Illusions of Choice

Additional Disclaimer: Original elements (characters, locations, plot, etc.) are property of Methylethyldeth.

Author Notes: Methyl once again crawls out from under her mossy rock, clutching her ever present cup of tea and offering a long overdue update. Thanks to the beta astraia_ourania for finding the words that randomly ran away from the middle of sentences and pointing out confusing things that Methyl didn't notice.

Arcana flung herself away from a volley of curses and dove toward the nearest doorway, tearing the lock apart with a wandless spell as her hand closed around the door knob. Metal shrieked and sparked when her magic hit a powerful ward, charring the wood around the knob. She slipped inside, and a spell crashed into the brick where her head had been a moment before. She cast a sealing spell on the door, muffling the sounds of battle. That was too close.

The doorknob rattled, and then someone outside yelled in pain. Arcana reinforced the sealing spell, causing the wooden door to take root in the brick facade, and then hurried through the dark entryway in search of the stairs. Anti-Apparition wards were usually weaker on the roof unless the warding wizards had been exceedingly thorough. Arcana passed an office and a lobby, both dark and gathering dust. Wizard pictures lined the unlit hallway, full of nervous looking families. It was just as cold inside the building as outside, the residents seeming to have left for an extended vacation.

The front door creaked under a curse, and then suddenly disintegrated in an explosion of wood and brick that shattered all the windows on the ground floor. Arcana dashed forward with one arm raised to ward off the shards and found the stairs just beyond the gallery. She ran up them silently, taking the steps two at a time and casting repelling wards behind her to slow her pursuer. Weak light shone through the dirty windows on the second floor, casting speckled shadows on the walls. Her bad ankle gave out, and she stumbled between steps, earning a few more bruises for her trouble and making enough noise to wake the dead.

A magically distorted voice swore a familiar oath when its owner encountered Arcana's wards on the floor below. She gritted her teeth against the ache in her ankle and ran up to the third floor and then around a corner to put something solid between her and the wand-happy Death Eater. It just had to be Walden-bloody-McNair. It was the perfect opportunity to kill him, a giddy voice in her mind urged, but the Dark Lord would find out one way or another, and that would be painful.

Arcana leaned against the wall and shifted her weight to her good foot, sinking into the shadows. Her impromptu wards shattered, and heavy footsteps pounded up the stairs. McNair lacked any sense of finesse, but he possessed plenty of strength and ill will to serve as the Dark Lord required of him.

"Little witch, little witch, let me in," McNair taunted.

Arcana dropped her glamour and drew her wand, the inlaid mithril glinting in the weak light. Her fingers stung where the hot metal of the Restraining Cuff had burned her skin. Her left wrist hurt worse, and throbbed in time to her injured ankle, which had not appreciated the fall on the stairs. The scuffle had kicked up a layer of dust, and she had to stifle a sneeze.

"McNair," Arcana called out. "You'll find the real faerie stories bite back harder than the mash you feed your spawn these days."

Footsteps faltered, and waves of confusion crashed outward. Surprise, Arcana thought with a vicious smile. The battle outside was suddenly louder in the silence, all crashing and screaming and running. Arcana eased around the corner, wand raised.

"Harpy's cold tits!" McNair exclaimed from behind his mask, taking a step backwards, his wand aimed at Arcana's heart. Black robes hung heavily from his frame, his broad shoulders making the Death Eater regalia all the more menacing. The haze of white surprise in his magic bled to red rage. "While that does explain the door, what in the name of Merlin's crooked staff are you doing here?"

"It's of no concern. I'm leaving," Arcana said coldly, shifting her weight in preparation for a duel. McNair lowered his wand and laughed.

"Oh ho! You've been sneaking off again under your illusions, you naughty pet." He pulled off his mask, and his mouth curved into what he believed was a rakish grin, though Arcana thought it just made him look ready to eat a small, fuzzy animal. McNair raised his wand again, and Arcana sneered.

"Perhaps I'll just toss you over my shoulder and haul your arse back to the Dark Lord . . . again." McNair's wide grin took on a distinctly cruel quality, and Arcana felt a quick stab of shame from the reminder.

"And perhaps your head will roll off your shoulders this time, butcher," Arcana snapped vehemently, readying the slicing spell in her mind. "None of your playmates are here to Stun me this time." If McNair made one move, she'd have his blood on her hands, the Dark Lord's wrath be damned.

