A Pale Shade of Night

A Pale Shade of Night

Chapter 19: Arcane Magic and Questionable Ethics

Shelly deftly unbuckled the black armor covering Arcana's wrists while the soul hunter sat in front of the fire with her eyes shut, stilling her mind and quieting the desires of the black unicorn. The force of will that had been necessary to pull her mind from his embrace had left Arcana so drained that she only nodded gratefully when she found Shelly waiting in her rooms this morning. At least her hunt should satisfy the Dark Lord. She could almost taste the fading vestiges of energy that the souls had left within her.

At the edges of perception Arcana sensed the winter sun cresting the valley, casting wan light and waking the trees from their slumber. The black unicorn was ravenous, furious - she could still feel the echoes of his emotions in her magic. He had kept her out too long - jealousy and hatred - wanting to protect her from the Dark Lord.

Fear that was not her own skittered down Arcana's arms. The foreign emotion faded after a minute of concentration, and Arcana breathed easier. A Wild creature should not fear. It could drive the world mad.

"Lady Arcana must sleep this morning. The Master will come to Lady later when he is free."

Arcana dropped out of her half-trance and scowled.

"I have work to do, Shelly." Arcana unbuttoned the high collar of the thick leather vest she wore under her outer robes. Shelly gently batted Arcana's hands away.

"Let Shelly, Lady. Sleep is the Master's orders, so Shelly will see that Lady Arcana sleeps."

Arcana closed her eyes and focused on letting her sudden anger bleed away. It was partly her ragged nerves, but the violence she felt was from the black unicorn. She was grateful that the Dark Lord had not summoned her directly after she had returned, as that would have only lead to pain and humiliation . . . again.

The pile of fabric, leather, and metal on the floor grew, and Arcana relaxed, watching the writhing flames dance in the fireplace with half-shut eyes. The Dark Lord's chair, which always sat opposite her own before the hearth, was another constant reminder of his nearness. Like his other favorite chairs, it was imposing and adorned with snakes. Arcana often longed to set the monstrosity alight.

"Lady Arcana's bath is ready," the house-elf said brightly, all but shooing Arcana out of the living room. "Shelly will take care of this." Shelly pointed at the large pile of what Arcana had been wearing. All that Shelly had left Arcana with was her black pants and sleeveless shirt, and that too might have been stripped off if she had stayed still. The Dark Mark leered mockingly from her pale, thin arm, nearly black with reddened edges from continual irritation courtesy of the Dark Lord.

"Thank you, Shelly." Arcana went to her bath, confident that Shelly would handle her hunting garb appropriately. It had kept her safe and anonymous for many years, though some parts had to be replaced occasionally. They were not as durable as she.

A few hours of sleep did no wonders for Arcana's mood, but did revive her enough to face the Dark Lord. The black unicorn's presence was faint now, like a whiff of burnt earth when she concentrated on him. Any anger she felt now was her own, and though there was plenty of that, it was cold and it was hers to control.

Thankfully it had only taken Arcana a few grueling days to rework her wards and the binding circles that would be traced on the floor in salt before the ritual began. She was torn between pride and fear when the simplified wards proved much more stable than the original version. The Dark Lord had smiled and immediately began an exhaustive test of their strength, as well as her own. He had not yet demanded blood letting while Arcana practiced casting the wards, but she expected that would come soon enough.

With the rough version of the ritual set Arcana and the Dark Lord now had to blend their individual parts into one cohesive whole, and she could already feel her next headache threatening to start early. They would be playing on Arcana's ground, which would make him more irritable than usual. The blending of diverse magics was her true specialty. Soul magic, and with it, soul hunting, had come to her much later in life.

Before the Dark Lord had been infected by this demon summoning insanity Arcana would never have even considered teaching him any magic, but now she was bound by her word to help him successfully compete this ritual. It grated on her to no end, but it was better than knowingly allowing him to let loose a demon in the mortal world. At least that was what she kept telling herself. The Dark Lord would undoubtedly glean a few gems of knowledge she had no intention of imparting, and though that was her greatest concern, it was not the only problem. When working with others the Dark Lord insisted on being the absolute master of the situation. The 'others' involved were tossed into the role of groveling servant, whether they liked it or not. Saying that the Dark Lord was disinclined to losing even a smidgen of that iron control was the understatement of the century.

Arcana felt the Dark Lord's presence before she heard the knock on her door.

