Illusions of Choice

Chapter 1: Unwelcome Interruptions

The north wind screamed across the cloudless sky as Arcana flew through a chaotic sea of Darkness. The black unicorn's raw power surged through her, driving them forward in search of despair, of loss, of that spark of longing - the call of a soul yearning for an end. Arcana clutched the black unicorn's flanks tighter as he dove through the night, finding that soul long before she could have sensed it.

Fire danced along the black unicorn's magic, lighting Arcana's being with fierce joy. She honed in on the tired soul and whispered softly to it, calling it away, offering solace and an end to pain. Silent houses packed tightly along narrow streets spread below them. Swooping lower on black wings, she felt the soul shiver, down where the electric lights flickered and the paint peeled from the siding. Arcana's sight hardly registered the filthy rags or bloodshot eyes of the drunk sprawled on the pavement. Her vision was clouded by the haze of the sickened soul within, begging for release.

"Soon," Arcana whispered, drawing an empty crystal phial from the pouch on her belt.

Suddenly a foreign power burned through Arcana's mind, breaking her connection with the soul and searing her left forearm bone-deep. The phial slipped through her gloved fingers, lost to the night. The unicorn banked sharply, and she was flung forward, nearly tumbling over his head to follow the crystal phial. She desperately clung to her mount as her mind and magic reeled. Rage flooded her being, and she screamed to the sky.

How dare he?

Strong muscles flexed beneath the black hide, and the unicorn dove, intent on sating his hunger if Arcana would not take the soul for her crystal phials. A terrified scream followed Arcana's rage. She smelled death, and the street was silent.

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

The waning moon was shrouded in thick fog, casting a diffuse glow over the forest. White mist curled about naked branches and twisted around gnarled trunks. The moist air smelled of lichen and dead leaves, taking on a tinge of burnt earth as the black unicorn pawed the frosty ground. The Dark Lord was near, and he was not alone. His anger thrummed under Arcana's skin where the Dark Mark lay, but she felt no fear.

The hunt was not to be interrupted, and yet he dared.

Arcana's magic pulsed with her hatred, and the land responded, the air snapping with bitter cold and branches lashing in the screaming wind. At the edges of her mind she sensed the Death Eaters shiver. The masked figures were huddled up ahead in a small clearing, in a circle around their lord, the wizard who had dared Mark her with his brand, who dared coerce her to give a demon her blood, who had dared interrupt her hunt - he who threatened her very life.

Death tonight, the black unicorn demanded, exuding an inhuman menace that made the shadows ripple.

I long for it. Oh, I long for it. Bound to this mortal world by the magical brand on her arm, Arcana's immortality faded every day, and only the Dark Lord's death would set her free. Images of bloody victory flashed across her vision - black robes crushed under cloven hooves. She drew a shuddering breath and pulled back the veil of the black unicorn's magic. Reason was needed now, not his vicious instinct. Too dangerous tonight. Not tonight, she whispered in her thoughts as they drew to the edge of the clearing, but soon.

The edges of several dozen masks glinted in the moonlight. A gust wailed through the woods, sending robes and cloaks snapping. There was more than winter's fury behind it, but they were blind. Arcana felt the Dark Lord's gaze, though she knew that not even he could see her in the darkness. He stood so very still, hardly more than a shadow amongst shadows. Arcana's Dark Mark seared, and she clenched her jaw. He did not like to be kept waiting.

The shadows drew back as the black unicorn stepped into the clearing, and Arcana surveyed the witches and wizards arrayed before her with disdain. The nearest Death Eaters fell out of formation, backing away from her mount, their stark fear tainting the night air, much to Arcana's delight. The moonlight caught the black unicorn's silver horn as he tossed his head, and fiery eyes promised madness to any mortal that dared look into them too long.

The Dark Lord stood motionless as the black unicorn paced toward him, the ground hissing beneath his hooves. Swathed in black from head to foot, the Dark Lord was a serpentine shadow, and within the depths of his hood, his crimson eyes burned with fury.