Something exploded on the street, rattling the lamps on the walls and shaking dust down from the ceiling. McNair laughed at Arcana, his elation for the raging battle warping his rotten magic.

"I see why our lord keeps you around, even if he doesn't take full advantage of it." McNair's eyes drifted over Arcana, and despite her loose robes, she had the sickening feeling that he knew what she looked like beneath them. Magic arced between the fingers of her left hand as her fury flared with sudden fire.

Arcana sensed McNair gather focus for a spell, but suddenly the red light of the Cruciatus Curse flashed through a window. He glanced toward it and grimaced. The red-tinted mask in his gloved hand bleached to white once more as the Unforgivable Curse was lifted. Screams wafted up the stairs from the street, and then more feet pounded into the building.

"Ah bugger," McNair grumbled, fitting his mask back over his features while keeping his wand trained on Arcana, his eyes darting to her left hand. "I thought they'd let me have some fun." He leered at her, and she nearly beheaded him for it. Disgusting wizard.

"Duty calls." He raised his wand in a mock salute. "Maybe another time." McNair loped back down the stairs. Arcana sneered after him and released the spell in her mind. She stretched the fingers of her left hand, and the arcing magic vanished. One day he too would be dead at her feet.

"No problem, chaps," McNair called from below. "Bellatrix, point that somewhere else! You got three guesses . . ."

Arcana silently ran up the stairs to the roof before she could catch any more of the conversation. McNair would tell the Dark Lord that she had been out, damn him to a demon's clutches. With a sharp gesture Arcana broke the lock on the door to the roof and stepped out, her breath misting in the damp air. She scanned the sky for broom-riding Aurors, but there were none. Furious curses and screams drifted up from the street, but no one had noticed her - she could sense that much. Violent flashes of spellfire lit up the smoke-filled alley far below, taking chunks out of the buildings where they hit and sending ripples through the thin ambient magic of the city. There were bodies sprawled on the cobblestones - only a couple of which were in heavy black robes - and she could smell smoke, blood, and the tang of ozone.

Arcana stuck her wand back in a pocket and scowled down at the destruction. Mortal war was a disgusting and inconvenient thing. The next time Jeriol lacked an important ingredient she would have him go and buy it for her. After her long exile she was too used to doing everything on her own.

The anti-Apparition wards on the roof were tenuous at best, and Arcana walked across the steep incline to the best spot to break them. She shifted her vision so she could see the magic clearly, and she reached into it and pulled. The wards around her unraveled with a defeated sigh, leaving a gaping hole in the protective spell. She prepared to Disapparate, but on instinct she turned around. Across the street, perched on a rooftop much like she, was the Dark Lord.

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

Shelly did yell at Arcana when the fae hobbled into her rooms, clearly worse for wear.

"Lady must sit down. Oh, Shelly knew that Lady shouldn't be going out." The house-elf shooed the unresisting Arcana to her chair by the hearth. "There was trouble, Shelly can tell."

Shelly yanked off Arcana's right boot without preamble and started poking at the injured ankle. Arcana gritted her teeth and stared at the dancing flames, fiercely resisting the urge to kick Shelly away. Her instincts were still on edge from the battle, and seeing the Dark Lord had shaken her more than it should have. The image of his face, drawn tight with disapproval and anger, would not fade from her mind. She might need to brew the rose hip potion sooner than she had expected.

"Is it any worse?" Arcana asked, rubbing her face with her hands in an attempt to wipe her thoughts clear of accusing red eyes. It felt like gnomes were poking hot needles into her ankle, but it had still supported her weight on the long walk through the forest.

"Lady will need more potions, and Lady mustn't go walking around anymore today," Shelly insisted, avoiding Arcana's question. "Shelly will get the Master to order it if she must!"

Arcana flinched at Shelly's sharp tone, and then sneered, disgusted at her weakness.

"No. You'd best not do that. He's displeased enough already, and I'd prefer not to remind him of my existence today." Shelly squeaked. Arcana gripped the armrests of her chair tightly and pushed down her sudden fury and the violent images that accompanied it.

"Shelly doesn't want Lady Arcana hurt!" Shelly clutched at Arcana's knee where it had been bruised on the stairs, her eyes wide as saucers. "Shelly never wants that. Please just be good, Lady. Lady needs rest, and Shelly only wants what is best for Lady Arcana."

Arcana forced a softer expression on her face before Shelly started wailing and took a deep breath. "Of course not, Shelly," Arcana said, loosening Shelly's death grip on her knee. "A battle broke out at Diagon Alley, and part of me is still fighting and running." She forced her lips to curve into a wry smile for a moment. Shelly calmed down, her expression serious.