"Good day, my lord." She bowed and stepped back so that he could enter. She felt warmth radiating from his robes when he passed by her - his solution to the cold fortress. "The souls from last night's hunt are ready for your examination."

"As expected, my hunter."

They sat in front of the hearth while the Dark Lord inspected Arcana's work, as had become ritual. There was silence save the soft ticking of the clock on the mantel and the clinking of crystal as he peered at the faintly glowing phials. He set the box of souls aside, satisfied with Arcana's work, as always. It was only half full now since she had not been hunting as frequently and the Dark Lord had continued using her given souls at a constant rate. What he did with them she had no clue, but he seemed to require ungodly numbers. At least it kept her Gringott's vault full.

Crimson eyes narrowed, and the Dark Lord's magic reached out for her. Arcana gritted her teeth when his Legilimency lightly brushed her mind, drifting through her surface thoughts and less guarded feelings. Submitting to that much seemed to appease him, and he withdrew. Their magical bond resonated for a moment, but her Dark Mark tingled longer, and she resisted the urge to rub at it to ease the sensation.

"Do you presume to teach me sometime today, my fae?" The tingling turned to burning for an instant. "Or does donning that old mantle rob you of the power of speech?"

"The less I speak, the less likely I am to say something that will anger you, my lord," Arcana said acidly. She bit her tongue when her Mark burned hotter. The Dark Lord's thin lips pressed together as he too fought to restrain his temper. Arcana sighed to calm her frayed nerves and bowed her head in silent apology for her outburst. The brand settled to a quiet hum under her skin.

"I had thought to try a few things to determine where you stand," Arcana said evenly. "See how you manipulate spells, twist curses. I have only experienced the results after all, being too busy screaming to analyze your casting."

"What do you suggest first, my fae, for an adequate demonstration?" The Dark Lord's lips quirked in what Arcana was betting was more a smirk than sneer, and he drew his wand, eager to show off.

"Show me what you can do with a simple Levitation Charm, my lord. I will watch." Arcana slid into a half-trance where she could see magic overlay physical reality.

Annoyance and suspicion glimmered at the edges of the Dark Lord's magic, and he reached into their bond. Arcana flinched, being more sensitive to the invasion in her current state, and the Dark Lord scowled and pulled back, unwilling to risk damaging her magic with the Solstice so near. Muted emotions whispered in the back of Arcana's mind, clouded by magic. She conjoured a small cloth and held it on one outstretched hand.

"Show me."

The smallest flick of the Dark Lord's wand and a wordless charm lifted the cloth from Arcana's hand. She watched his magic play about the scrap, lifting, moving, flowing, fluttering, stretching, tearing, shredding. The violent end of the experiment was no less than she expected, given his nature. A flock of cloth bits floated back to her outstretched hand one by one. Arcana closed her fist about them and made the cloth whole again.

"Transfiguration next, my lord." The Dark Lord drew himself straighter, posture shifting smoothly to that of a striking serpent. His snake-like nostrils flared.

"Do not waste my time, fae. This had better be of use, and not just to satisfy your idle curiosity." Irritation tinted the blackness of the Dark Lord's magic. Impatient wizard.

"It is." She unconsciously left off the honorific. It was hard to remember such trivialities when so deeply immersed in magic. The Dark Lord scowled, and red sparks of anger flared at the edges of his magic, but he did not raise his wand against her. The cloth changed in her hand.

Magic wove and unwove before Arcana's eyes, and by the time the Dark Lord was finished the cloth resembled an intricate network of wood and metal. At least it had stopped playing cacophonous orchestral music - personally, she was not sure the Dark Lord had meant to turn the cloth into a miniature orchestra several minutes into the experiment. Arcana set the former cloth aside, thinking that it would be a good challenge to turn it back, if she ever had a moment of absolute boredom.

The Dark Lord's magic settled, all smoky black and red within and without his body. He truly was a master wizard, if an impatient one. Such control and power Arcana had only seen in wizards twice his age, and only a few times, and still in ways he surpassed them. The lack of experience that had aggravated her in the last weeks was only evident from a fae perspective. She kept forgetting about the frightening difference in their ages when immersed in productive work.

"Is the wandwork necessary, my lord?" Arcana asked softly, drawing her focus back to the physical with a deep breath. He had used slight wand movements to support both experiments of wordless magic.

"Not for something this simple." The Dark Lord watched her closely, and Arcana sensed shadows of several emotions color his magic before fading.

