A Pale Shade of Night

A Pale Shade of Night

Chapter 23: Sunrise and Surprises

The clean scent of snow permeated the outer areas of the fortress in the hour before dawn, the chill wind whistling through the old ventilation system and muffling the quiet rustling of Arcana's heavy robes. The cadence of the wind shifted, whispering darkly, and Arcana felt the weight of Xhal Thos' gaze on her back.

Forever in the Dark, little fae. Just a step away . . . so very close.

A ghost of a hand settled on Arcana's shoulder, and she flinched. The demon's laughter faded into the wind, and she steeled her traitorous mind against the illusion. It had to be an illusion. Xhal Thos was banished, it had to be, but a part of Arcana would not be convinced.

"Let the sun be reborn and cast away the Darkness. Let new Light come and banish the shadows," she whispered to herself, knowing that it was early yet for dawn.

The old banishment calmed Arcana's nerves and she laid her hand on the wall of the corridor to steady herself. Reality shifted and the black stone became smooth scales that she could feel, even through her gloves - a great serpent coiled around her, deep down, throughout the fortress. Arcana pulled away, startled, hoping she had not woken whatever creature or magic she had inadvertently found.

Somehow she knew when the main door of the fortress opened. The coppery odor of fresh blood drifted up from the entry hall, quickly followed by heavy footsteps and hushed voices. Arcana pulled her hood lower over her eyes and continued walking, not wanting the Death Eaters to see any weakness. Their paths crossed at a junction in the corridors, the Death Eaters coming up the stairs, casting monstrous shadows on the walls. Arcana's hand drifted near her wand, just in case.

"Ah, look who's about," McNair called out, his deep voice echoing down the corridor. "I'd recognize that shade anywhere. She's not so scary after stripping off most of the layers," he taunted. "Hardly anything left once the robes are off."

"Let the hunter be, McNair," Malfoy said. "You know his orders."

"No dueling, no touching, no speaking to her unless it is by his command. Nothing about simply discussing the potential--"

"Not all of us share your obscene tastes," Malfoy cut in, the classic sneer in place. McNair's laugh boomed through the deserted corridors.

"All the better for me then." McNair leered down at Arcana as she walked past.

The only thing that kept her from cursing him on the spot was the Dark Lord's orders. She was not supposed to interact with his Death Eaters - which included such things as ripping their innards to shreds and boiling their blood in their veins - unless it was by his explicit command. The Dark Lord had not appreciated a couple of his servants turning traitor after conversing with Arcana soon after he had burned his brand into her arm. She had found it all rather amusing until the Dark Lord had punished her.

Despite the orders, a couple of the more civil Death Eaters initiated short and usually petty conversations from time to time, like when Malfoy had felt the need to be rude to her in the forest. Neither party reported these to the Dark Lord of course.

"You'll wake up with boils tomorrow at the least for that. Maybe the rest of us too," Avery snarled, misjudging Arcana's hearing range as usual. "The fae always repay--"

"Oh quit with the superstitions before I curse you with boils. The Dark Lord has her leashed . . ."

The conversation faded as Arcana turned a corner and started climbing a narrow set of stairs. Imagining the Death Eaters' mangled corpses at her feet dulled her rage to a manageable level.

I would have let you kill them too, if you had asked nicely, little fae.

"Begone, demon," Arcana grumbled. She felt its presence for a moment but refused to let it shake her, and then she was alone. Thankfully Xhal Thos' influence on her waking mind was much weaker than in her dreams. Collapsing in front of the Death Eaters while demon visions swam behind her eyes would make matters even worse than they were already.

It was odd, the way they marched about as if nothing had happened. They had almost lost their lord. She had almost died. If the Dark Lord had taken a moment longer to banish the demon, the fortress would now be a blackened crater in the earth. Arcana walked on, though it felt more like floating, somehow unreal. She couldn't remember whether she had really expected to see dawn again, but it was here, now, and she would go on. She had always simply kept going on.

