A Pale Shade of Night

A Pale Shade of Night

Chapter 21: Brimstone and Blood

The days flew by, and the Winter Solstice loomed on time's horizon. The preparations for the summoning ritual had become so intense that Arcana all but floated in a haze of magic, even hours after she had ceased casting with the Dark Lord. Death Eaters gave her a wide berth when she passed them in the corridors, and with every wary glance they cast in her direction a small spark of spite flared above the steady hum of High magic. She smiled at them from the shadows beneath her hood, knowing they could only see the silver gleam in her eyes.

Constantly handling such potent magic was like a drug, and addiction to that exhausting, heady power was only tempered by thorough training from another life - so very long ago. Arcana still hated those red eyes and the cruelty that flashed within them when the Dark Lord looked down at her, but little fear tainted that black emotion, so she was pleased overall. He would not hurt her now, no matter how many times she spoke out of turn. It was a glorious release, and it made her remember with savage glee how things had been in the beginning.

Blood trickled into a stone basin from the cut on Arcana's wrist. It was about now that the dizziness would start, she coolly noted, and ever so slightly shifted the wards to hold against the Dark Lord's latest attack. He had studied them thoroughly, learning all of their weaknesses and when best to exploit them. Violet-red shimmered along the edge of the silvery blue wards as the magic reacted to the Dark Lord's strike. He was there, standing in front of Arcana, speaking to her, brushing her mind with spidery Legilimency, and doing his very best to distract her.

Towering sheets of silver-blue light rose up from the complex pattern Arcana had drawn upon the floor in salt. The light cut a straight path to the ceiling where the magic melded with the sealing spells cast on the room. The air within the wards was unearthly still, but every small shift and breath of magic cast odd, rippling colors across the polished stone floor like a wind of light and shadow. The silver-blue light reflected in the Dark Lord's gaze shifted toward violet once more before stabilizing.

Arcana's head lolled as the dizziness worsened, and the edge of her vision darkened. A cold hand gripped her shoulder like a vice, and her head was yanked back by her braided hair. Arcana's hand slipped away from the basin, and her blood splattered upon the floor, the coppery scent touching her nose. The wards did not even ripple.

"I could give you to Xhal Thos, my fae," the Dark Lord hissed in Arcana's ear. Numb to any fear, she ignored his words. "What a prize you would make." His magic wove around her, enticing her to surrender, offering an end to the horror of life. "Or perhaps you wish to seek revenge . . ."

Again, Arcana's heart was still, and the wards held steady against the Dark Lord's prodding. She felt more than saw the Dark Lord's magic push against the wards, pulling at the magic within her. She drew more power from the Dark Lord's lands to compensate. The ghost of a cruel smile came upon his lips as he caught one of Arcana's stray surface thoughts, and the tingling of her Dark Mark became distinctly unpleasant.

It seemed as if hours had passed, but Arcana had lost track time, monotonous entity that it was in this world. Sweat dripped down her temples as she struggled to maintain the wards despite the blood loss and the Dark Lord - that probing red-black magic, that keen mind, those cold hands, and that madness. The edges of the silver-blue light wavered, and Arcana's hands shook.

"Stop, Arcana." It was somewhere between and request and an order - a soft command.

No. She had to hold the wards, no matter what the Dark Lord said, no matter what he did, no matter the temptations he dangled before her eyes. It would be worse with the demon, so very worse - that much she knew.

Cold fingers lifted Arcana's chin, and red eyes pierced through the fog of High magic into which she had fallen. "Drop the wards, Arcana."

Arcana blinked, jolted from the deep trance. Her concentration faltered, and the wards fell. A rush of warm air sent the Dark Lord's cloak flying around them, momentarily shrouding Arcana in its embrace. The cut on Arcana's wrist was sealed with the brief press of his wand, and the Dark Lord knelt to lay her on the blood-splattered floor, watching her analytically. Arcana gasped for breath and shivered, not even thinking to retreat from the examination of her weakness. She had almost gotten used to it these past few days.

"I will obviously not allow the demon to take so much blood, my fae." The Dark Lord's fingers pressed against her wrist as he felt for her weak pulse. Arcana attempted to sneer, but gave up and closed her eyes. "Mind that temper."

The words held only amusement. He always enjoyed having her at his mercy. Arcana sighed softly and tried to dissipate the sensation that the floor was falling out from under her. Magic in the blood . . . how much blood had he let this time? The room felt empty without the power of her wards filling the space.

The Dark Lord pressed Arcana's palm to the side of the stone basin and muttered a spell. The preserved blood began to slowly flow back, and Arcana cringed, hating this part more than holding the wards.