"And for complex spells, curses?"

"Yes," he hissed, edginess bleeding into his tone.

"I am afraid more observation is needed before I teach, my lord." He sneered, and Arcana waited.

The Dark Lord snapped his fingers and Shelly appeared.

"What may Shelly do for her Master?"

The Dark Lord raised his wand. Arcana felt a terror not wholly her own.

"Cru-"

Shelly's eyes went wide, and Arcana moved. She saw the curse die on the Dark Lord's lips before completion and felt the magic of the land slip back from where she had pulled on it. Her skin tingled from the power.

"Step aside, hunter," the Dark Lord ordered. Shelly screeched in fright.

"No." She let her refusal bleed into her magic where the Dark Lord could sense it through their bond. His fury lashed against her conviction.

The Dark Lord slashed his wand through the air and a rush of magic pushed against her, trying to physically throw her aside. Arcana stood her ground, but shifted, and the magic slipped by her, as if she was naught but shadow. A muscle by the Dark Lord's eye twitched, and he went very still. Shelly sobbed behind Arcana and plaintively tugged on her robes.

"Come out, house-elf," the Dark Lord ordered.

Shelly stumbled away from Arcana, having no choice but to obey, but the fae took two gliding steps and blocked her, eyes focused on the Dark Lord's wand. As gently as she could, Arcana magically bound Shelly, knowing it was the only way to stop her.

"No, my lord. Not this way." There was no reason for this cruelty. It sparked a righteous anger, like the swirl of emotions she had felt within the storeroom of fae artifacts. She saw pain and unnatural death stretched out before her, behind her, dragged across her many years, like mangled corpses strewn over the battlefield. They were not meant to die.

Arcana's Dark Mark seared her skin, as if the Dark Lord had plunged a white-hot iron poker into her arm, and she crouched down in front of Shelly, unable to stand against the pain. She clenched her jaw, refusing to give voice to the agony.

"You push me too far, fae." The tainted steel dagger was in the Dark Lord's hand, reflecting golden-red flickers of firelight.

Arcana shivered and bowed her head. Her anger fled, leaving aching loss in its wake. A weakness she could not afford, but was unable to banish.

"Another, my lord. There must be another. Your dungeons are full. I cannot..." Arcana fell silent, and she concentrated on her breathing to dull the burning of her Mark. The elven rug was soft under her bare hands, soft as Shelly's terrified weeping that hurt her in ways the Dark Lord could not.

"Foolish fae. Your duty is to me."

Arcana glared up at the Dark Lord, forcing her eyes away from the blade.

"If I have any such duty, it is to my people. With you, my lord, there is only a contract."

"A contract sealed by Blood Oath. And such a good job you have done for them, your people, spilling their secrets to a wizard, summoning a demon, which even I know is forbidden to you." His words stung like tainted iron on her flesh.

"Another, please, my lord. I will fight you," Arcana insisted. The Dark Lord sneered, but slid the dagger back into his robes.

"Your good fortune will only last you so long, but I will humor you since Solstice is near."

Arcana let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding and loosened the magical bonds around Shelly. The house-elf curled into a tight ball, trembling. Reluctantly Arcana turned away from her and stood. The Dark Mark stopped burning, but still ached bone-deep. There was only weakness where there should have been strength, and an emptiness inside, as if she had lost something important.

The Dark Lord took hold of Arcana's arm, long fingers wrapping all the way around so tightly that she would likely have bruises the next day.

"Take care not to abuse your privileges, or I will revoke them," he warned, referring to the ability for Arcana to draw on the magic of his lands.

"Yes, my lord." Arcana bowed her head, torn between her wish to stay with Shelly and her desire to get the Dark Lord away from the house-elf. He made the choice for her and Apparated them to the dungeons. She hated side-along Apparition, and stood still until the momentary disorientation passed.

The Dark Lord released her arm and strode off down a long, dark corridor lined with cells, booted heels clicking sharply, leaving Arcana to hurry after him. She cast a quick glamour so no one could see her clearly. Chains clinked and prisoners whimpered as they passed. The stench of the wretches mingled with the fetid mold and the damp, and Arcana was glad she hadn't eaten recently. Smoky torches lit only when they walked by, casting the cells back into darkness abruptly so that the prisoners only saw their terrifying captor and the small figure that followed him. Only a few still had strength enough to scream.