White flakes of snow drifted into the stairway on a gust of wind. Antique oil lamps lit as Arcana climbed further up, tinting the snow that had dusted the steps overnight a warm orange-red. The snow crunched softly under her boots, and she felt the essence of winter keenly for a moment before letting it fade into the background. The seasons and the surrounding magic affected her more than she was willing to admit openly, but the Dark Lord knew. His brand was silent under her skin. Perhaps he was still sleeping.

There was blackness at the top of the stairs, but Arcana did not mind. It was only dark on the physical level. Magic shone brightly, and she shifted her vision a bit to let it glimmer through the night. Thick black clouds, heavy with snow, hung low in the sky, blotting out the stars. The chill wind flung snow through the air to sting Arcana's cheeks, and she smiled grimly. She was still alive.

Arcana leaned against the parapet and laid her forearms across the top, letting her hands dangle over the edge. Snowflakes settled and melted on her leather gloves, and she waited. The fortress was dark behind, above, and below her, like a dead thing. No torches shone through the windows and nothing moved, but Arcana saw through the illusion, and now she knew something was coiled deep inside - an intrinsic part of the fortress, and very much alive.

The clouds at the east end of the valley lightened to the deepest shade of grey, and Arcana sensed the approaching dawn with more than her eyes. She drew back her hood, unclasped her cloak, and unbuttoned her collar, drawing it away from the wound on her neck. It tingled unpleasantly.

The sky lightened further, revealing that the forest had become a curious white and green patchwork, stretching across the valley. Under Arcana's gaze another tree woke and shivered, shaking the snow from its green leaves. It reminded her of the fae realms where seasons often came and went as they pleased without regard to a forest or those who were traveling through it.

When the sun rose over the horizon the demon bite seared, and Arcana leaned against the barrier to keep her knees from giving out. Something furious hissed in her ear, and it was not the wind. Once the pain faded to a dull throb she buttoned her collar up with shaking hands and blinked away her stinging tears. She would come back tomorrow and the next day to bare the wound to the dawn until it was silent. The sheen of sweat on her face burned cold as the wind blew, tossing the fallen snow around her ankles. Another tree shook the winter off of its branches.

The Dark Mark tingled under Arcana's skin, and she rubbed at it to dispel the sensation. He must have awoken. It burned softly once and then quieted as the snow in front of the castle caught the first rays of morning light, making the swath of whiteness sparkle. She idly began scraping snow off the top of the wall and compacting it between her hands, watching the valley wake to the new day. A few minutes later a sharp crack bounced off the rock of the cliff face, shortly followed by muffled cursing that Arcana could not quite discern. Snape must not have been expecting snow.

Arcana grinned wickedly and whispered to the snowball in her hands, ignoring the ache along her magical scars. It lifted and whizzed down from the balcony, out of sight. Arcana heard the dull thump of the snowball hitting Snape's back, and she clearly understood this round of swearing.

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

When the winter chill began penetrating Arcana's thick robes she left the snow flurries to return to her rooms, changing her route once when she sensed the same group of Death Eaters approaching. She did not need to suffer through any more of McNair's sordid comments, and her mood had shifted such that it would be difficult to restrain the violent tendencies that he would invoke.

A snowball was one thing, and Snape probably would not connect it to her let alone tell the Dark Lord - Arcana nearly snorted thinking of that report - but the Dark Lord would take notice if one of his servants showed up with missing limbs or extensive curse damage. Unfortunately it would be the sort of notice that would lead to her screaming in pain and thrashing on the floor at his feet. Yet even that threat seemed to pale in comparison to the fate she had narrowly avoided. Arcana shuddered, and a foreign presence inside of her mind smiled.

Arcana thought through the incantation and wand movements for the Insides Out Curse, imagining the bloody mess that would result, and that foreign something smiled again. No more demons, she swore again, and pushed the alien feeling away. The day kept Xhal Thos' influence from biting back.