"A pity that the Blood Replenishing Draft is not an option. This is rather time consuming, even though there's not that much blood to take." Arcana looked up at the Dark Lord. "I do hope you have a stock of that potion that won't poison you, my fae."

"Of course, my lord. I'm not daft." Arcana flexed the fingers of her free hand, trying to encourage better circulation in her cold fingers. A small amusement hovered at the edges of the Dark Lord's magic.

"That is debatable given the freedom of your tongue lately."

"I told you before, I work better when I forget my 'place.'" The Dark Lord's fingers tightened over Arcana's hand, yet she did not fear.

"This allowance on my part will cease after the summoning, hunter." Irritation overcame amusement in the red-black magic, and Arcana sighed, closing her eyes and deciding to remain silent. "In the end, your disrespect is a small price to pay for immortality." The amusement shimmered again for a moment.

Cold fingers brushed back the stray wisps of white hair stuck to Arcana's sweaty forehead.

She hoped the Dark Lord could not see how much that intimate gesture disturbed her. Perhaps that was why he did it. She let go of her concerns and slid into a trance, basking in the magic of the Dark Lord's land. There was no High magic, but the earthy power was enough to recover what she had spent casting the wards. Her breathing slowed and deepened. Within her being High magic shone brightly, twinkling against the red-black of the Dark Lord's magic like stars against the last crimson light of dusk. She let the power gently slip back to rest. The pressure of the Dark Lord's hand lifted, and the basin's enchantment faded, all of the blood it held having been returned to its owner. Arcana slowly sat up, ignoring the nagging dizziness, and rubbed her palm to alleviate the sting. She brought her gaze fully back to the physical, and the shifting patterns of light and shadow faded.

"Can you stand?" came the familiar question. The Dark Lord turned away to place the basin back on its shelf, already knowing her pride and her answer.

"Yes, my lord." Arcana carefully stood and tested her balance. The weakness of her limbs would not last long, and, besides, she knew she would not be walking far. She would miss this most reasonable Dark Lord after the summoning, assuming she was still alive and capable of anything more than being consumed by demon spawn. Arcana shivered and thrust that terrible memory deep into her mind. She could dwell on it no longer.

A long-fingered hand wrapped around Arcana's upper arm and her Dark Mark warmed. The Dark Lord led her through the door of his workroom, which normally opened to a corridor, and into his quarters. She had to admit that it was a nifty piece of magic.

Seated before the Dark Lord's hearth with a glass of wine in her hand was not Arcana's first choice of how to spend the evening, but it was much better than many of the alternatives. The Dark Lord sat opposite Arcana, drifting in thought and drinking one of his potions. This one did not smell particularly bad, but that was only relative to some of the other ones she had witnessed him imbibing. Nagini was once again wrapped around the Dark Lord, her head on his shoulder, content with the way his free hand was running over her scales.

The Dark Lord turned away from his musings and focused on Arcana. Her Dark Mark hummed under her skin, but did not burn.

"We are ready." It was a statement of fact, but Arcana nodded as was expected. The excitement in his chill smile bled into his magic and then across to Arcana's as well. The magical balance between them that she had felt months ago had grown into a strange harmony; obscene, yet, in some way, right.

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

Not long after Arcana woke she sensed the sun begin its early decent. Winter Solstice was upon her, and tonight the Iddimu would be called forth. She donned heavy robes and walked up to one of the fortress' towers, intent to see the sun, however pale and wan it was behind the thick clouds, one last time before Darkness rose.

Arcana burned that light into her memory along with the crisp nip of the wind against her cheeks and the earthy scent of the damp, green valley spread before her. Even the dead of winter could not fade this forest. Countless memories flickered across her mind's eye - old days from another life, rising to give her strength for the coming battle.

Though wreathed in the Dark Lord's red-black magic and bound to him by fire, Arcana stood straight, her focus honed diamond-bright. The shadowy guise of the soul hunter fell away and the High sorceress raised her head. She was ready to face it; not Darkness, for she was comfortable in that embrace, but true evil.

Demons were corruption, manipulation, and destruction. Their power was immense - greater even than that of the fae - but they lacked the fundamental ability to create. Everything they had was stolen, even their first breath of life. A successful mating between two demons left one, usually the weaker, dead, its life used to fuel the birth of a new monster. The life of another creature could be substituted, and in some cases was preferred, their souls being whole and untouched by the corruption of demon magic. Demons eventually consumed the life that they had stolen and had to replenish the void. Being summoned was a small price to pay given the likeliness of lives to steal.

Arcana cast her gaze to the sun one last time before returning to the shadows.