Arcana halted the black unicorn directly before the Dark Lord and looked down upon him with a hatred that was all her own. His gaze was empty as a serpent's, and his magic was a red-black storm. The trees creaked in the wind, their branches reaching out, as if to grasp the wizards who invaded their peace.

"You are very late, hunter."

"The hunt will not be interrupted, even for you, Dark Lord." A snarl twisted Arcana's lips.

"You are too bold," the Dark Lord warned. "That beast has goaded your foolish pride. You forget to whom you are bound."

"I forget very little, Dark Lord, and forgive even less." She stiffened as the Dark Mark seared her left arm.

"Don't make me regret saving you from the desires of Xhal Thos," the Dark Lord hissed menacingly in Parseltongue.

The black unicorn understood the Dark Lord's words through Arcana and reared violently, tossing his head and striking the air with his fore hooves. Arcana gripped his flanks tightly with her knees, remaining mounted with ease.

Death was the only thing the black unicorn knew. Death for him.

The Death Eaters fell back and drew their wands as the black unicorn spread his wings and shrieked. One wizard screamed and crumpled to the ground, hands pressed over his ears. Others doubled over in agony or dropped their wands from boneless fingers. Magic crackled around the unicorn, and Arcana fought to rein in his madness.

The black unicorn's desire to strike and kill, strike and kill echoed through her head, threatening to become her own mantra. The Dark Lord warily stepped backwards with his wand in hand, and the black unicorn lunged forward, intent on running him through.

No! Arcana screamed in her thoughts. She knew the curse on the Dark Lord's lips. The magic was poised to be cast. Yield! Arcana mentally commanded, forcing her will onto the black unicorn.

Cloven hooves dug deep furrows into the earth, and he whinnied in dismay, coming to a halt with his sharp horn inches from the Dark Lord's extended wand. The breath burned in Arcana's lungs from the effort of pure will.

The Death Eaters recovered and trained their wands on Arcana, only waiting for the Dark Lord's signal to attack. She coaxed the black unicorn to back away, but the Dark Lord did not lower his wand. The beast pawed the ground and shook his head, sending images and furious emotions to Arcana.

Why? Kill him now. Why stop? Kill him! The black unicorn thrashed against Arcana's will.

Hold. Please just hold. Not now. It would be your death as well, and thus mine. Just hold. The black unicorn neighed in distress, his eyes rolling in their sockets, but he obeyed.

"You would have traded my life for slavery to that demonic abomination, Dark Lord?" Arcana whispered so only the he could hear. His anger flashed, tinging her vision a bloody red, and she bared her sharp teeth. "I think not."

White-hot iron stabbed through Arcana's left arm, and her breath caught in her throat. The black unicorn shifted beneath her and stamped his hooves, pushing against her will, thirsting for the wizard's blood. The forest wrapped around Arcana, drawing away the pain, and the Dark Mark quieted. Wet blood oozed down her arm under her glove.

"Any power you pretend to have over me is naught but illusion, no matter the brand on my arm," she snapped. The magic of the land thrummed menacingly in agreement, but the Dark Lord seemed not to notice. The north wind whipped through the clearing, and a collective shudder went around the circle of Death Eaters.

"When I next summon you, hunter, we'll learn if my illusions can make you scream."

An image of carnage overlaid Arcana's vision, but she blinked it away, promising the unicorn that his fury would be sated one day. The Dark Lord waved sharply towards the circle of Death Eaters, signaling them to stand down. Wands were lowered, but none ventured closer.

"Your delivery is due, hunter." The Dark Lord's wand was still aimed at Arcana's heart, ready to strike down rider and mount at the first sign of aggression.