"Shelly understands, Lady. Shelly is here for Lady Arcana, even if she must be alone."

"Thank you," Arcana said, hoping she sounded more grateful than she felt at the moment. She sighed and pulled off the singed gloves to give her somewhere to look besides Shelly's worried face. The house-elf's eyes were too trusting. Arcana's skin was red where she'd touched the hot metal, and she caught Shelly eying the mild burns. "Stay with me. My mood is foul, but I have control of my instincts."

Shelly nodded and went back to tending Arcana's injured ankle in silence. It was loyalty and compassion Arcana did not deserve, but she accepted it nonetheless. Her Dark Mark warmed under her skin, and she felt the Dark Lord's sudden nearness. Moments later she sensed others. The battle was over.

Arcana felt the Dark Lord's attention shift to her, and the brand on her arm burned. She got the distinct impression through their link that she was not to go wandering off again, and then the awareness was gone. Arcana sighed in relief, and the tightness across her shoulders eased. He must be too busy to bother cursing her. She rubbed vainly at the tingling brand. At least war was good for one thing.

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

Days passed without any sign from the Dark Lord, save for the occasional hum of Arcana's Dark Mark. She had done as Shelly wished, resting her ankle and only leaving her rooms shortly before dawn to expose the demon wound to the morning's first light. In her isolation boredom had quickly become an enemy. Arcana would have napped the day away save for the Dark Lord's orders to only sleep after taking his potion and her fear of more demon nightmares. A new batch of rose hip draught had been brewed and bottled - she really needed to name that potion - and she had run out of wizarding periodicals to read. She didn't feel up to experimenting with the focus ring, and even the dreams of the crystal ball were no longer enticing. In desperation, yesterday she had thumbed through a Muggle "technical" book of some sort that she had stashed away, but it was just as baffling as the last time she'd looked at it. The barmy Muggles couldn't write in proper English and had a preoccupation with the prefix 'nano.'

After a quick dinner, Arcana donned a cloak and slipped out of her rooms, ignoring Shelly's despondent sighs. The sun had set a few hours ago, and she needed something to occupy her time until dawn. She refused to sleep after sundown even with the Dark Lord's potion since Xhal Thos still tickled her waking thoughts at night. Arcana crossed paths with a dozen unfamiliar witches and wizards in the corridors. None had even turned their heads at Arcana's passing until she came across Bellatrix Lestrange.

The witch's dark eyes were sharp and glittered in the shadows of her hood. There was a new confidence in her posture and a black clarity in her magic. Her body bore the signs of a second youth, and Arcana could almost smell the crude Dark magic she had used. Virgin's blood renewed the physical, but not for long, and would rot her already blackened magic if she used it often.

Bellatrix planted herself in the middle of the corridor, blocking Arcana's way. Arcana stopped, keeping a distance between them that would give her the advantage if curses began to fly.

Bellatrix threw back her hood and glared. There was no grey left in her black hair, and her lips curved into a mocking smile.

"My lord's pet . . . skulking around in the shadows. How does the tug of that short leash feel around your neck?"

"I still have better things to do than converse with you." Arcana took a step forward. Bellatrix did not move.

"The Dark Lord would be displeased with your attitude toward his most loyal," Bellatrix said.

"If you hold him in such esteem, you should obey his orders and let me be."

"This is for him! It is all for him," Bellatrix snapped, her eyes flashing, only to become calm again a moment later. "Unlike you. You're unable serve anyone or anything. Without purpose! Without true reason or emotion - only an illusion of magic," she accused. "My lord can see through you, and so can I."

Arcana took another step forward, refusing to dignify Bellatrix's ignorance with a response. If she gave voice to her anger, Arcana wasn't sure she could stop her magic from following.

"Despite his leniency, you sneer at my lord's generosity. You don't deserve to lick the dust from his boots."

"I doubt he'd wish me close enough to do so," Arcana replied, flexing her clawed fingers. Bellatrix's gaze darted to them before locking with Arcana's eyes. A muscle in the witch's cheek twitched, and she looked elsewhere. Perhaps Bellatrix had seen the scars Arcana had inflicted on the Dark Lord's old body. She certainly seemed willing to attend to his every need, and he had taken the care to be present when Arcana had patched the witch's soul back together.