Arcana pulled on her leather gloves and shied away from the thick bars. They were solid tainted iron that would hold against all magical escape attempts. Given her current state, they might even hold her. Arcana repressed a shudder and focused on the task at hand. She felt only a passing pity for those caged, but that soon faded. She could take souls here. Most of the prisoners would do anything for release, and it would take little effort to persuade them, but that would be far too careless, even if she got permission. There would be witnesses, and she allowed none to see her work - at least none that would survive it.

The Dark Lord stopped before one cell and opened it with a large key, also of tainted iron. The sharp tang of the bars briefly cut through the dungeon stench, but faded as Arcana stepped inside. The torch in the corridor sputtered and died, and the Dark Lord lit the one in the cell. Neither of them really needed the light, but it was habit she supposed.

A ragged, middle-aged wizard was sitting on the floor against the far wall of the cell, his arms hanging from heavy shackles about his wrists. He raised his head and looked up at them with mixture of contempt and fear, but there was a sturdiness about him, and his brow wrinkled as he tried to see Arcana's face. Old curse scars crisscrossed his arms, and several new ones were visible through tears in his robes. He was an Auror.

"I trust this doesn't offend your hypocritical sense of righteousness?"

"No, my lord," Arcana said coldly, refusing to rise to his bait. The Dark Lord looked down at her and scowled.

"Drop the glamour. He won't live."

Arcana only hesitated a moment before doing as she was bid, reminding herself that angering the Dark Lord in his dungeons was not the wisest of ideas. The prisoner stared for a moment, and then blanched.

"Mageborn," the prisoner whispered, horrified. Arcana sneered.

"Oh no, something far more interesting," the Dark Lord said with a cruel smile. The wizard's face went grey.

The Dark Lord sighed and casually cast a Silencing Charm on the cell as the Auror opened his mouth.

The bellowed announcement of, "Fae!" just echoed ineffectually around the cell, bouncing off the stone walls. Such a sense of duty, Arcana thought derisively.

"He has a--"

The Dark Lord cast a rather mild Gut Wrenching Curse on the wizard, who groaned, his body contorting in agony. He was still strong and would last quite a while, Arcana noted with mild interest.

"While I would like to entertain the others down here with your screams, I am afraid secrecy with regards to my pet is more important." Arcana bristled at the insult, but held her tongue, even when the Dark Lord ran his fingers down her cheek.

"Rot in hell," the man cursed. He spat at the Dark Lord's boots, and then stared at Arcana, revulsion plain on his face, seeing something in her that was even worse than the Dark Lord.

Arcana's white-hot rage flared, fueled by age-old hatred and pain. The man did not know what or whom he looked upon. Wizards always believed their biased "histories" without question, painting the fae as heartless monsters. If humans had shown themselves to be more worthy - the half-animals just went about killing each other - then her people would have treated them with some respect, even though they were mortal.

"You bring ruin to us all," the prisoner snarled. His chains rattled violently as he tried to stand.

"Only to those that stand in my way. Ready, my fae?" The Dark Lord leveled his wand at the prisoner, who frantically pulled at his chains. Arcana slipped back into the half-trance.

"Yes, my lord," Arcana said icily. "Don't hold the curse for long. He will need to endure it a number of times, and I can see better when he is not yet mad and dying."

She saw the Dark Lord's cruel smile out of the corner of her eye. The prisoner's face went livid with rage.

"A curse upon both-"

"Crucio."

After less than half a minute of screaming and thrashing the Dark Lord raised his wand, breaking the curse. The prisoner moaned in pain, his limbs twitching uncontrollably. Arcana had seen what she needed, and frowned, thinking of the best approach.

"Well?" The Dark Lord gripped Arcana's chin and lifted her face to his. Crimson eyes burned into her, and she quickly dropped out of the trance.

"I certainly prefer witnessing it from this perspective, my lord." He dropped his hand. The prisoner tried to speak, but Arcana silenced him with a relaxed flick of her wrist. "You rely too much on wandwork to twist the curse. What we will be doing must be independent of that, though it does take more effort."

"Wizarding magic is based on wandwork, fae." He twisted, looming over her like a serpent preparing to strike.

The Dark Lord would not listen unless shown, Arcana knew, and there was really only one way to do that. She stripped the glove off of her left hand and pushed up her sleeve, baring the Dark Mark. The prisoner's chains rattled.