Arcana untied a pouch from her belt and ran one clawed finger over the runes burnt into the leather to cancel the wards she had set. The black unicorn reluctantly turned and sidled up to the Dark Lord, snorting and warily watching the wizard with one eye. Arcana placed the pouch in the Dark Lord's outstretched hand. Skeletal fingers closed over the leather, making the crystal phials within clink. A cruel smile split his face.

The Dark Lord slipped the pouch into his robes and then caught Arcana with a piercing glare. The world faded to black, save for those crimson eyes.

"Solstice has passed, and I will not tolerate this rebellious behavior again, hunter." A push of Arcana's will brought back the forest and the Death Eaters to her perception.

"If that is so," Arcana said softly, directing the black unicorn to back away, "never summon me again while I hunt, Dark Lord."

The black unicorn turned at Arcana's touch and galloped across the frozen ground. At her cry, he spread his wings and took to the air, leaving the Death Eaters alone with their master.

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

The black unicorn appeared in midair at the edge of the wards around Slytherin's Valley as the sun was cresting the horizon. Stretching over the rocky hills, the frosty grass sparkled like crystal shards. Arcana pulled her hat lower over her eyes and pushed her smoked glasses further up the bridge of her nose, squinting at the sudden change of light. The air was cold enough to make her nose burn as she breathed, but it was a good pain. There was freedom in it.

Arcana snarled when her Dark Mark seared, demanding immediate reply. The black unicorn banked, swooping down across the valley, diving through the morning mist. Grey wisps tore back from great leathery wings and hooves skimmed the treetops. The black fortress loomed in the distance, crouched up against the high cliff where the valley was deepest. Most of it was unseen as the fortress extended deep underground, the corridors winding back into the cliff. Old magic held back the forest from the Dark Lord's abode, the trees standing as if pressed against an invisible wall around the small meadow that surrounded the towering structure. At the edge of the meadow a herd of thestrals fled to the cover of the trees as the black unicorn sailed overhead. He landed at the main entrance, and Arcana dismounted, stroking the black unicorn's neck before climbing up the stairs to the ancient oak doors.

The snakes carved into the wood hissed and snapped at Arcana as she drew near, but the doors opened all the same, shutting behind her with a loud bang as soon as she was inside. Arcana thought of death, and the fortress knew it. The Dark Lord could have killed her last night, and for that he had died a hundred deaths in her thoughts since their meeting - even hours later she could not stop the killing in her mind. If she had been taking a soul when he had summoned her . . . Arcana shuddered, unable to finish the thought.

She marched through the corridors, heedless of the few Death Eaters awake at that early hour. The orange light of the magical oil lamps lining the corridors morphed her shadow into monstrous beasts that prowled along the walls at her side. Booted heels clacked sharply on the stone floor, burning anger stealing her usual eerie silence. Arcana hesitated a brief moment at the door behind which the Dark Lord waited, recalling the last time he had tortured her there. It had taken weeks to recover. He did not have weeks to spare now, or so she hoped.

The door opened without prompting, and Arcana stepped inside. He never waited for her to knock any longer. The spartan room was dark, as expected, lit only by a roaring fire in the hearth, which was fueled by real wood for once: fresh pine to purify old magical residues. The Dark Lord stood before the fire with his back to Arcana, silhouetted by the flickering orange light.

"Should I bother to hear your excuses, hunter, or simply move on directly to your punishment?" the Dark Lord hissed.

"My lord." The words felt foul on Arcana's lips. "I would hear your excuses - why you dared call me from the hunt." She snarled. The black unicorn's magic swarmed out from where she had tried to hold it still within her mind. Fury burned black, and Arcana's hand went to her wand.

The Dark Lord whirled around, heavy robes swirling about his ankles.

"Crucio."

Arcana crumpled to the floor and screamed in anger as much as pain. The Dark Lord lifted the curse, and Arcana gasped for air, curling onto her side as he began to slowly circle around her, boot heels clacking on the stone floor. Fire smoldered in her veins even as her hands shook from the curse.

"Excuses? Hunter, when you have been gone for days, what am I to think?"