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

The hem of Arcana's black silk robes whispered against the floor as she reached for a belt and buckled it about her waist with steady hands. Nimble fingers fastened the silver clasp of a black silk cloak at her throat, and pulled the hood up to hide her face. Soft leather boots made no sound as Arcana walked to the Dark Lord's rooms, only the hush of silk breaking the late afternoon silence. Everything she wore was magically neutral; nothing for the demon to twist against her and nothing to disrupt the volatile magic that the Dark Lord would call forth.

The corridors were deserted, the Death Eaters being out on business, acting the picture of social perfection, or torturing unfortunate Muggles for entertainment. Arcana's connection with the Dark Lord began resonating long before she reached his door. His red-black power settled into equilibrium with her cold, passionless magic.

No fear, nor anger, nor joy, nor pity stirred her heart. Such was the way of High magic, and when the Dark Lord opened his door, he accepted her emotionless half bow with a nod. Their eyes met briefly when he stepped out, magic thrumming along their bond, and Arcana looked away without shame. Now was not the time his usual power games.

Arcana followed the Dark Lord, one step behind and at his right hand, as tradition dictated. He was the central caster of the ritual, her presence being the bright steel to reinforce the swirling Darkness of his magic. She had never thought a joint human-fae venture would produce such strong magic, and certainly the fae summoners would have never considered summoning with wizards. None of them had ventured into the mortal world, at least not consciously, to Arcana's knowledge.

Deep within the fortress the Dark Lord opened a heavy door bound in tainted iron. Slytherin's bold seal was carved into the age-blackened wood. The Dark Lord looked down at Arcana, and this time she did not turn away. Something clicked, and magic crackled about them, making the hair on the back of Arcana's neck stand on end and her fingers tingle. It was time.

"Together, we summon," they spoke in unison upon crossing the threshold, his sibilant words and her clear voice mixing in strange harmony. A small Darkness woke in Arcana underneath the silvery High magic and wove through the roiling red-black surrounding the Dark Lord, binding their power together. He shut the heavy door, and it latched firmly.

The Dark Lord slit his palm with a spell, and Arcana slit hers with the swipe of a claw. He pulled on her magic, weaving it deeper into his own. Arcana's Dark Mark stung, but the discomfort lasted only a moment before the power settled again, and she took a calming breath.

They pressed their bleeding hands to the door and sealed the room with an incantation. Again, the Dark Lord was the primary force, being the rightful lord of the fortress. The blood vanished into the wood, and Arcana watched the magic spread from the door to seep across walls and floor and high ceiling, sealing the entire space. Nothing would get in and nothing would get out until the room was unsealed, except through the Door that the Dark Lord would open.

Orange flames cast by the magical torches lining the room reflected off the polished floor, where a large circle of inlaid jade and sliver created a magically neutral space in the center of the room. When they were ready, that too would be sealed. The Dark Lord stepped into the circle, the green jade glimmering beneath his boots, and strode to the very center. Arcana retrieved a pouch of purified salt from where she had placed it the day before and set about laying the precise protection and binding circles with steady hands, all under the Dark Lord's watchful crimson gaze. His magic and his will rested on her shoulders like a second cloak.

A place for where the Door would be opened, a place for the Dark Lord to summon, a place for Arcana to stand whilst holding the wards and giving blood, and a place to lay the demon's knowledge, if it came in physical form. Additional patterning and arcane runes of power were laid next, essential to weaving Arcana's magic into a stable form that would hold against the demon, and with which the Dark Lord could interact. He was there in the back of her mind, his focus absolute, his magic hovering near hers, overlapping hers, ready to tighten the loose magical weaving into a masterful tapestry.

After the last line had been laid, Arcana carefully walked back through the fragile pattern, lifting her robes to prevent them from smudging the lines. If one were broken, she would have to start from the beginning. The potential for power thrummed through the salt, resonating with the land, with the Dark Lord, and with her. It pulled at her, trying to draw High magic through the pattern.

Arcana took the silver pitcher of spring water and went back through the salt pattern, adding her own innovation - a last ditch protection, should everything else fail. She dipped her fingers into the water, careful not to spill a single drop, and traced words of power along the edges of the protection circles and the connecting lines. Each phrase glowed for an instant before the water vanished, leaving invisible protection of which the demon would be unaware. It would not hold long, but it would give hope when everything else had failed, if it failed.

Arcana set the silver pitcher outside the jade and silver circle and solemnly walked to her place. With a single deep breath she was grounded, her magic twined with that of the Dark Lord's land, and his magic hovering close by, as if just out of the corner of her eye, surrounding her. Arcana both saw and felt when the Dark Lord drew his wand. With slow, deliberate steps he took his place. That absolute focus was etched on his face, and she was unafraid when he turned to her and began the first incantation.

With words and gestures of power the ritual space was grounded and the outer circle was sealed to protect against external magic that could disrupt the summoning and to prevent any stray energy inside the circle from escaping to wreak havoc. The wards hung in the air only as potential, their strength so still that only Arcana could feel them pulling at her.

