dark Lord frowned slightly at Shelly's near slip.

Shelly Levitated a foot stool over to Arcana's chair and climbed onto it. Arcana leaned over so that Shelly could reach her more easily. One gentle touch and the tension, the ache was gone. Arcana sighed. Shelly's magic worked far better than a potion, and the headache would stay away for hours.

"Thank you, Shelly." The house-elf beamed.

"Is there anything else Hunter Arcana or my Master needs?"

"No," the Dark Lord said without looking up.

"A pot of tea and a light meal, if my lord does not intend to let me retire anytime soon." The Dark Lord sneered and stopped writing.

"Not for some time, Arcana." She could feel his anger simmering, and saw those telltale red streaks in his magic. Arcana bowed her head in acceptance, hoping to appease him a bit. There were some days when it was just better to swallow her pride and put on the necessary show of meekness, even if it just added to the festering ball of fury that was going to burst sooner or later.

Shelly gave Arcana an encouraging smile and Disapparated. Arcana sighed again, dumbfounded that the house-elf could be so cheerful - it just was not right - and started picking apart her broken wards again. A few strands of hair had escaped from her charms and were hanging in front of her eyes. She twirled them around her fingers as she thought until she realized what she was doing, and then shoved them back behind her ear. Useless nervous habit.

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

Walking in the forest had not calmed Arcana as much as she had hoped it would. She charmed the last of the moisture off of her cloak and tossed it over a chair. It was cold outside and raining hard, and it was not going to stop any time soon. Tiredly, she sat in front of the fire and slipped off her boots, stretching her feet toward the warmth.

After a tense discussion, Arcana had wrangled a day off out of the Dark Lord. Her head had been so filled with ward sequences and circle casting incantations that everything had just turned into mush sometime last evening. Narrowly avoiding torture, Arcana convinced him to grant her request, though he only acquiesced because he needed more souls, and Arcana had to be well rested to hunt. There had been days when being well rested had not been a rarity. She missed those times with a vengeance.

Arcana had spent a good part of her day sleeping as the Dark Lord had kept her on an insane schedule since she had returned from Alexandria. There were potions to brew, ingredients to inventory, crystal phials to make, and several other things to do that had conveniently slipped her mind for the moment. She sighed and pulled off her gloves. It would all get done eventually, but right now she would much rather just take a nap.

Shelly Apparated to Arcana's side, holding a tray over her head.

"Time to warm up, Lady Arcana." The silverware rattled as Shelly bustled around, bringing a table over in front of Arcana and setting the tray down on it. She looked at Arcana expectantly, hands on her hips.

Arcana squashed down her irritation and started in on the soup. She was in no mood to deal with the perky house-elf. A host of worries were whispering sinisterly in the back of her mind. Solstice was approaching and the ritual was far from ready. The Dark Lord's temper was becoming shorter every day, though he had made a great deal of progress on his part of the summoning ritual, which irked Arcana to no end.

Whenever Arcana wandered the fortress, passing Death Eaters sneered down at her, and the urge to rip the skin off of their faces was growing dangerously strong. A list of curses came to mind that she had not used in far too long, and if she gave into temptation the Insides Out Curse would be the first one to fly. The results were never pretty, but they were always most satisfying.

"Lady Arcana needs more sleep, and oh, Lady's robes are still damp," Shelly fussed. Arcana gritted her teeth and kept eating. Soon her robes had been charmed dry, warm slippers had been slipped onto her feet, and Shelly had hopped up to sit on the back of her chair, eyeing Arcana's messily pinned up hair.

"Can Shelly take Lady Arcana's hair down? It must not feel good." Arcana just nodded, and Shelly started pulling out the pins. "Oh and a bath? Should Shelly draw a bath?"

"Later, Shelly," Arcana managed to say without rancor. "I have work to do." Shelly finished unpinning her hair, and two messy braids hung down Arcana's back.

"Shelly will just fix Lady Arcana's hair then. All falling out of the braids."

Shelly started unbraiding Arcana's hair before she could complain. Little hands pulled the stray wisps away from Arcana's face as she stared into the fire. She could almost smell the brimstone of the burnt lands in which the demons resided. The vile memory played again and the soup went sour in her mouth. The fae summoners never told her how the memory had been recovered, and Arcana really did not want to know.