"This is the first sunrise I've seen since I set out, my lord," Arcana snapped, ignoring the aches that were skipping through muscle and bone.

"Is that so?"

The Dark Lord crouched down and traced his tip of his wand along Arcana's cheek. She stiffened, shoving down her need to strike at him and flee. The Dark Lord's other hand slipped under the back of her head, and red eyes became the focus of Arcana's world. Red-black magic swirled around him like a stormy sea. He yanked her head back by her hair, and the swirling magic struck like a blade, but the Dark Lord's Legilimency still found no purchase in her mind. She was smoke and shadow.

"If you don't show me the truth, my fae, I must assume you lie to your lord."

Arcana sneered, but let the Dark Lord see that she had spoken truthfully. It was just easier that way. The hand in her hair let go, and the Dark Lord rose smoothly. Arcana rolled to her knees and struggled to stand, her limbs still twitching from the curse.

"I did not give you leave to stand, hunter."

"You have no--"

"Sanguinus Gelidus," the Dark Lord cast sharply.

The Blood Chilling Curse struck like a ball of ice thrust into her chest, freezing her from the inside out, and Arcana collapsed. Ice pulsed through her veins, muscles seized, hands went numb, and still the curse held strong. She gasped for air with lungs that refused to expand, and when her vision began to dim, terror hit. Perhaps he meant to kill her this time. She tried to scream, but her voice failed. Then it stopped. Arcana lay very still, splayed on her back, as the magic faded, her heart clenching as it tried to pump her chilled blood. Her body shivered involuntarily and each breath came out foggy, despite the warmth of the room.

"I do hope your temper has cooled for now, my fae. I would hate to have to teach you obedience all over again."

Arcana stared up at the high ceiling. The black unicorn's fury was roiling inside, struggling against her will to be unleashed, and her own hatred seethed like a thing alive. A will of steel and a whisper of High magic silenced the screaming emotions, at least temporarily. Retribution and revenge would come, but if she didn't play her role now she would lose everything.

"Yes, that seems to have done the trick," the Dark Lord said, satisfied with his work. "Do try harder to cleanse the black unicorn's Wildness before answering my summons."

Arcana managed to turn her head enough to glare up at the Dark Lord. Pain shot down her neck.

"Oh, yes, I did insist on promptness this morning, but I was quite merciful in return." Arcana's Dark Mark hummed under her skin. "I understand very well that you are subject to the whims of Wild magic. Had you been in your right mind last night I would be revoking your access to the magic of my lands now," the Dark Lord hissed, "which I can only imagine would be most unpleasant to endure." A new cold settled in Arcana's stomach that had nothing to do with the curse. "Yes, I think it would be."

Some of the black unicorn's ire slipped from Arcana's mind, leaving a gaping emptiness in its place through which traitorous fear wafted. She had nearly forgotten fear when riding. A muscle in her left leg spasmed, and she caught her breath until it stopped. The Dark Lord's eyes followed her reactions, his magic a heavy red-black cloak held just out of Arcana's reach. It looked warm.

Truthfully, Arcana was surprised that the Dark Lord had not already severed her magical access to his lands. He had only granted it so she could cast the wards for the demon summoning. She had grown used to that soft hum around her, reaching down deep under her feet. It now answered her call with little trepidation, and she pulled on it often enough that whispers of its magic settled into her as soon as she stepped into the valley. Abruptly sealing off her access would be like ripping away a piece of her being, though hopefully not permanently damaging.

"Did that beast keep to the night to hide the passage of time from you, my fae? Or did you ignore it willfully?" Arcana concentrated on breathing deeply as a muscle in her back started to spasm. The Dark Lord stepped closer until the hem of his robes brushed against Arcana's gloved fingers. "I would hear your explanation now, my fae."

"Wild magic has . . . strange effects on time," she croaked, the muscles and tendons around her jaw pulling tight. "It cares nothing . . . between one night and . . . a few nights."