"You're close enough that he runs off to banish your nightmares. Are scary dreams rattling around the little fae's soulless skull?" Bellatrix taunted, lapsing into an abhorrent cooing voice. Arcana gritted her teeth. Her fingers tingled as magic pooled there, ready to strike down the witch. She could show Bellatrix first hand the effects of losing one's soul.

"Ask the Dark Lord if you really want to know, Lestrange. But will he tell you the truth?"

"I am his most loyal! His most trusted." Insanity flashed over Bellatrix's features, and her hand inched toward the sleeve where she stowed her wand.

Arcana touched her thumb to her third finger and magic sparked. She would kill - no, stop Bellatrix before she drew. The Dark Lord would not forgive her for murdering his apprentice. The witch took a deep breath, her eyes rolled back, and then she was calm again - magic and emotions became black and still. Arcana just raised a pale eyebrow, unseen under her hood, and brushed past Bellatrix. The witch was shaking.

"I'm watching you," Bellatrix hissed down at Arcana.

Arcana walked away, and a moment later she heard Bellatrix stride off in the opposite direction. The stones beneath Arcana's feet became thick, scaly coils, and then they were stone again. She recognized the awareness of the fortress now, letting it slip to and from her senses as it wished. It seemed that Bellatrix Lestrange was not the only one watching her.

There had been worry in Lestrange's eyes, and Arcana guessed that was the source of her vitriol. The witch may have confronted her, but it was a defensive move - her stance, her words, everything screamed that she was protecting . . . something. Bellatrix did not fear Arcana personally, that much she could tell. So what was it?

Arcana ignored the lascivious look McNair sent her way when they crossed paths. Humans - their minds were on that half the time and on war the rest. Arcana's feet stopped working, and she nearly tripped as it all became clear. Bellatrix was defending her claim on the Dark Lord. Arcana choked back her laughter and forced her feet to start walking again.

It is all for him, Bellatrix's words echoed in Arcana's mind. She'd have better luck getting attention out of a rock. At least the witch could enchant the rock to feel an illusion of attraction.

The library door was locked as always, but opened with a touch of Arcana's hand. The everburning candles flared to life with a wave, casting a warm glow onto the leather-bound books that lined the room floor to ceiling. Arcana had spent many hours sitting in the comfortable chair by the fireplace, reading dusty old tomes with her feet propped up on the grate, inches from the flames. The thought of pouring over another ancient Dark grimoire put a sour taste in her mouth, reminding her of the months she'd spent researching on the Dark Lord's behalf. Arcana ran her gloved fingers over the place on her neck where the demon Xhal Thos had left its scars, and she shuddered. The runes forming its name still smoldered in her mind when she thought of it.

Banishing the memories of demon teeth tearing into her flesh, Arcana walked across the library and easily found the small star that was carved amidst the intricate vines along the edge of one shelf. Nothing visibly changed when she touched it, but Arcana sensed the passage open, and she stepped through the shelf, the books, and the wall without even blinking.

She walked down the dark corridor, taking the left fork when it branched. The right was so heavily warded that it was black to her magical sight, but she knew there were stairs leading upward from the one time she had seen it lit with a torch. The corridor narrowed and the carving became rougher, as if the wizard responsible had not bothered to go back and finish it. Reaching the point where the tunnel abruptly dead-ended, Arcana reached out and touched each wall with her fingers. She closed her eyes and slowly stepped backwards until she felt the wall on her left ripple. The wards recognized her as fae and desiring entry of free will, and Arcana stepped through the stone.

Fermented Wild magic hung thick in the air like a heady perfume. Torches sputtered to life, sparking strange colors, their governing spells corrupted by long neglect, and tuneless music bounced between trunks and shelves, ringing off of steel and mithril. Magic drifted about Arcana's legs as she wandered aimlessly through the artifacts, occasionally running her hands over one as she passed.

Arcana wasn't sure who carved this storeroom into the rock or why, let alone how it became filled with reminders of her home. Oh, it was obviously the Slytherin family's doing, and from the decay of the spells protecting the room, it had been sealed for centuries, but that was all she could deduce. The magical relics were mostly useless, either needing to be used in the fae realms, or simply requiring more power than a starving cripple like her could channel. Arcana sighed, caressing the air an inch above a rune-encrusted stone that may have been part of a gateway between the mortal world and her own. The incomplete spells hummed discordantly, as if the stone knew there was no point to its existence now, rather like her.

This place might be a fitting tomb.