"Take it, my lord." Arcana offered the Dark Lord her left arm. "You can't see the magic, but you'll get the impression through the bond." The Dark Lord stepped behind her and wrapped his left hand around her arm, over the brand. Arcana flinched at the sting and took a deep breath.

The mute prisoner looked up at Arcana, his eyes begging for mercy. The Dark Lord's presence hummed under Arcana's skin and hovered in the back of her mind, so close she could hardly resist the urge to push him away. She thought she felt his breath on the hair atop her head, but it could have just been a draft. Arcana raised her wand and closed her eyes, letting cold rage consume her senses.

"Crucio."

She held the curse steady, kept it weaker than the Dark Lord's. It only took the Auror a few seconds to find that quiet place where the curse could not touch his mind. The Dark Lord had chosen a good one for this test; he was powerful and skilled. Slowly, deliberately Arcana twisted the curse by will alone, and the wizard went thrashing again, screaming his silent screams. Several minutes later the Dark Lord grasped her shoulder, and Arcana broke the curse.

The prisoner hung prone, legs sprawled on the floor, held up only by the chains. Blood dribbled from his nose and mouth and down from his wrists where the shackles had torn his skin. Arcana felt an empty satisfaction bubble up upon seeing the destruction she had wrought.

"Any more and I'd have to find another one for practice, my fae," the Dark Lord lightly admonished, clearly pleased with Arcana's ruthlessness. His hand tightened around her arm and his presence washed over her, Dark magic blinding her to physical reality. Arcana's knees buckled, but the Dark Lord's magic wrapped around her, holding her upright.

"Just where did you learn that, my fae," he hissed in her ear.

"That is not your concern, my lord," Arcana forced the words from her mouth, her fury all but obliterated by the shock of the Dark Lord's magic.

"Too many secrets, Arcana, but now is not the time. A pity indeed." Arcana's vision cleared as the Dark Lord pulled back. She stood unsteadily when he released her.

"Now, witness the power of the Dark Lord Voldemort."

Arcana cradled her left arm and dutifully slipped back into the half-trance. She saw his focus, saw he understood - understood far more quickly and fully than she had thought possible. He cast, twisting the curse so severely that he broke Arcana's weak Silencing Charm, and the wizard let out a blood-curdling scream. Arcana saw not a single twitch of the Dark Lord's wand as he literally tore the prisoner apart with the Cruciatus Curse. Such power was unreal. A terrible chill shivered through her. This was the monster that was going to seek immortality through a demon. This is what had to be defeated, had to die, for her to live.

The scent of fresh blood and warm human innards was overwhelming. Arcana much preferred when they died cleanly. The Dark Lord surveyed his handiwork with a grim smile.

"I must have Wormtail take the remains to the forest. The dungeons stink as it is." He turned to Arcana. "I assume that was adequate for our purposes?"

"Yes, my lord," she said softly, keeping the tremor from her voice. "We can move on now if you wish, though I would suggest a change of scenery." The pool of blood around the body was spreading and she was loath to get it on her rugs.

"Very well. And a pot of tea is in order. You're looking peckish."

The Dark Lord grasped Arcana's arm and Apparated them back to her rooms, then immediately released her and snapped his fingers. His abrupt change in mood jarred Arcana, but she held her tongue - his expression and the hum of his magic indicated that he would tolerate no questions.

Shelly appeared and bowed low, trembling from the tips of her pointy ears to the ends of her long toes. "W-what m-may Sh-Shelly-"

"Bring tea for myself and my fae, and something for her to eat," the Dark Lord said sharply.

Shelly Disapparated without a word, and Arcana looked worriedly to the spot where she had stood. The Dark Lord noticed, and Arcana's Dark Mark stung, his silent reminder of her place. It was better than more insults, she supposed.

Shelly returned quickly, carrying a heavily loaded tray over her head. The setting rattled loudly as she trembled. Arcana tried to catch her eye, but the house-elf was staring at the floor.

"Go," the Dark Lord ordered as soon as Shelly had set down the tray. Shelly did not linger.

Arcana dearly wished to tell the Dark Lord what a fool he was for treating his house-elf so poorly, but she held her tongue and drank her tea. The sandwiches Shelly had brought had been altered from the traditional English recipe for Arcana's nutritional needs.