"You dare mock me with your immortality?" the Dark Lord snapped.

"Truth . . . nothing more," Arcana insisted, purposefully meeting his piercing gaze. A hint of black amusement colored his magic, and his head tilted to the side.

"And what do you know of truth?"

So it was back to philosophy. At least that tended to hurt less than curses.

"Magic is truth, my lord."

"Magic blinds you to the truth, my fae," the Dark Lord scoffed. Knowing he would not like her reply, Arcana stayed silent and tried to keep her face free of contempt. She obviously failed at the latter since a tight smile turned up the corners of the Dark Lord's mouth.

"Now, be still." He waved his wand and levitated Arcana toward the hearth. She groaned as her body shifted. "We can't have you catching cold now, can we? Especially since your good manners have made a miraculous return."

The spell set Arcana down very close to the fire. She cringed as her body settled into the hard floor.

"No, my lord," Arcana managed to say emotionlessly. She flexed her fingers slightly and then went still again until another shiver wracked her body. The stone floor was warm under her cheek, and she closed her eyes, waiting for the penetrating chill to ease. The Dark Lord stepped away, and there was silence except for the crackling fire.

It seemed that was to be the end of her punishment. Arcana took a deep breath, relieved. The movement deepened the ache in her chest, and she clenched her jaw to stave off a coughing fit. She was fortunate that the Dark Lord was in such a good mood. Maybe he had sated his sadistic tendencies on his Death Eaters, or perhaps he had found another spy. Either way, it was no matter. One less human in this world was not a terrible thing, especially if it kept the Dark Lord's wand pointed away from her.

"I trust you will restrain that beast of yours in the future, my fae," the Dark Lord said, pulling Arcana from her thoughts. "If you don't, I will kill it, and that would be a pity as your hunts have been far more productive since it appeared out of the mists."

"You may be the one to die if you confront him, my lord," Arcana said quietly. The Dark Lord chuckled and sat down in his chair, extending his long legs so his boots rested near her head.

"Ah, but we both know you will not risk its life on that fleeting chance, so I suggest you keep that beast away from your lord."

Arcana listened to the crackling fire and ignored the Dark Lord's barb, which only stung because of the truth in it. The black unicorn's influence, which always dulled the strain of soul hunting, was seeping away, leaving her cold, miserable, and vaguely ill. At least the Dark Lord had kept his temper this time. The after-effects of both curses should fade after a few hours sleep - one benefit of being fae.

"The sky will be clear tonight, my fae. I expect you on the East Tower two hours after sunset to practice Stargazing."

If Arcana'd had any energy left, she would have hurled a hex his way despite the consequences. Instead she just sighed, urging the fire to warm her faster so she could slink away and crawl into her soft bed. The brand on her arm burned slightly.

"As you wish, my lord."

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

Shelly's chipper face was not the first thing Arcana had wanted to see upon waking. She snarled, pulling the covers over her head, rolling over and kicking Shelly off of the bed in one fluid movement.

"Lady Arcana's breakfast will get cold," Shelly admonished from the floor before scampering out of the bedroom, undeterred by Arcana's temper.

A night of fruitless Stargazing and fitful sleep had left Arcana in a foul mood. The Blood Chilling Curse hadn't faded as fast as she'd expected, and only now was she feeling warm again. Fire sprang up in the bedroom hearth, quickly banishing the chill. Arcana stuck a leg out from under the blankets and, judging it warm enough, crawled out of bed. Shelly was at her side in a flash to wrap her up in a heavy robe and tuck her feet into warm slippers. Arcana's stomach rumbled, and Shelly prodded her toward breakfast.

Well-fed and awake, Arcana rummaged through the trunk by her wardrobe and pulled out a bag of supplies. She closed her eyes and looked outside, sensing that another cold January day was dawning. Just then, the wind wailed through the fortress's ancient ventilation system, as if to mock her for wanting leave the warmth. Ignoring its taunts, Arcana opened the wardrobe and grabbed heavy black robes and a cloak.