Nearby magic reacted to Arcana's morbid thoughts and exploded in a shower of green-black glitter. It took considerable effort to wrench back her musings from her bleak future. Dwelling on the past was safer, though not much happier . . .

The woods were quiet that windless night. The nearest humans were five miles away in a Muggle village, and they never wandered this way in winter. Arcana stepped to the edge of a clearing and wrapped her body in shadow, her senses stretched to their fullest, searching for the telltale shift of Apparition. She had tucked her high collar around her face and pulled the brim of her hat low. Smoked glasses hid the shimmer of High magic in her eyes that would betray her despite the vague glamour she had cast. Arcana had learned the hard way that such precautions were often the only thing between her and a dagger of tainted steel. Wizards thought that this world had been free of fae for eight hundred years, and they were mostly right, but they had not forgotten their version of history, and the summary execution of fae was still wizarding law.

The muffled sound of a snapping twig, a breath of air, and the overwhelming sensation of Dark magic, like the blackest of clouds and the rumble of thunder, announced the arrival of Lord Voldemort. Arcana saw nothing in the trees or the clearing, and she smiled. He too was cautious and, like her, knew exactly what he was doing. She turned her head to the wind and caught his scent - something not quite human, mingled with old books, potion components, and the moist leaves. He had come alone, as Arcana had requested.

Tendrils of Dark magic stretched out from a point across the clearing as Voldemort searched for the soul hunter, letting Arcana pinpoint his location, but his probing magic found nothing but trees and shadow. He stepped into the clearing, long black robes trailing behind as if he were pulling the shadows along with him, and Arcana sensed a tremor of what might have been emotion in his magic. He was very tall and thin, and though his face was hooded, she could see his crimson eyes, narrowed to slits, scanning the trees for her presence. She smiled once more, enjoying her moment of power over this feared wizard.

The shadows fell away from Arcana, and Voldemort turned sinuously, fixing her with his piercing gaze. She smiled as his Legilimency found no purchase in her mind, slipping past as if she were only air. He was powerful and adept, but that was not enough to overcome her many years of experience. His magic drew back, trying to get a taste for her general state and failing. This wizard would be a challenge, there was no doubt, and she would need to be very careful, but she hadn't had this much fun for a long time. Arcana walked forward silently to join Lord Voldemort in the clearing and then inclined her head in silent greeting.

"Soul hunter," Lord Voldemort hissed. "I am pleased to meet you at last."

"Lord Voldemort," Arcana said softly, catching a flicker of surprise flash over the wizard's face. Her voice was not what he had expected. She was not what he had expected. She never was what they expected. "You have a proposition for me."

"Yes, hunter." His tone was laced with irritation, likely because she had taken command of the conversation. "And as I wrote in my letter, gold is no issue. Neither is anything else you require. Lord Voldemort provides for those who serve him."

"I serve no one, Lord Voldemort. This will be a purely contractual arrangement. We will agree on the number of souls you require and the price, and then we will meet again for an exchange. That is how I work." Clients always wanted to shackle her to them and, except for the sheer power he radiated, this one was no different.

"Is that so?" he hissed. Bloody red flares blossomed in his magic, though his face betrayed no emotion.

Arcana stood perfectly still, ready to Disapparate should his wand hand so much as twitch. This one was quick to anger. With that and the magical power that flowed about him, she was beginning to understand why no witch or wizard dared utter his name.

"Yes, Lord Voldemort, and if that is not to your liking, our conversation is over."

"Don't be so hasty, hunter." He raised one hand slowly, gesturing for her to stay. "Why throw away the opportunity of a lifetime? Unless you're afraid." He sneered down at Arcana, and her pride prickled. Perhaps she'd walk away and vanish for his lifetime, just out of spite.

"I hold no allegiance. I work independently on my terms, or not at all." Arcana deliberately turned her back on him to leave. She had all the time in the world, but that was no reason to waste it on this fool wizard.

"A contract then, hunter," Lord Voldemort said. Arcana halted and slowly turned back to him. "You will work for me exclusively." His commanding tone sent a chill down Arcana's spine. Perhaps it had been a mistake to respond to his letter, but she'd wanted a challenge and here it stood waiting before her.

"That would be very costly, Lord Voldemort," Arcana said cautiously. "My terms for such a contract will be stringent, and I will not negotiate them."

Voldemort smiled like a snake wrapping its coils about its prey.

"I'm confident that we can construct a mutually beneficial agreement. A blood contract, magically binding."

"We shall see, Lord Voldemort."