The warmth of Arcana's rooms assaulted her senses after being out in the chill air for so long, and her wind-bitten cheeks flushed from the heat. The fire in the living room hearth was still burning merrily, heightening the scent of the fresh pine cuttings that had been arranged on the mantel while she had been out. Shelly appeared with a crack before Arcana could sit down to remove her boots, carrying a tray with a pot of sweet, spiced tea and a plate of biscuits, apparently in full Christmas-mode.

For many years Christmas had been quite dull with both Muggles and wizards obsessed with piety and such, but Arcana had usually able to ferret out some enjoyable celebration in a Muggle lord's hall, or later in a city. Times had changed disconcertingly fast as they always did in the mortal world, but at least the state of Muggle towns and cities had improved since medieval times, and wizards were no longer so watchful for stray fae.

Shelly took Arcana's cloak, charming away the melted snow whilst levitating it toward Arcana's wardrobe, and Arcana stripped off her gloves and boots, setting them in front of the fire to dry. There was no reason to bother with a drying charm when the fire would do the work and her magic could rest.

The tea was quite good, the taste bringing back a swirl of diverse memories from the last eight hundred years. It had been a long exile indeed. Arcana sighed, and then pushed away the morose musings before they darkened her mood, nibbling on one of the biscuits that Shelly had brought along with the tea. The house-elf really was too kind.

Teacup in hand, Arcana went to her bedroom and opened the drawer of her bedside table. She rummaged through it and retrieved the crystal ball from the Dark Lord's storeroom and a small box containing the ring he had given her just months ago. Nagini slithered out from under her blanket on the bed and raised her head to look Arcana in the eye.

"You have bessst be resssting as the Massster commanded," Nagini hissed suspiciously. "You sssmell like sssnow." The snake's tongue flicked out, nearly touching Arcana's nose.

"He said I could walk about the fortress and grounds if I wished." Arcana took a sip of tea and stared back at the snake without blinking. Snakes generally listened better if you didn't blink, often misconstruing the normal activity of eyelids as a short attention span or exhaustion.

Nagini swung her head to the bedside table and the potion vials Arcana had left there.

"The Massster sssaid to drink the potion. You will drink it."

"Yes, before I sleep, Nagini. I read his note and have no desire to disobey that order however foul the potion tastes."

"I will make sssure you do," Nagini hissed threateningly, rising up to loom over Arcana. The snake slithered back under the blanket, casting Arcana a withering glare before vanishing completely. There were worse creatures she could be sharing her bed with, Arcana supposed, but there were better as well. Her lips twitched toward a smile as she thought of Xerusk. The memory of rough fingertips running over the vampire's old bites came unbidden, making Arcana's stomach twist itself into knots. The demon's bite started throbbing again.

Shelly caught up with Arcana on the way back to the living room and started fussing about her damp robes. Only the very outer layer was damp at all since they were spelled to repel water, but Arcana knew that refusing Shelly's offer to dry them would only upset the house-elf. Only after Shelly could find nothing else to fix, or any other way to make Arcana comfortable, and after bringing a second pot of tea and sandwiches, did the house-elf finally leave the fae in peace.

A second cup of tea and several more biscuits calmed Arcana's nerves and silenced the flickering presence in the back of her mind. She ran her fingers over the small box and then opened it and removed the ring, holding it up to the firelight and shifting her vision to see the magic glimmering within the deep red stone. Once her magical scars had healed over she would resume her careful experimentation with the ring. She wanted to be ready when the time came. Arcana's thoughts drifted back to the Dark Lord's blood, now stored in three crystal vials, which were enchanted with enough preserving charms to keep the blood viable for an age. Two of the vials would be hidden off the grounds as soon as she had permission to leave.