"Tonight, this Darkest night of Winter Solstice, we summon," the Dark Lord announced.

"Tonight, on this Darkest of nights, we call to the depths," Arcana replied.

"Tonight, the Darkest time of the year, we will be heard."

"Tonight, at the death of the sun, we will be answered."

The torches lining the walls flickered and died, and a chill wind without source tossed Arcana's robes about her legs, but the salt lines remained intact.

"Let the wards be raised," the Dark Lord hissed, "that they will hold back the one whom we summon."

Arcana closed her eyes and reached deep within herself. The Dark Lord was there at the edges, his magic intertwined with hers. The power of his land flowed through her core, buoying the High magic that shimmered within. Arcana opened her eyes and saw magic, Dark as the Darkest of nights, hints of deep red from the Dark Lord, and silvery fire all about her. She spread her arms, palms upward, and cast, the ancient fae words molding the cold fire inside. When it was shaped, she pointed to the salt circle surrounding her and slowly traced it with the magic.

Stretching out from where Arcana stood, silver-blue light leapt upwards from the salt pattern, pulsing with her power until equilibrium was reached. She pulled her vision partly back to the physical, rendering the wards translucent to her eyes so she could see the Dark Lord.

"The wards will hold, even on this Darkest of nights." Arcana's soft voice carried across the circle, and the Dark Lord inclined his head. Her skin prickled as he touched the wards, the weaving of magic invoking the feeling of his cold fingers trailing across the back of her neck.

The Dark Lord began the summoning with incantations and wandwork that were beyond elegant, and Arcana let the wards shift and breathe to accommodate the power weaving through them. The silver-blue light cast a ghastly pallor on the Dark Lord's features, like that of a corpse left too long in the water, except there was nothing bloated or lifeless about the Dark Lord's fierce visage. The wards flashed a bloody crimson where the demon would appear as the Dark Lord prepared to open the Door. Arcana sank deeper into the High magic she had called forth; focus wholly on maintaining her wards.

Three severed fingers, each from an innocent murdered at sunset, stained with a drop of blood from each of the Dark Lord's spidery hands - the necessary sacrifices - burst into flame as the final spell was cast.

From a pinpoint within the heavily warded circle at the center of the salt formation a roiling vortex formed, as if corroding the very air around it. Orange flame streaked across dark red, and poisonous smoke billowed outward, held back only by Arcana's wards. Violet shimmered along the silver-blue sheet of light, and Arcana countered the corrosive effect, feeling the wards pull on the magic within her to compensate. The violet faded and the wards remained steady.

"I summon Xhal Thos Ia Maakalli," the Dark Lord invoked.

Everything lurched, as if the world had turned on its head, and then Arcana felt it, the indescribable sensation of wrongness. She was suddenly consumed with holding the wards as a terrible force pushed against them, trying to rend the magic to shreds. When Arcana could see again, it was there, standing within the churning magic of the Door and the calm power of her wards. As the Door faded, physical forms seemed to overlap before her eyes - an old woman, a Victorian gentleman, a many-headed serpent beast, and other fainter images - but one form came to the fore.

Thick, stony grey skin covered a huge frame. Its muscular legs ended in cloven hooves that could crack the earth, and the clawed fingers on its large hands flexed repeatedly, as if it wished to strangle the one who had dared called it. The demon looked Arcana's way, and the breath caught in her throat. A face that knew only cruelty, only destruction, only evil - mere anger and hatred could not describe the foreign emotions Arcana saw - momentarily differentiated into several images. Arcana pulled back, looked at it differently, and the grey-skinned monster resolved itself once more. Ancient, horrible eyes that defied the definition of color glanced over her and then turned away. The wards were all she knew for a moment as the demon tested their strength once more.

"Who are you, wizard, to dare call me?" Xhal Thos demanded. Its voice was deep and gravelly, and the very air seemed to shiver with each word it spoke.

"On the Darkest night of Winter Solstice I called you, Xhal Thos Ia Maakalli, to bargain."

"What of yours is worth my time, wizard? I see nothing here that I desire, save your slow death, and the death of the one who holds the wards for you . . ." The demon's presence drifted across the wards and they flashed crimson, but held. "Oh my . . . some careless fae have been leaving their books lying about."

It did not recognize her, Arcana realized, before losing track of the conversation as the wards took her full concentration to hold. Xhal Thos was powerful, as powerful as she had dreaded, and it was only testing the wards, not trying to break them yet. Arcana drowned her distracting emotions in High magic and shifted her power, reacting to the demon's every action.

"Your claim is weak, wizard. You are weak." Xhal Thos's voice broke through the fog in Arcana's mind as it turned its attention away from her wards.