"Lady is going out?" Shelly asked nervously.

"Yes, a long walk will do me good," Arcana said, reaching for her graphorn-hide vest. She shrugged it on, and knelt so Shelly could fasten it, something the house-elf had commandeered as her duty.

"Lady is not out to make the Master angry, is she?"

"I'd rather not try his temper now," Arcana said smoothly. It was easier to simply avoid the truth rather than lie. House-elves saw through lies better than humans.

"Shelly will be waiting for Lady Arcana to return. She'll need to warm up for sure." The house-elf bobbed up and down, then Disapparated with a pop.

The wind howled again, teasing a few white wisps to dangle in Arcana's face. She stood with a sigh and charmed them back again. Moments like this made her feel almost human, or at least what she supposed it was like to be human. A crook of Arcana's finger shrunk the bag of supplies and summoned it into her hand. It provide a good cover should the Dark Lord interrogate Shelly about Arcana's absence.

Three precious vials sat next to a bottle of dragon's blood in Arcana's potions laboratory. Each contained a small amount of the Dark Lord's dried blood - blood he had carelessly left on Arcana's hands after the demon summoning the night of the Winter Solstice. Each day since she had feared the burn of her Dark Mark, imagining his demands to see her memories. Two vials vanished into a pocket in her robes.

Hiking through Slytherin's Valley was a chore. The last thing Arcana wanted was to linger on the Dark Lord's lands while carrying his blood, but if he caught wind of her haste, the Cruciatus Curse would be the least of her worries. At the edge of the anti-Apparition wards Arcana's Dark Mark hummed softly. She could tell that the Dark Lord hadn't slept, likely occupied by his war or one of his magical obsessions. The brand quieted, and Arcana sighed, her hand going to the pocket that held the vials of blood.

Arcana's cottage, hidden under a barrow in an unplottable part of the Caledonian forest, was unchanged since her last visit. She had spent many years during her exile moping about the cozy rooms and wandering the surrounding woods while the seasons had flown by in an empty whirl. She had sat for days on end, staring at nothing and everything when the fury of her quest for vengeance had finally died. Generations of mortal lives had come and gone, and their suffering had ceased to dull the ache of loss.

In those early days of exile the black unicorn had stayed nearby. Rage had driven Arcana to expend her magical reserves at an alarming rate, and he would ferry her back to the Realms every few years to stave off unnatural death. It had taken her several hundred years to learn how to live in the magically barren mortal world. Restraint, precision, and subtlety had been forced into each breath, allowing her to stretch the High magic that used to last a year into a century's worth. She sometimes wondered what her old teacher would have thought of her success, but thinking about him hurt. It was best not to dwell on it.

She went through the motions of restocking her magically stabilized pantry and cupboard of simple potions, unable to tear her mind from the past. At least in the Dark Lord's fortress there were no constant reminders of the pain save one, but that she kept hidden in a drawer. Reaching back to check a dusty potion bottle, her hand brushed across an old sheet of parchment. With a sinking feeling, she pulled it out.

The wax seal of the Dark Mark was as ugly as it had been the day it had arrived by owl. She should have burned it then, but no. She had been a fool.

. . .

Damp air seeped through the wooden slats of a shack deep within an unremarkable forest. A magical, smokeless fire burned in one corner, casting just enough light for Arcana to read the yellowed pages of an old spellbook. Rain pattered against the mossy roof, but did not drip through thanks to the Waterproofing Charm she had cast yesterday morning after being rudely awakened by several drops of dirty water plunking onto her face. While not Arcana's idea of a proper abode, it served its purpose.