Arcana took several deep breaths to ground herself and then slipped the ring onto the middle finger of her right hand. It was like standing within a powerful electrical field - everything tingled and one wrong move would be deadly. She kept her magic as still as possible and examined how the ring affected her magical scars. They pulled uncomfortably, as if the ring was exerting a pressure, trying to clear the pathways through which it would draw and focus magic.

Arcana pulled the ring off and took a shuddering breath. It would still be useable if the scars were aggravated, but the process would be much more dangerous. The ring was designed to channel magic from within and without a fae and to concentrate it into a very powerful spell. It could drain Arcana's magical reserves dry if she lost control, and in the mortal world there would be no High magic to refill them.

The stone was still red, Arcana noted while replacing the ring in its box. Her magic had the tendency to bleach focus objects silvery-grey, but maybe the color would hold true this time. She set aside the box and reached for the crystal ball.

The clock perched on the mantel in between the evergreen boughs chimed twice, and Arcana's eyes slid half-shut as she felt for the position of the sun. It was slipping towards the western horizon, and the bit of Xhal Thos in her mind shifted eagerly.

Arcana sank back into the cushions of her chair and held the crystal ball between her hands, using the bright, dancing magic within it to banish the demon's presence for the moment. It lit upon Arcana's thoughts of snow and pine and chill winds, and it waltzed images of a shining winter day in her mind. It was pleasant to lose herself for a time in the crystal's dreams, letting them block out the dour vision of dark stone that was the Dark Lord's fortress. She could set it aside whenever she wished. Humans though, once lost, tended to stay that way forever.

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

Arcana's voice cracked mid-song when her Dark Mark seared, shattering the crystal ball's illusion. Her hands tightened reflexively around the sphere, which was still cool despite her having held it for some time. The Dark Lord was irritated and impatient for her to join him, so Arcana quickly acknowledged the summons and put the crystal ball and ring back in the drawer of her bedside table. His magic felt sluggish, lacking the edge of crisp command she had grown used to sensing through their link. Arcana summoned her cloak with a flick of her wand. So much for the Dark Lord not wanting to be disturbed.

The clock chimed four times, and Arcana shook her head, resigned to the frustratingly steady passage of time in the mortal world. Her boots and gloves were pleasantly warm from sitting by the fire, and she laid her hand over the pocket where she had stashed her wand before heading out the door. The cold corridors were too populated for Arcana's liking, and she crossed paths with more Death Eaters than she seen since the last large meeting.

The Dark Lord was planning something, then. Arcana grimaced. It was just like him - couldn't leave the holiday bloody well alone.

Snape opened the door to the Dark Lord's rooms as Arcana approached. The shadows of her hood hid her smile. Next time she would have to find a good place to watch his reaction when she sent a snowball whizzing after him.

"You're expected, hunter." Snape sneered down his hooked nose at Arcana before stalking off down the corridor in a billow of black robes. It was an especially vitriolic sneer, and that was saying something with Snape. Perhaps she would wait on the snowball.

Arcana felt the demon stir in the back of her mind as she stepped into the Dark Lord's rooms. She silently recited the old banishment, and the presence faded. It would be back after sunset, and with it so would the terrifying visions and nightmares. The door locked behind her.

"What did you discuss with Dumbledore, my fae?" the Dark Lord asked directly. He was seated before the fire as usual, holding a steaming cup of tea in his spidery hands.

"At Hogwarts, my lord?" Arcana asked, confused.

"Of course. Unless you have been consorting with the addlebrained old fool elsewhere," the Dark Lord hissed. He was exhausted. He still held himself straight, and his red eyes were still sharp, but his movements were slower and his magic hung close to his body, drained.

"No, my lord. I only met him that once." Arcana offered the Dark Lord a shallow bow and drew back her hood. "We spoke very little when I went to Hogwarts on your business, my lord. Reading your letter and writing his reply filled nearly the entire time I was in Dumbledore's office."

"Then why did he send you that?" The Dark Lord pointed accusingly to a parcel wrapped in garishly colored paper sitting all alone on the ink-stained table where they had worked out the initial details of the demon summoning ritual.