"Fascinating really, twisting curses that way." Arcana looked up from her teacup. The Dark Lord's eyes gleamed maliciously. "And to think, here I have been trying to interpret obscure references to piece that technique together for over a year." Arcana's tea suddenly tasted bitter on her tongue. Apparently she had not given the Dark Lord's resourcefulness or intuition enough credit. "I would have worked it out eventually, but you are proving most useful to keep around."

Arcana munched on the last sandwich to keep herself from saying something that would put her at the wrong end of the Dark Lord's wand. Sometimes his good moods were just as dangerous as his bad ones.

With a gesture, Arcana dimmed the enchanted oil lamps on the walls of the sitting room. A second casual wave lit the numerous candles that she had set about the room earlier that day.

"If any go out it will signal an unwanted collateral effect that could be very harmful later, my lord," Arcana explained. "I might miss some of them as we work." The Dark Lord nodded, much more attentive now that he had begun to see results, just like any impatient, young apprentice. Arcana banished the thought, disgusted with the comparison. It was just this once that she would teach him.

Arcana conjoured another scrap of cloth, and the Dark Lord looked less than pleased.

"We must start simply, though this is not as simple as you'd expect, my lord. You will levitate it, and then I will manipulate the spell. It may feel a bit . . . odd." He had the decency not to question her at least, and levitated the cloth while she slipped back into the half-trance.

Ever so gently, Arcana reached out and let the smallest bit of her magic weave around the charm the Dark Lord had cast. His magic rippled, trying to throw off the interference. Their eyes met, and she held his gaze until his magic settled, though tension still radiated off of him. The magical contact was not pleasant for either of them, but she had experience on her side.

Arcana reached further into the Dark Lord's spell and carefully pulled. The cloth jerked sideways and hovered for a moment before the Dark Lord's concentration broke and the scrap fluttered to the ground. He scowled and sat very still. Arcana hunched her shoulders, trying to stretch her upper back where the odd tingling had settled. The Dark Lord's entire wand arm must have been all pins-and-needles from the stiffness of his posture, but she said nothing.

"You will never do this without my express permission, Arcana," the Dark Lord said. Shadows of undefined emotions flitted over his face and through his magic.

"Of course not, my lord." It would be impossible for Arcana to disobey that order, but he did not need to know that. "You may want to stretch your wand arm, my lord. The physical effects occur to everyone until the casters get used to working together," she said casually, though neglected to mention it was far worse for wizards than fae. Arcana stretched her back again as a blatant hint that it really was not unusual, and to relieve the last bit of tingling. It settled there whenever she performed this technique wandlessly.

The Dark Lord reluctantly did as Arcana suggested and shot her a scathing look. She scanned the candles and saw that only four had gone out, and all were nearby. The Dark Lord followed her eyes.

"Not bad," Arcana muttered, both impressed and unnerved. Any of her former students, even the annoying ones, would have received a firm compliment. She relit the candles that had blown out and took a deep breath to calm the nervous fluttering in her chest. "Again, my lord?"

After several more attempts the Dark Lord abruptly announced that he had other business to attend to and ordered Arcana to be available that night. She acquiesced of course, and showed him out most respectfully, very glad to be rid of him for a few hours. That would give her plenty of time to set several cauldrons simmering - the last of her potions stores she could replenish without taking a trip to gather the more sensitive ingredients she lacked. Astonishingly, the supplies Wormtail had brought were just as she ordered - not a single unpleasant surprise.

Once in her laboratory Arcana tied back the long sleeves of her robes to keep them out of the way. It was not the most elegant look - there went her normally dormant sense of vanity - but was vastly preferable to catching the robes on fire or getting corrosive snapping pansy sap on the cuffs. In the midst of setting out ingredients Arcana remembered Shelly. It was doubtful that the house-elf had the presence of mind to boil water at the moment, but Arcana could figure out something to keep her busy. Duty pulled at her, tempered by a small dose of genuine compassion that she could not afford to feel.

"Shelly," Arcana called. Shelly did not appear for several seconds, and looked about skittishly, hands shaking, when she did. She had spilled something all over her uniform. It was not as obscene as the pillowcases she had seen on house-elves in other houses, but it was not much better either.

"Come here. It's all right now," Arcana said softly. Before Arcana could move, she had a terrified house-elf wrapped around her legs, trying very hard not to cry. This was going to be harder than she had expected. "Let me wash my hands, Shelly."