"See what I offer in return before you deny my request," the Dark Lord replied evenly. He turned to Arcana, and her Dark Mark hummed under her skin, the familiar power reassuring her. At his command Arcana unfastened the clasp of her cloak and let it slip off her shoulders.

Shock stabbed through her as the demon was suddenly nearer, not physically as it was bound in the circle that she held, but near her mind, whispering in her ear. Overwhelming corruption drifted across her thoughts, but High magic kept it at bay. Smoky magic pulsed about the wards as it fought to get closer.

"Fae." That one whispered word brought an instant of terror the likes of which Arcana had never known. The wards rippled under the demon's gaze, but strengthened quickly as she banished all emotion. "You certainly hide well, little fae."

"I offer you the blood of a fae in return for the knowledge I know you to possess," the Dark Lord hissed, bringing the demon's attention back to him.

Arcana lost the thread of the conversation again as Xhal Thos prodded at the barriers, looking for weakness and radiating excitement and confidence.

"And what of my other payment, wizard? The deaths of innocents opened the Door, but I will not leave without being compensated for answering your summons."

"I offer my own blood as payment."

The demon laughed. "Why would I taint my tongue with that swill the same night I feast upon the fae? I refuse." The demon's power flashed, and Arcana pulled on the magic of the Dark Lord's lands to compensate. It flowed through her, augmenting the silver fire inside and rubbing against the old scars.

"What then do you propose as payment?" the Dark Lord asked smoothly. Arcana could feel his simmering anger as dark crimson glowed at the edges of his magic, but it was controlled.

"Your soul, wizard. A piece of your soul."

"This arrangement is non-binding. I refuse."

Arcana could not see the demon, but she knew it smiled - a terrible, cruel smile.

"You know something then, wizard." It was silent for a moment, pondering its next move. "Your name. I will accept your name, your true name as payment."

Arcana felt the faintest apprehension, the tiniest hesitation. The Dark Lord was no fool, and he knew the power demons held over names. There was good reason that fae had gone unnamed for ages.

"I accept," the Dark Lord breathed. "My birth name is Tom Marvolo Riddle." Magic drifted through the binding circles as the name was given, and the demon smiled again. Arcana had known the name for many years, though it was odd to hear it spoken, especially by the Dark Lord himself. The name did not fit him any longer, but it was his.

Negotiation began anew, and the wards consumed Arcana's full attention. Xhal Thos's thoughts were skirting the edge of her mind again - formless, menacing whispers, and soft mocking laughter. She trusted the Dark Lord to set the arrangements as they had discussed. Any deviations, any tricks he might have played in another situation would cost him his life today, as the demon would surely kill him given the chance. The Dark Lord gently drew her attention to him, and she focused on his words.

"You may have the amount of blood we agreed upon, no more, and only blood, not her body, nor her mind, nor her life, nor her magic, nor her soul. Only her blood," the Dark Lord set out in detail, limiting the possible ways his words could be interpreted. Demons were well known for their skill at twisting meanings back upon summoners.

"We are agreed, Tom Marvolo Riddle." The demon delighted in speaking the Dark Lord's name, clearly realizing by now how much the Dark Lord loathed it. "And you, little fae," Xhal Thos said, turning to Arcana. "Your willingness is surprising indeed. Perhaps you've gone mad."

"The bargain is set. Remold the wards so Xhal Thos Ia Maakalli may come to you."

Arcana reached into the wards and pulled, remolding the binding circles until a passage existed between Xhal Thos and herself. Its hooves beat heavily on the stone floor. With every step closer, the demon's presence exerted a force on the wards, like a bubble of air trying to push its way out of water. Arcana did not meet its gaze, though she did not have to. She felt its anticipation and its disquieting glee deeper and deeper within her mind. Xhal Thos stepped into Arcana's circle and stood before her, towering above her. Its colorless eyes bore into her, piercing through her surface thoughts with ease.

Arcana extended her arm up to Xhal Thos, palm upward, baring her inner wrist and the arteries that pulsed there. The demon smiled mockingly. She conjoured a goblet, and Xhal Thos reached out and took it from where it floated between them, holding it between rough skinned thumb and index finger.

"So arrogant! Fae indeed." Crystal clinked as Xhal Thos tapped the goblet with its thick claws. It twirled the goblet and watched the light of the wards catch the facets. "The wizard must have driven you mad for you offer your own blood to me. Most curious."

The demon grasped Arcana's hand and bent down to lick the inside of her wrist with a sandpapery tongue. She could smell the brimstone on its breath, but High magic numbed her fears.