Arcana blinked, more confused than before, and then walked to the table to better study what appeared to be a Christmas gift. It was small, perhaps a book. The festive paper was covered in trees dotted with blinking lights, and it was wrapped neatly in twine. The only thing missing was a note. It was no wonder the Dark Lord was irritated. She was almost surprised that such a thing could actually exist in his presence.

"According to Severus, it is free of any enchantments," the Dark Lord said derisively. Arcana blinked again, and then had to work very hard not to laugh. Snape had brought the gift here. Snape had delivered her a gift from Dumbledore. Oh, today was such an improvement over yesterday. Arcana preemptively sent a shove toward the place in her mind where the demon's presence lurked, and it remained silent.

"Neither he nor Dumbledore are particularly trustworthy, my lord," Arcana managed to say with a straight face. "I will remove it from your presence immediately if you wish." She held her hand a few inches above the blinking wrapping and passed it over the package, sensing nothing malicious. "Checking for hidden curses should be straightforward."

Arcana's Dark Mark stung, and she withdrew her hand from above the package.

"Isn't age supposed to curb impatience, fae?" The Dark Lord's remark lacked some of its typical sting, and Arcana sensed that she would be safe from his wand for one more day.

"Oh I have plenty of patience, my lord, when it is required." Curiosity was another matter entirely, Arcana mused silently. Just what was Dumbledore playing at?

"Bring it here. I will see what Dumbledore has sent to entice my fae."

Arcana looked at the parcel carefully, and then, seeing nothing worrisome in the shimmer of magic overlaying physical reality, she picked it up and brought it to the Dark Lord. It was awfully light for a book. He scowled at Arcana and waved toward the other chair in front of the fire.

"Sit." The Dark Lord gestured to a teapot, and it rose from the table beside him to refill his cup. The house-elves had not risked giving him the holiday tea, Arcana noted.

Arcana sat as commanded and began poking at the blinking wrapping paper, running her gloved fingers over the twine holding it all in place and trying to figure out what Dumbledore would send her. He had been quite polite when they had met before, respectful even, and he had even offered her tea. He couldn't be trying . . . he wouldn't try to do what it looked like he was trying to do. It was absurd. No, this must just be some silly human kindness, or an attempt to annoy the Dark Lord. Knowing Dumbledore, it was likely both.

"Just open it," the Dark Lord ordered. Seeing the fingers of his wand hand twitch, Arcana silenced a retort regarding his impatience and deftly pried apart the knotted twine with her claws. The paper fell open to reveal not a book, but the most obscene pair of socks she had ever seen. They were long, thick, and neon green, polkadotted with large canary yellow circles along the whole length. At least they looked soft.

"And it is . . ."

"Socks, my lord." Arcana tentatively touched one of the violently colored socks, wary of the enchantments she could sense on them. The Dark Lord grunted in disgust and sipped his tea. She could almost hear his disparaging thoughts through the vibrations of their bond.

Arcana stared closely at the socks. She swore she just saw something move. It happened again. Something . . . blinked. One by one, all of the yellow circles opened their eyes and yawned. They looked up at Arcana and smiled.

"I . . . what . . ."

"Ah yes, Dumbledore's plan finally becomes clear - robbing my fae of the power of coherent speech." The Dark Lord's eyes were shut, his head resting against the back of his chair.

"I am just unused to enchanted socks, my lord." The happy faces on the socks beamed up at Arcana, and one even winked.

"Just what did the old fool send?" The Dark Lord opened his eyes and leaned forward to get a better look, the familiar sneer finding its way onto his face, only to vanish when confronted with a pair of socks that were scowling at him.

As soon as he looked away the yellow faces stuck their tongues out.

"I have neither the time nor the patience for this nonsense. Leave me, and be sure to take the potion before you sleep, or I will make your nightmares look like the daydreams in which I know you to indulge." Arcana went rigid in her seat, disquieted that he could tell when she was using the crystal ball, even if he didn't know exactly what she had been doing. She had never told him that she had taken it.