Arcana carefully broke the embrace and washed off her hands, then dried them with a charm. Shelly was eyeing the leg of the bench morosely, as if struggling not to smack her head against it. Fury welled up from where Arcana had stashed it, and Shelly looked up, frightened. Arcana pushed the anger back down.

"It's not for you, Shelly. Hush." Arcana knelt down and found her arms full of house-elf. "Stay with me while I brew."

"Shelly doesn't think she can do anything now, Lady," Shelly sniffled. "Shelly needs to work."

"And you will, but only watching for today."

"B-but, Lady," Shelly stammered.

"I thought you could begin learning how to brew some of the potions I often need. It would be a great help to me later." Shelly brightened considerably.

Arcana set Shelly up on a stool after charming away the stains on the house-elf's uniform, and then dragged out her personal potions notebook where she recorded everything useful in case she was unable to reproduce it from memory. She flipped the pages, frowning at her seemingly random choices of languages - some of the recipes were quite old.

"Ah, here." Arcana pointed to the recipe for a mild sleeping draught, much less potent than Dreamless Sleep, but also devoid of the nastier side effects of that wizarding concoction. "I'm afraid the English is a bit archaic."

Shelly peered down at the book, nose nearly touch the page. "Oh, Shelly can read this fine, Lady Arcana. There are lots of..." Shelly trailed off, apparently wary of broaching a sensitive topic.

"Good then," Arcana said, and then went over the recipe with Shelly, ignoring her unfinished thought.

Shelly was only unfamiliar with one procedure, but that was simple to teach. The house-elf displayed the amazing resilience of her kind and quickly recovered from her near cursing. When had she started thinking of them as "house-elves," Arcana wondered - one more sign that she had been in the mortal world for too long. With four cauldrons simmering, Arcana sent Shelly away on more productive errands. Arcana sat down on the stool, hooking her heels on the horizontal rod supporting the legs, and put her head in her hands, elbows propped on her knees.

"Bloody well can't stop teaching once I start," Arcana grumbled to herself.

And here she'd thought that old habit had actually died. It had been a long time - four apprentices and several score other students over the years, but that had been another life entirely, dead and buried now. She checked the cauldrons over once more, and then set a ward to alert her if something went amiss.

The Dark Lord was back in his chair and Arcana in hers sooner than she had hoped. Whatever council he'd held had strained his temper, just as Arcana feared it would. She could only guess that his war was going badly as she had not overheard any meetings recently, and she had not been out of the fortress save for hunting, which was a most inopportune time to grab the latest copy of the Daily Prophet.

They worked as the hands of the clock on Arcana's mantel wound around, the Dark Lord Levitating the cloth and Arcana twisting the spell, until the tingling in her spine had developed into a distinctly sharp pain. She could only imagine what his wand arm felt like, and a streak of spite shot through her. It was nice to see him in pain for once. Too bad he only showed it in the tightening of the skin around his red eyes.

"And the reverse, Arcana? How am I to manipulate your spells without seeing as you do?" The Dark Lord laid his wand across his lap and tried to work the kinks out of his hand. Fatigue and the challenge of new magic were wearing down his normally unreadable façade.

"Eventually," Arcana said, ignoring the Dark Lord's sneer, "you should be able to track my spells easily, my lord, when I let you - and by 'eventually,' I mean several days, a week at most."

"And now?"

"We cast on the same object, you can twist your spell around mine, which should be simple given how well you dealt with twisting the Cruciatus Curse, my lord. Tone down the force you put behind it. You're not trying to tear the cloth, or me, apart. Going slower is better at this stage."

"Then get on with it." The Dark Lord raised his wand again.

"Perhaps we should work on the first exercise for a bit longer, my lord." A stern glare, and fact that the Dark Lord's wand was now directed at her heart changed Arcana's mind. "Or not. As you will, my lord." This was going to hurt.

The Dark Lord Levitated the cloth and waited. Arcana added her wandless spell, and the cloth bucked as the two charms warred.

Ease up. Gently, Arcana sent mentally through their magical bond, and the Dark Lord's spell faltered in his surprise. She gave a half-apologetic shrug, having rarely spoken that way with him, and his lips turned down in an unappreciative grimace. When the cloth hovered still between them Arcana nodded, and the Dark Lord's magic shifted. Pain shot down Arcana's spine as the Dark Lord's spell strangled hers.