"Oh yes, fae indeed," he whispered against her skin, "of some wild stock I am not familiar with. Perhaps a stray, a crossbreed?" Colorless eyes tried to read deeper into Arcana, but she was cold and its foul tendrils of thought found no purchase. Its lips grazed her wrist. "There is no distinct faerie or elf in there though - fae through and through. You would serve my needs well, Nameless One." The near growl reverberated in Arcana's chest, but no flutter of fear followed. She remained rooted to the earth and emotionless in the midst of the High magic.

"Call me a glutton, little fae. I like to drink from the bottle, so to speak." The demon banished the conjoured goblet with a glance and grinned to show off the razor sharp teeth set in its wide mouth. It fingered her wrist carefully, as if wanting to show that it could crush her bones in its fist without effort. She concentrated on the wards, trying not to dwell on what the demon would do.

"Oh I would tear you to shreds . . . so delicate you are. Such a careless wizard, that Riddle. So very . . . careless," the demon whispered.

It drew Arcana closer, and her breath hitched. This had not been part of the plan. They had not specified the exact way that the demon would receive her blood, an error that was strikingly plain to her now, but there was no going back. Sickening corruption surrounded her and foul magic flowed around her, but it was unable to penetrate the High magic that protected the core of her being. All emotion was banished, and Arcana held her ground. It was bound to its word and was just trying to startle her, frighten her into making a mistake.

Xhal Thos - grey-skinned demon, human gentleman, many-headed serpent beast - bent down to examine her neck. "Now this is a bit more substantial." Rank breath seared Arcana's sensitive nose. "Oh . . . and it looks like I am not the first." Rough fingers ran down her neck where Xerusk had bitten her, and then Xhal Thos, full of mock gentleness, turned her head. "Ah, virgin flesh on the other side," he said, most satisfied. "So soft, little fae."

The demon lowered his head to the place where Arcana's neck and shoulder joined. She felt the Dark Lord tense at the edge of her mind - half-rotted black velvet over well-forged steel edged with crimson - but kept her eyes from wandering in his direction, rooting herself deep in the land. She could not afford a single distraction now.

Pain flashed as two rows of dagger-sharp teeth sliced into Arcana's flesh. Rough lips suckled at the wound and that sandpapery tongue licked her skin. Something of the demon's foulness seeped into her as she stood there unmoving. The pale whispers of her body's terrified reactions were drowned under the wash of High magic, and the wards hardly flickered.

Xhal Thos drank slowly. The longer it was near, the more chances it had to shake Arcana from the embrace of High magic, to make her lose hold of the wards. It was there, in her mind, whispering horrible things, laughing at her foolishness, and so very pleased with the surety of taking her back with it.

Oh fae, tasty little fae, the demon whispered in Arcana's mind. Why, I haven't seen one of your kind for several ages, hiding away behind the great walls you built to keep us out. You must be desperate, little fae, to summon me.

Large hands gripped Arcana's arms and, in the swirl of magic and blood, she thought she felt her feet leave the floor. She divorced her mind from the physical sensations and kept her will focused on shifting the wards to counter the demon's magical prodding.

Bound to that one, that wizard, that Riddle, Xhal Thos's voice touched Arcana's thoughts again. I would kill him for you - grant you your most wanted revenge. I would let you watch, would let you hurt him, if you drop the wards. Yes, you so desire to see his blood spilled upon these stones. I would do that for you, little fae. My gift.

Arcana pulled more magic from the Dark Lord's lands when Xhal Thos tried to crack the seams of her wards. The old scars burned as she forced more magic to pass through her being.

You are so tired, little fae. Tired of the struggle, tired of your bondage, tired of this exile. So tired of holding these foolish wards. The strain is so much, little one - yes I can see it. Just let it go. Just fall into Darkness. Fall into my arms and I will bring you an ending. Your lord dead, and peace for you, forever.

The temptation hung in the air, and Arcana saw the Dark Lord's mangled body before her, his blood on her hands, and felt the fierce satisfaction she had dreamed of for two decades. An end to exile and pain and loneliness reached out to her, and the wards shivered with her fear as Xhal Thos tried to break them again. Arcana tensed, feeling the demon's sharp teeth pull at her neck, and then she burned away the temptations with High magic.

You dare to refuse me, little fae? the voice whispered accusingly. Dare to reject my offer? He, that Riddle, will accept then, that which I offer to him - oh yes I have made a very generous offer to him. Arcana fought to ignore the wriggling terror that was building within her.

He will give you to me in exchange for that which he most desires. In return I will bestow upon him so much more than that paltry book he asks from me. You are nothing to him, Xhal Thos mocked. Nothing he would not throw away on a whim, especially in exchange for what I offer. I know his mind, little fae, his weakness and his desire for power . . . at any cost. This world would be open to me after that, little fae, and so would yours.