"Of course, my lord. As you wish." Arcana hastily wrapped up the socks, retied the twine and tucked the parcel under her cloak before the Dark Lord saw what faces her new socks were now making. She was going to get to keep them. He closed his eyes again and held his teacup between his hands, as if they were cold. How any part of him could be cold with the fire blazing so high, Arcana did not know.

Arcana stood and bowed.

"Good day, my lord." The Dark Lord did not even wave at her to go.

Once safely ensconced in her rooms, Arcana unwrapped the socks and thoroughly examined the enchantments. The socks just stared up at her, a bit curious, but clearly quite content. There was no harmful magic. They were just socks - silly enchanted socks, yes, but still . . . just socks. She removed her gloves and held the socks in her hands. The faces giggled silently, as if they were being tickled. The socks were soft.

Arcana chuckled softly and shook her head. Dumbledore was a bewildering man, and a very dangerous one. She would wait until their next meeting before deciding if the gift meant anything more than it appeared. If it did, it showed that he had at least been reading the right history books.

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

The snow crunched softly under Arcana's boots as she slipped between the tall trees. The night sky was clear, and the stars shone diamond-bright - silent, but ever-beckoning. Arcana could almost hear them whisper, calling her to reach out and listen to their songs as none had done for so very long. Overhead, the branches and leaves were whipped about by the wind, waving around wildly like strands of silver in the moonlight. Arcana felt the forest shiver.

The edges of Arcana's wrist guards glinted in the moonlight where the black paint had begun to peel. She ran her gloved fingers along the beautifully worked mithril and sighed. They had been made for her in another life. It seemed that her past, like the silvery metal hidden under matte black, would never let itself be smothered permanently.

An end to your mourning, little fae . . .

Arcana stumbled and quickly braced herself against the trunk of a tree. The night vanished in a haze of red mist and brimstone. Rough fingers ran over her skin, and Xhal Thos chuckled in her ear. Pain shot through her palms, and the vision faded. Arcana's harsh breathing broke the still of the night, fogging in the cold, and she gently relaxed her clenched hands and pulled silvery claws from her palms, now stained red with blood.

That had been too close. Arcana fumbled to open a pouch on her belt and withdrew a flask that should have not fit within it. She hastily pulled out the stopper and swallowed a mouthful of the potion, almost dropping the flask as it slipped in her blood-slicked hands. Alertness returned abruptly, and Arcana jerked, hitting the back of her head against the tree. She drew her wand and vanished the blood with a wave. A second flick of her wrist mended the gashes in her gloves. Her hands would heal on their own fast enough.

Walking the grounds was supposed to keep her awake until dawn. It was certainly cold enough. She shoved the flask back into its pouch and stuck her wand in its pocket. The forest was still quiet, despite Arcana's fit that should have screamed "prey" to all hungry beasts nearby. Fortunately most of the forest creatures were holed-up in what warmth they could find, being unused to such harsh weather.

Arcana didn't dare sleep during the night, even with the Dark Lord's potion. Xhal Thos was too near, or at least whatever remnants the demon had left in her mind were too active while the sun was down to let her sleep peacefully. A pair of glowing eyes in the underbrush blinked and then shut, their owner deciding to let Arcana be. Once the beast fell into a light sleep she pushed off of the tree and began trudging through the snow again.

A small herd of thestrals huddled close together off to Arcana's left, snuffling softly to each other, sounding more reptilian than equine. From what she had seen, the Death Eaters had been leaving fewer corpses at the forest's edge of late. The Dark Lord was turning his dead into Inferi instead, she figured, at least those whose bodies were not too mangled. Arcana avoided wandering the lower levels of the fortress, not caring to run into any of the undead he kept there - a disgusting practice in her opinion. Either kill them properly or don't kill them at all.