It was not quite like experiencing what the long dead fae had suffered, but it was not exactly like watching it either. The memory was something in between, and it made it all the more nauseating and terrifying. The stench of brimstone, face shoved against the dead earth, and the angry light of a red, sunless sky. Forced copulation with a demon. Body bulging with demon spawn, being eaten alive from within, magic and soul consumed.

Shelly gently tied the two long braids together at the nape of Arcana's neck. Arcana clasped her trembling hands in her lap and sat very still, staring into the ever-changing fire. The name of her would-be murderer seemed to take shape in the rising smoke for an instant before wafting away up the flue. She was mad for doing this. Were her fears disrupting her work? Were they why the wards crumbled within her hands? Or was she simply pushing her power and knowledge too far?

"Shelly is here for Lady Arcana." Shelly brushed back the wisps that were already falling into Arcana's eyes. Arcana would need to set the charms again to make her hair behave. "Shelly knows how to brew potions. Shelly will help Lady Arcana. Lady has to work so hard for the Master. Shelly will work even harder to serve Lady Arcana."

Arcana closed her eyes, blocking out the burning vision of flames and cloaking herself in silver mist, stilling her fears. One deep breath and she was ready.

"Thank you, Shelly." Arcana would continue to follow this path. She had given her word, after all. "We had better start now."

The small laboratory was lit with the same magical oil lamps that were found throughout the fortress, and there was good ventilation and running water as well. There were two workbenches at opposite ends of the room, one for potion brewing and the other reserved for crafting the crystal phials Arcana used to hold souls.

Arcana set Shelly up on a stool to prepare ingredients, unsure what she was capable of accomplishing, but any hesitation on her part vanished quickly. Shelly's hands really were not much smaller then her own and quite dexterous, and the house-elf had no problems handling Arcana's sharp knives.

Arcana hurried about, tending several cauldrons and taking inventory of her ingredients. Shelves of potions components and equipment lined the walls of the laboratory, and there was a small storeroom of sorts as well for the more delicate things. The list of those needing replacement was getting quite long, and she did not know when she would have time to restock her supplies. Many could be bought, and that would take long enough, but she had to gather some by hand.

When all of the potions were bottled, save a Calming Draft that had to simmer overnight, and Arcana's list was complete, Shelly went to prepare the bath that she insisted Arcana needed. If the house-elves would turn their industriousness toward something other than serving wizards, the world would change, probably for the better, Arcana mused. It would be an interesting new chapter of history to observe at least, and the present day would become legend and story, though she would always remember the reality.

Arcana carefully rinsed her knives in running water to draw off all magical residues, then gently dried them and put them back in their silk lined case. Shelly's work had been impressive and made Arcana wonder if the Dark Lord knew how much his house-elves were capable of, as Shelly displayed significant learning and knowledge as well as manual skill. Someone had taught her about potion making.

There was a tentative knock on Arcana's door, and she scowled. It was not the Dark Lord, but he usually summoned her instead of visiting anyway, and neither was it Snape, but it was nervous. Pettigrew, Arcana realized right before opening the door.

"What is it, Wormtail? I don't like being disturbed, especially by foul, sneaking rodents," Arcana snarled, baring her teeth. Wormtail flinched, but held his ground.

"The Dark Lord ordered me to come. He says you need potion ingredients, and that I am to procure them for you." He grinned nastily down at Arcana and stepped closer, thinking that she was going to let him into her rooms since he had come on the Dark Lord's orders. Fear apparently did not temper Wormtail's bad manners.

"Stay where you are, rat. I'll get your list." Arcana slammed the door in Wormtail's face and pulled the list out of her pocket. She laid it on a table next to blank parchment and pulled out a Dictaquill. It wrote exactly what Arcana dictated in a neutral hand so that if Wormtail "happened" to misplace the list it could not be associated with her.

She opened the door and thrust the new list into Wormtail's hand.

"The sooner, the better, and it had best be all of fine quality. You wouldn't want to disappoint the Dark Lord, or me."

"Of course-"

Arcana closed the door in Wormtail's face again and stalked through her rooms to the promised bath. She should have realized that the Dark Lord would take matters into his own hands. She had even said that she was running low on ingredients, but it angered her all the same.

It would take her time to check whatever Wormtail brought back because, the Dark Lord's orders or not, she would never trust him. There were also things that she refused to let him collect, or even know that she required, so she would still need to go out. Her work was sensitive and she never spoke about it. Of all wizards alive, Jeriol knew the most, and that was little more than the physical materials she required. He at least had a healthy respect and fear for her and for what she could do.