Xhal Thos struck at the wards again, and Arcana shuddered in its grasp, drawing upon even more magic. Fire scorched her old scars as she forced them to metaphorically stretch. She felt her body clearly for a moment; Xhal Thos's bruising grip on her arms, and its teeth tearing into her flesh, causing her blood to flow more freely. She gasped in pain and realized that she was trembling. Xhal Thos laughed heartily in her mind.

Not long now, little fae. You are so entertaining, so delicious, and soon you will be mine. A small part of Arcana raged against Xhal Thos's words, but it was drowned in High magic. Rage would shatter the wards just as easily as fear.

Ah, so alone you are in this alien, barren world. You don't belong here, little fae. Hunted, weak . . . dying. Oh yes, little one, I see that. I see all of you. You could not fight it if I chose to take you. Give in to me, before he does, and it will be so much better. I can be kind if you are good to me.

A soft sob broke through, and a tremor echoed along the wards.

Die softly, little fae.

Xhal Thos bit down hard, and Arcana cried out, struggling against its unbreakable grip. The wards shivered, and the demon finally raised its head and grinned, licking the blood that was dribbling down its chin. She saw more than before when it looked at her. Countless terrifying forms, all with strange eyes that defied color, fueled by boundless malice. It gently lowered her to the floor and released her throbbing arms.

"No need to damage you any more, little fae," Xhal Thos said gleefully. "There will be plenty of time for that later . . . for that and more."

Arcana's knees gave out and she sank down to the floor, trying to ignore her physical weakness. Magic seared her scars as she shifted the wards back, closing Xhal Thos within his binding circle, and sealing hers off from his continuous attempts to shatter it. Arcana heard the Dark Lord speak, but she did not understand his words. The sound faded completely until her Dark Mark tingled, signaling her to shift the wards again so that he could accept the book. She saw it hovering before the demon, a block of Darkness, oozing smoky magic.

The wards were nearly opaque to her eyes, she had slipped so far into the magic. The Dark Lord was to her right, a comforting, familiar Darkness edged with crimson. She could not look at the demon any longer. It made her eyes ache. Arcana pulled the wards back to their original configuration when the book lay still in its circle and braced herself against the floor, locking her elbows to still the trembling.

The Dark Lord began to speak the invocation to send Xhal Thos back. A spark of hope lit in Arcana's heart.

The last flickering of hope is always delicious. Don't think I will let you escape me, little fae.

A hurricane rose to beat against the wards, and Arcana pulled ever more magic through herself to hold the demon. Her scream startled her as silvery fire scorched her scars, and she slipped, overwhelmed and unable to channel any more power. The Dark Lord continued casting the final spell, his magic a ferocious storm of its own. The wards shivered and faltered, and Arcana's body arched in agony as the failsafe magic ignited.

And this trickery? How dare you . . .

An incoherent rage consumed Arcana - the demon's rage - and the stench of brimstone burned her nose.

No! Not yet! You are mine!

It clawed at the magic, grasping for purchase, but the Dark Lord spoke the final word and Xhal Thos was sucked back through the Door, its deafening screams of fury echoing in Arcana's head.

The Door slammed shut and the wards shattered. The magical force crashed into Arcana and she went sprawling on the floor. Everything hurt on the inside where the magic had burned, and the wound on her neck ached down to the bone. She woke what little magical strength she had left and sought the words within her scattered mind.

"Let the sun be reborn and cast away the Darkness. Let new Light come and banish the shadows," Arcana desperately muttered the old saying fervently three times, keeping her eyes clenched shut, trying to drive out the remnants of the putrid, smoky magic from her being. Nothing happened. It was early yet.

The Dark Lord was glaring down at her, pacing in his salt circle. His robes smudged the salt, and Arcana gasped, doubling over as the last magic held in those lines flooded back through her. Everything felt blurred, unreal, wrong somehow. She slowly sat up, forcing her hands to unclench and smooth her wrinkled robes. Near the collar the silk was sticky with her blood. She was trembling all over. She could still feel it, the demon, all around her, inside her.

I will come back for you, little fae.

Arcana wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly cold, and watched as the Dark Lord approached the book that the demon had left behind. The magic about it was a poison, so corrupted and foul that it even gave the Dark Lord pause.

Madness. It had been so close, too close. One more moment and the demon would have won. It would have taken her. The Dark Lord could have done nothing, and she would have died, been destroyed utterly. The old memories of dead fae resurfaced and her stomach churned.

You cannot hide from me, little fae. I know you.

Then the Dark Lord was glaring down at her again, the demon's book levitating nearby. Arcana's neck throbbed, as if the wound was full of venom.