Arcana ducked under a low branch, and the tree shivered in its sleep. She would need to know where the Dark Lord planned to deploy his Inferi and those foul dementors so she could adjust her hunting patterns accordingly. It was most irritating to find good prey, only to sense the presence of his undead minions upon drawing closer and then having to begin the search anew. They would be drawn to interfere, and that could mean her death should their timing be poor. There were good reasons why she demanded high pay for soul hunting.

Dumbledore would also need to be dealt with if the gift of socks was the opening note of a courting song. Before the Barrier had been crafted, wizards had openly engaged fae in anything from intelligent discourse, assuming the fae was relatively sane by Wizarding standards, to magical tutelage. Fae, being cautious and fickle beings, would need to be convinced to take part in these relationships, and several books had been written on exactly that subject.

An owl hooted on a high branch and then took flight. Arcana watched its silent flight and then snorted softly. Dumbledore had probably read every book that remained in existence about enticing fae. What he wanted from her and how he intended to obtain it were things she would need to mull over. Arcana did not need any more complications in her life, but she could not deny the spark of curiosity that had begun chipping away at her reason.

During her walk Arcana had stayed near the edge of the forest since the more dangerous beasts tended to stay clear of the fortress, and through the trees she could see a few torches burning in the fortress windows. The Dark Lord was still awake, and her Dark Mark hummed from time to time under her skin when he called various Death Eaters to his side. Arcana shivered and drew her hood up to ward off the cold. A warming charm would make her walk more comfortable, but she feared it would lull her mind toward sleep.

Xhal Thos chuckled softly in the back of her mind.

"You had your chance, demon. Begone," Arcana muttered to the wind.

I know you now, little fae.

Arcana clenched her eyes shut and shoved away the foreign presence before it took hold. She opened her eyes to see the night sky and the snow-dusted forest holding steady before her, and she sighed. Dawn was only a few hours away now. Then she would go up to the fortress tower to greet the sun, and then she would finally be able to sleep.

Before taking to the forest to stay awake, Arcana had been reading through the last stack of outdated Wizarding newspapers she had swiped from the Leaky Cauldron. The Daily Prophet had started a column to list casualties and another for locations of recent Dark activity. It was grim, but not too helpful as it only covered Britain. The one international paper she had retrieved, the particularly pompous German Wizarding Weekly, was more informative than all of the back page blurbs in an entire stack of Prophets.

Vampires were on the move in Albania, forcing the Wizarding government there to divert attention from Ferril's Bane - a poorly organized group of mostly muggleborn witches and wizards, originating in Bulgaria - which had not breached the International Wizarding Secrecy Laws for over a month. Instead Ferril's Bane was using the fear of the vampire clans to quietly undermine the Wizarding authority in most of Eastern Europe, where purebloods still held onto power with an iron fist. And here muggleborns thought that the pureblood nonsense in Britain was bad, Arcana mused with a quiet snort.

Perhaps this had been part of the Dark Lord's strategy all along. If so, he must plan on crushing them as well, considering their difference in doctrine and his unwillingness to share . . . well, anything. On the other hand, the Dark wizard enclave in Prague had been deceptively quiet of late, and Arcana suspected that Ferril's Bane was sniffing around the old city for allies. As if these developments were not worrying enough, the Summoners' Guild was causing considerable problems for the Italian Wizarding Consortium. A group of witches even claimed to have seen a lesser demon prowling the outskirts of their village.

Everywhere she looked, the Dark was rising.

Beyond a particularly dense thicket lay one of the ancient standing stones that had fallen a millennium past. Arcana passed through the brambles with unnatural ease and ducked under a low-hanging branch. The stone looked like little more than a fallen tree, being covered in snow and moss, and with tall ferns clustered around it, but Arcana could see the shimmering runes carved into the rock. She pulled on her magic ever so gently and jumped, landing atop the fallen stone sure-footedly despite the slippery surface. The runes here were only one part of a vast puzzle spread throughout the valley that she had yet to decipher.