The sounds of muffled crying coming from her bathroom were stifled hastily, but not before Arcana heard. Shelly was hunched over a stack of towels with her back to Arcana, sniffling and wiping her eyes. Arcana's anger dissolved and her heart clenched. She should have known, should have seen the unreal cheerfulness as a front, should have taken the time to think.

Arcana sat down by Shelly, her robes pooling around her on the cool floor, and gently laid her hand on Shelly's small shoulder. Shelly shook her head.

"No, no, no. Lady Arcana must not see Shelly," she whispered desperately, sniffling after every other word. "Shelly's supposed to make Lady Arcana happy, make her smile, help her, not make her sad!"

Arcana turned the house-elf around, and Shelly flung herself at Arcana, clinging to the shocked fae. Arcana hesitantly wrapped an arm around Shelly and just let the house-elf sob. Arcana wanted to tell Shelly that everything was fine, that she was safe, and that she had nothing to fear, but it would all be lies.

"Shelly is so scared, Lady . . . scared of . . . Shelly cannot say!" she wailed, pressing her face into Arcana's chest and clutching her robes. "Shelly will never speak ill of her Master or his servants. Shelly must not."

"These are Dark times. Fear and sorrow only show that you have a heart," Arcana said softly, and Shelly sobbed louder. The dusty chains of duty and regret pulled at Arcana. She desperately searched for something to say that would calm Shelly. "Neither of us can speak our fears aloud," she whispered. "We are together in that. Don't be alone. Visit me in my rooms whenever you wish, even if you don't have work to do."

"But Shelly mustn't be lazy. She must work," the house-elf insisted between sobs. Arcana's lips twitched toward a bitter smile.

"Then I'm sure I could find something." Shelly hugged Arcana tightly, nearly bowling her over.

"Lady Arcana is so good to Shelly. Shelly will work even harder. Shelly will make Lady Arcana happy."

Arcana sighed and stroked Shelly's back. The fae certainly understood feelings of helplessness and the yearning to share one's secrets, though Arcana had not felt the latter for some time. She had learned the hard way to never confide, no matter the urge to lift the burden from her shoulders. It only led to death, luckily not hers yet, but only for the ones to whom she had bared her soul.

Blood splattered on sharp rocks in the dead of night. It would be washed away before daybreak by the raging storm. Drooling scavengers had already dragged the body off in their jaws, snuffling and grunting to each other about their good fortune. Only the shed blood remained.

The rain battered Arcana's cloak and dripped off the edge of her hood. She kicked a rock, listening to it clatter until it fell into a puddle with a loud plunk. Lightning flashed overhead, giving her a glimpse of the stained rocks. The wind changed as thunder crashed in the distance, and she caught one last whiff of human blood. Arcana grimaced in the direction of the burrow where the scavengers were gnawing and tearing, and then she Disapparated. She felt some small pity for the poor fool she had butchered, but one more violent mortal death was nothing in the midst of war.

Arcana took a deep breath and pushed the memory away. Shelly would never spill Arcana's secrets of her own volition, but she was bound to the Dark Lord, and he could always demand to know everything Arcana had said.

"Lady Arcana should take her bath now." Shelly's breath hitched and she remained plastered against Arcana. "Shelly made sure the water is nice."

"Of course, you take good care of me." Arcana shook off her worries and disentangled Shelly from her robes. As soon as Arcana slid into the warm water, Shelly snatched up Arcana's discarded clothing.

"Shelly must wash Lady Arcana's robes," she said, drying her eyes on the already tearstained fabric, and then Disapparated with a pop. Arcana sighed and let her head fall back against the edge of the bath. A cold draft whistled through the room, nipping at her wet skin, and she slid down further into the warm water. The fortress' rather crude ventilation system left much to be desired on a cold winter day, and warming charms of the necessary strength played havoc with her magical equipment, not to mention her skin. It was no longer itching, and she was keen to keep it that way.

So much for her supposedly peaceful day off, Arcana mused bitterly. Hunting would be a relief tonight with the cold winds whipping her heavy robes and the black unicorn's fire burning inside. No puzzling wards, no demon nightmares, no manic-depressive house-elves, just the hunt and the light of lost souls filling her crystal phials.