A week ago she had received an intriguing correspondence from her contact in Knockturn Alley. Jeriol Ironcraft, the owner of Ironcraft Antiquaries and the purveyor of Arcana's more questionable magical supplies, had owled her a hastily-written warning that one Lucius Malfoy had been poking around Knockturn Alley with a sample of Arcana's work. She had shrugged it off without worry since no one, magical or Muggle, could find her when she did not want to be found, and Arcana had no interest in doing business with any Malfoy since that incident in the eighteenth century.

A second letter from Jeriol had arrived the day after, and Arcana'd had to read it three times before fully digesting the scrawled words. Apparently Malfoy had not been inquiring about the crystal phial containing a human soul on his own behalf. It was the Dark Lord Voldemort that was interested, or "You-Know-Who," as Jeriol had put it. Voldemort had already deduced that the soul had been taken recently, meaning that the "wizard" responsible was likely still alive. But that wasn't all. He wanted more.

After much thought, Arcana had replied, telling Jeriol that this "Dark Lord" might owl her through the proper channels. It would be risky to associate with such a powerful wizard, but she had grown bored these last couple decades. Little interesting work had come her way since Grindelwald's defeat, and she hadn't felt like traveling much, instead spending year after dull, bitter year pacing her old haunts around Britain. Time crept forward steadily in an unnatural fashion, reminding Arcana that in the mortal world her magic was not infinite, nor was her life. The black unicorn, her old friend, would come back, he had to come back, to take her home. It had been so long since she last rode.

The sensations came back in a rush - the fury of black wings beating at her sides and the Dark, primeval magic that harkened to the chaos before time. Arcana blinked, and the words of the forgotten spellbook reappeared before her eyes, shimmering with their own faint power. There was still time for a bit of excitement before her powers waned, and this Voldemort would provide that in spades if he was even half what the rumors claimed. There would be gold too, she mused, picturing her nearly empty Gringotts vault in her mind. Yes, this venture had potential.

Arcana did admit to some curiosity regarding this "Lord" Voldemort. By all reports, he was incredibly powerful and had pushed the boundaries of Dark magic to new limits. The disappearances, torture, and killings attributed to him and his followers were of little concern. She had survived unscathed the reigns of more violent Dark wizards, even after taunting them from the shadows with offers of human souls and ancient secrets.

In addition to his magical gifts, this Lord Voldemort was also talented at manipulation - something Arcana appreciated, being unfortunately well versed in the politics of the fae realms. This skill had already secured him an infamous place in wizarding history, and the way things were looking now, he might actually topple the Ministry of Magic. Arcana doubted he would get further than that, but it was too early to tell, and it didn't really matter in the end. Things always changed in the mortal world, and she remained the same.

Night fell as rain pounded against the roof, and Arcana continued her vigil. She gave up reading and closed her eyes to better concentrate on the shifting magical patterns of the forest. Just as she was drifting off to sleep there was a sharp tapping at the window. She jerked open the cracked window with a wandless spell, and a very wet owl flew inside, spraying water droplets everywhere. Arcana waved at the window, and it flew shut, shaking a couple nails loose from the rotted wall. The owl perched on the grimy table next to the spellbook and extended its leg toward her, seeming very eager to dispose of its burden. She untied the thick letter and rummaged through her robes for a bag of owl treats, as the bird looked ready to peck her hands if she did not produce food. Arcana tossed a couple treats across the room, and the owl flew to them after shooting her a nasty look. Her makeshift bed creaked as she sat down to examine the letter.

The envelope was free of magic, and Arcana recognized Jeriol's writing and nondescript seal. He had enclosed a short note along with another envelope that bore unfamiliar writing and was sealed with what had become known as the Dark Mark. The short note was neither addressed nor signed.

Apparently Lucius Malfoy tried (and failed) to follow He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's letter. If this is what I suspect, I will be glad to supply you with the necessary components. Watch out for yourself.

Arcana chuckled at the way Jeriol incriminated Malfoy but left his own name off. That wizard had a good sense of humor and was ever the businessman, already counting the Galleons before they left her clawed hands.