Hold still, Arcana heard vibrating along their magical bond. She did her best to steady her spell. The Dark Lord's charm loosened a bit, and Arcana breathed easier, but then the magic pulled. Arcana abruptly broke her spell and was flung back into her chair by the backlash. The pain shooting down her spine spread to her head, which started pounding abominably, and for a moment she thought she was going to lose her dinner on the Dark Lord's boots.

Arcana looked up to see the Dark Lord was a bit paler than usual himself. "Gently," Arcana rasped. "It is subtlety and precision, not force. Use your power for stamina only."

"Don't lecture me on magic, fae," the Dark Lord snapped. Arcana sighed and looked longingly at the glass of cool water by her side, deciding she should wait until her stomach settled before drinking.

"This esoteric madness is a waste of my time."

"You were the one that wanted to conduct a ritual that demands it, my lord. I'm only holding up my end of our bargain." Arcana pinched the bridge of her nose in a vain attempt to dull her headache.

"This is only necessary because of your absurd fae wards. If you had set them according to Wizarding practice-"

"Then we would likely die at Solstice. Other wizards' wards sure didn't do well against this Iddimu," Arcana snapped.

Arcana fell out of the chair and onto her knees with a strangled cry. Something was cutting her from the inside. She had been careful with brewing earlier - no, that was not it. All reason fled for an instant, and then the pain was gone. The Dark Lord looked down on her, his face unreadable again. He had raised neither hand nor wand, but it was him. The faded spell still hovering in her abdomen was his magic; she could almost taste it.

"Don't experiment on me unless you've decided against the summoning," Arcana snarled, adding a whole host of obscene descriptors in her thoughts.

"I will not warn you again, summoning or no, hunter."

Arcana recalled the press of tainted steel against her throat and bowed her head.

"I understand, my lord," she said bitterly.

The Dark Lord's earlier reasonable mood had fled, and Arcana just wished he'd get his fill of punishing her and leave. She would find a way to win back her freedom, if just to see his expression the instant before his death. She shoved that thought aside for the moment. She would have to survive the summoning ritual before any plans for escape or vengeance would be useful.

The Dark Lord snapped his fingers and Shelly appeared, standing as far from him as could be considered remotely respectable.

"See to my fae." He pointed to Arcana.

Arcana started to stand.

"My lord-"

"Don't move, Arcana. It is a small pleasure to see you sitting at my feet where you belong."

Arcana stayed put for Shelly's sake and bore the shame. The house-elf sidled up to her, keeping a nervous eye on the Dark Lord, and laid a hand on Arcana's forehead, only to frown and shake her head a few moments later.

"Nothing Shelly can do for this, Lady Arcana." The Dark Lord's expression contorted with fury, and Shelly ducked behind Arcana when she realized her slip. "Shelly can't fix this time," she whispered.

"I need rest, my lord. That is all," Arcana said tiredly, hoping to distract the Dark Lord from Shelly. "I would suggest that you sleep a few hours tonight as well, my lord, or you will feel little better than I come morning."

"Then rest, fae," the Dark Lord hissed. "How you ever survived eight hundred years here is beyond me."

Arcana held her silence and stared at the Dark Lord's boots.

"Put her to bed, Shelly," the Dark Lord ordered before standing and Disapparating with a loud crack.

"Lady Arcana mustn't push the Master like that. Lady scares Shelly when she does that." Shelly fussed with Arcana's rumpled robes and tried to sooth more of her pain. Arcana sighed, thinking that Shelly had picked the least frightening thing about her of which to be scared. Shelly had never seen her kill.

"Shelly, please get me a glass goblet and one of the bottles labeled Solace. It should be on the second shelf, near the middle." The potion was stronger than necessary, but the new batch of Sleepy Time was still simmering and would not be done until tomorrow midmorning.

"Oh, right away, Lady." Shelly trotted off down the corridor to Arcana's potions laboratory. Arcana slowly stood with a groan, holding a hand to her stomach - it still hurt from the Dark Lord's reckless spell. It was merely chance that he had managed to only induce nerves to cause the pain and had not actually been slicing her insides to bits. He was going to kill her sooner rather than later if he kept that up. Arcana put out all the candles with a wave and set the main lights to low with another. Perhaps she should try the magic weaving with her wand next time, she considered, cringing and the pain in her back and shoulders.

Shelly returned, potion bottle and goblet in hand, and shooed Arcana toward her bedroom. The house-elf was back to perky mode for the moment, and Arcana managed a halfhearted smile, unsure if it was genuine, or if it was just another mask.