"Arcana." She watched the Dark Lord's lips move, but refused to acknowledge the voice that could be another demon illusion. She turned toward the east. "Arcana." It was louder this time. Fingers tightened around her pinned-up braids and pulled. Crimson eyes burned through the Dark haze of demon magic. "Unseal the circle."

Automatically, Arcana obeyed, weaving her magic with the Dark Lord's to undo the sealing spell. A wave of power crashed through both of them, and the fingers in her hair clenched before releasing. A breeze rustled their robes, and the torches flared to life, their warm light doing nothing to banish the deep chill.

The Dark Lord walked away, leaving Arcana sitting on the floor alone, rocking back and forth, with the demon's words ghosting through her mind. There was an open stone chest against the wall, strengthened with old magic, and the book was drifting toward it. Arcana heard the Dark Lord chant and saw the weaving of wards that settled and snapped tightly, like a lock. Once the book was sealed away in solid stone the Dark Lord relaxed. The tension left his magic, and it hung about him, limp, exhausted. There was triumph woven through the exhaustion, amidst an anger that confused her, and the misty shreds of fear.

Be afraid, little fae. Just wait for me.

The floor dropped out from under Arcana and she fell into a vortex of shadows - spinning, swirling, endless blackness. Rough fingertips grazed her shoulder. Arcana's Dark Mark seared, and illusion shattered. The room righted itself, and she was shivering on the cold floor. A soft laugh echoed in her mind, and then she felt a change in the east.

Arcana closed her eyes and half-sung, "Let the sun be reborn and cast away the Darkness. Let new Light come and banish the shadows," thrice once again.

A glimmer of true light, of sunlight, rose from the east wall where it met the floor, as if the sun was rising over the horizon. The Dark Lord stood motionless, silhouetted in the unreal morning light. Cold, clean winter wind licked at the hem of his robes. Arcana shivered, and then cringed in pain as every place the demon had touched her seared. The scattered salt hissed and smoldered in the sunlight before the wind blew the remaining smoke away, and with it all of the corrupt demon magic. The force behind life, the light of creation, would always banish demons and their evil. Arcana craned her neck so that the light fell fully on the wound and gritted her teeth. Brimstone and burnt blood stank upon the wind.

There was a whisper of silk behind her, and then a hand in her hair. A splash of ice-cold water shocked Arcana, and she tried to pull away. Blackness edged her vision as the blood loss let itself be known, and consciousness quivered as the room seemed to tilt around her.

"Be still," the Dark Lord hissed in her ear, kneeling at her side. His fingers bit into the wound, forcing the blood to flow again, and Arcana shuddered.

That will not banish me from your mind, little fae.

More cold water was poured over the bite, and it sizzled.

Foolish fae. Your arrogance will be your end. And what an end it will be. I will enjoy it immensely.

Arcana desperately grabbed the Dark Lord's arm for purchase. Her claws broke his skin and wet warmth ran along her fingers. Laughter echoed through her mind, not the Dark Lord's cold, hissing laughter, but something ever more cruel and stinking of sulfur. The coppery scent of blood cut through the stench, and the laughter quieted.

Arcana coughed and sputtered as cold water was dumped over her head. The Dark Lord pried her hands off his arm. Lost again, she tried to curl inward, but was pulled upright by unforgiving arms.

Foolish . . .

The demon whispers were softer.

"Drink." The rim of the silver pitcher was pressed to Arcana's lips. Obeying without thought, she drank as if parched, some of the water spilling onto her already soaked robes. She was dirty, tainted, ill from her contact with the demon. When she was unable to drink more, Arcana turned her head aside. Cold spread outward from her center, and she shivered, giving up her struggle to keep her eyes focused. The magic swirled around her, and she clung to the warm ochre of dawn and the anchor of red-black at her side that cut through the smoke of sickening demon magic.

Cruel fingers worried at the wound on her neck under a steady stream of freezing water until the Dark Lord deemed it clean enough. Arcana sank into the magic of the Dark Lord's lands, wrapping herself in that earthiness, tying herself to the very rock, rooting herself to the mortal world, terrified that the demon would take her the moment she let her guard drop.

I will come for you . . . little fae . . .

There was rage, amusement, and one last echo of laughter before the voice faded at last.

Arcana let out a shuddering sigh and collapsed. It was over for now. The floor was hard against her cheek and the world was spinning. Deep shadows tinged with red overlay her vision. The Dark Lord pulled her upright, his magic the strength, not his bony arms. Arcana stumbled as he half-dragged her to the door. Magic wrapped around her in a fog so thick it was like walking through waist deep water.

Arcana cut her palm, noticing that the blood flowed far too slowly, and laid her hand against the door, next to the Dark Lord's. She stumbled over the incantation the first time, but the seal fell from the room the second.

The Dark Lord did not bother to open the door before adjusting his grip on Arcana and Disapparating.