Lord Voldemort's letter also appeared free of magic after Arcana's thorough investigation, which surprised her slightly as she had expected him to weave some underhanded spellwork into the parchment. Nothing untoward occurred when she broke the seal, and Arcana cautiously unfolded the letter, ignoring the screeching post owl. She tossed the bird a couple more treats, and it went quiet.

Soul Hunter,

In this current atmosphere of paranoia, I am surprised that such a powerful Dark wizard as yourself has remained hidden to me when so many others have flocked to my side. You need not secret yourself away any longer.

For years I have sought someone with your unique skills but have been woefully disappointed with the tattered soul material available on the Black market -- that is until a servant of mine chanced to show me a sample of your work. I admit to being impressed and find myself eager to secure a supply of pure human souls, the likes of which I have never seen in all of my travels.

I can offer you more than any other wizard alive, and I will of course reward your efforts handsomely. My power and following both grow daily, and when I rule the wizarding world, you will have a place of honor at my side.

We must meet in person to discuss the terms of your employment. As you obviously value your privacy highly, I allow you to choose the location and time for our first meeting. Letters addressed to the Dark Lord Voldemort will find their way to me unless they are tampered with magically.

I await your reply,

Lord Voldemort

The tone of the letter was surprisingly polite for the most feared Dark wizard in centuries, though he clearly expected to gain her services with little fuss. Arcana did not doubt he could afford her high rates, but her instincts prickled at his words, warning her of the danger of doing business with this self-proclaimed Lord Voldemort. While she had been reclusive lately, she still listened and read, and she knew very well the terror that he had unleashed upon magical Britain. Several years ago he had dropped the mask of a political opponent to reveal himself as a fully-fledged Dark Lord, capable and willing to use the Darkest magic to achieve his will.

Arcana spent the next day mulling over her decision to the tune of pouring rain and screeching owl, but despite her careful deliberation, the little spark of excitement burning in her chest and told her that the choice had already been made. She would meet this Dark Lord Voldemort on her terms and sate her curiosity. No wizard had bested her in eight centuries, and this Lord Voldemort would fare no better.

. . .

Yes, she should have just burned the letter. Arcana stared at the parchment for several minutes, and then angrily tossed it back in the cupboard. She still couldn't bring herself to do it.

Arcana shut the cupboard door and withdrew one vial of dried blood from her pocket. Driven by paranoia, she stashed it as far from the cursed letter as possible, sticking it into an old boot in the wardrobe full of clothing she used while glamoured.

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

Waves crashed against the cliffs of a barren island somewhere west of Azkaban with all the force of winter's fury. Arcana stood at the cliff's edge, glaring at the black sea with her arms crossed over her chest, her cloak whipping about in the wind and rain. The dark day had fallen into night some hours ago, but neither that nor the rising storm had drawn her out of her thoughts.

Arcana blinked the raindrops from her eyes and tightened her grip on her elbows. The last vial containing the Dark Lord's dried blood was now safely hidden on the island. She would not be able to retrieve it rapidly, but it would safe since no humans had walked this ground since her banishment. Arcana had killed the last trespassers, and then thrown their remains off the cliff to the deep - a punishment far too merciful for their crime.

This island was close enough to the fae realms that the tiny spark of the demon Xhal Thos remaining in her head wriggled with excitement, and the land under her feet drew away from the offending presence. Over the hill stood a stone circle, a Faerie Door as the druids had called it. A small amount of High magic leaked through from the fae realms, and when enough accumulated Arcana came to drink and to remember.

Arcana withdrew one of her many secrets from a hidden pocket in her robes and tangled the heavy silver chain around her gloved fingers. The edges of the pendant bit into her palm, and she closed her fist over it, gently awakening the dormant power within. It was perhaps a useless habit to continue imbuing the old talisman with magic, but she could not bring herself to break the tradition of remembrance. Arcana would not allow history to repeat itself, though the chance she would ever take another apprentice was naught but a lost thought in the gale.