Arcana slowly paced the length of the stone, scanning the twisting rune phrases and drawing the hush of their magic through her thoughts. They read like a riddle, a very complex magical riddle. Riddle. Arcana scowled at the unintentional reminder of the Dark Lord's true name. He would eventually pay for giving his name to the demon. Xhal Thos stirred in the back of her mind, and Arcana quickly reordered her thoughts. She took another drink from her flask.

The wind was picking up, carrying scents of snow and green leaves. The strange combination made Arcana smile ever so slightly, reminding her of the ever-renewing spring, though it was months away. The North wind broke the illusion of scent, howling through the branches and pushing its biting cold through her thick robes. It whispered to her of revenge and brushed against her face with a familiar icy caress.

She would weave a tapestry of blood to both avenge herself and tear her freedom from the Dark Lord's dead hands. His bones would break and his flesh give way underneath her heel. Perhaps she would crush his wand hand while he still lived, if luck was smiling on her that day. The wind sang its harsh agreement in her ears, urging her to take the life that was rightfully hers, and she shivered, taking control of her fantasies before they got away from her. Arcana would have to plan thoroughly and act carefully. The Dark Lord could have no suspicions of her intentions until it was too late.

There was also blood magic to contemplate, but Arcana would have plenty of time for that later. Since she had completed her summoning duties there would be no more hours pouring over dusty tomes, no more frantic ward crafting, no more teaching Dark Lords what they should not know, and no more consorting with demons.

The bushes rustled, and Arcana caught a flash of dark fur in the undergrowth out of the corner of her eye. Thick vines whipped out and wrapped around the rodent, which thrashed and squeaked shrilly. There was a wet crunch and the smell fresh blood, and then the vines of the Devil's Snare dragged their prey away. A few blackleaf fairies buzzed their wings up in their tree, but settled quickly enough. It was too cold for them to go scavenging.

The wind wailed, this time bringing the scent of burnt earth to Arcana's nose, and she smiled. Fiery eyes smoldered in the darkness, and there was a flash of silver as the moonlight caught the black unicorn's silver horn. He sidled up to the fallen stone and spread his wings in invitation.

Ride, he called to her in a whirl of Darkness, chaos, and fire.

Arcana let out a shuddering breath as the black unicorn's passions burned in her veins. She nimbly leapt from the stone to sit astride the black unicorn's back, and his leathery wings settled against her legs. He was warm.

Only the valley. Only within the boundaries the wizard has set, Arcana sent mentally, showing more than telling in words. I am tired, and he has commanded this.

The black unicorn tossed his head violently, and Arcana gripped his flanks tighter with her knees as he pranced wildly through the snowy underbrush. Brutal emotions and bloody images flashed through her mind.

No, Arcana commanded. Not yet. Vengeance will come. Freedom will come. She reached out and tangled her hands in the black unicorn's mane, bending low to rest her head against the back of his neck. She sent soothing thoughts and tried to convey the concept of patience. We must wait for now, my friend. The time will come, I promise.

The black unicorn settled into a walk and snorted. He could smell the demon on her, but accepted the foulness after a brief explanation.

One more reason to kill the wizard, the black unicorn expressed fiercely.

Yes, not that I needed another one. Arcana smiled against his mane, and he made a guttural sound, almost like the growl of a wolf. She had seen powerful wizards fall to their knees and scream when they heard it. It was unfortunate that the Dark Lord probably was no longer human enough to be subject to the primal madness the black unicorn embodied

The snow hissed softly as the black unicorn walked, carrying Arcana deeper into the forest. Soft whimpers, scampering feet, and shaking branches broke the quiet as all manner of creatures fled from the black unicorn's nearness. Even Xhal Thos' presence seemed to have retreated to a distance. Arcana let her eyes slide shut and fell into a trance. The black unicorn would keep her safe until the dawn, and with the rising of the sun a new chapter would begin.