Crimson eyes and rotted red-black magic dared Arcana to accept. Lord Voldemort extended one spidery hand.

. . . A crawling sensation under her skin and the explosion of more fermented Wild magic brought Arcana back to the present. Her feet had wandered while she had been lost in thought and had brought her to a dusty corner of the storeroom and to a perfectly clean relic that had begged to be touched. The scrying mirror beneath Arcana's hands hummed, its surface fogging over, then becoming black as the night sky. Arcana snatched her hands from the surface and looked away. She'd never had good luck with those things. Accidentally shredding her mind was not something she wanted to add to her list of stupid mistakes.

That creeping sensation shivered under Arcana's skin again, and she gritted her teeth. The barest touch of her mind upon her link to the Dark Lord sent her doubling over in a fit of dry heaves. Smoky magic hovered behind her eyes and brimstone stung the back of her throat. He had opened Xhal Thos' book.

Wild magic thrashed around Arcana's body, screeching like iron nails against a chalkboard, and the storeroom swam before her eyes. The forests were burning and death keens filled the air. Arcana stumbled to the wall and cleared her mind, leaning against the stone and passing through it into the dark corridor. She stood there for a time with her eyes clenched shut, pushing away the shadows of memory that were not her own. At least one thing in that room was old enough to have known the time when demons had pillaged the fae realms.

A cool breeze touched the back of Arcana's neck, and she felt dangerous magic shift about her, almost sentient. She grounded her mind and let her intent be known. The presence faded back into the walls, and Arcana turned about and quickly walked away before she got eviscerated by a dead wizard's cranky wards.

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

Firelight glinted off Arcana's wine glass as she swirled the rose-hued liquid within. She was comfortably ensconced in the relative safety of her rooms, curled up in her armchair by the hearth. It was quiet save for the soft tick of the clock on the mantel and the background hum of muted magic.

Her sitting room was a peaceful haven built on top of the black stone that comprised all floors, walls, and ceilings of the Dark Lord's fortress. A mishmash of elven rugs was strewn over the floor, shelves filled with magical tools lined one wall, and a heavy table stood in one corner with an equally heavy chair. Two armchairs stood before the hearth, with the Dark Lord's snake-embellished monstrosity looming over Arcana's fae-crafted refinement. His chair has been there since she had first set foot in these rooms - a reminder that she could never be far from him within these walls. Arcana's lips curled in a sneer. Using such crass tactics was unnecessary with her. The entire fortress and the surrounding lands were stained with his magic.

Shortly before dawn the Dark Lord had closed the demon book, and although the dirty, crawling sensation in their link had evaporated, Arcana's perception of the world was left somehow discolored, as if coated with the remnants of demon filth. The Dark Lord had kept his end of their connection locked down so she couldn't determine how he had fared during or after his idiotic exploration, but considering what she'd passively sensed, that was probably a good thing.

Arcana had hoped that the Dark Lord would see reason and keep the book locked away and unopened, but perhaps that was impossible under the conditions Xhal Thos had set for the loan. A shiver ran down her spine, and she didn't bother pretending it was from the cold. With luck the Dark Lord would kill himself with this folly. It would certainly save her a lot of work.

The firelight reflected off of the gilt title of a book left forgotten on the small table at Arcana's side. It had been dull reading after the heady magic suffusing the storeroom. She shifted in her chair and tucked her slippered feet under herself, glancing at the clock on the mantel. The afternoon was wearing on, and she expected a summons since the last vial of the Dark Lord's sleeping potion was now empty. Boots, gloves, and cloak were already set out on the heavy table on the other side of the sitting room thanks to Shelly's foresight. Arcana took a sip of wine. It tasted like ash.

Disgusted, she set the glass aside and reached for the crystal ball, nestled safely in its silk lined box by her side. This at least should have remained untainted by the demon filth. Arcana wrapped her hands around the cool sphere and closed her eyes, drawing her focus inward. Magic swirled within her mind, undefined, yet not wholly without shape.

A company of men rode out of the forest as if the devil was at their backs, speeding onward to what they considered civilization. Hooves pounded the road that cut through the bleak holding, flinging up clods of mud as men kicked at the flanks of their steeds. It was a sorry sight to see, these humans huddled in shacks and behind stone walls, lord and peasant the same. All were cold, all were hungry, and many were sick - everyone was dying. Death hung over the barren fields, and smoke rose from somewhere in the keep behind the tattered flag flying from the highest tower. The grey sky threatened to storm again soon, causing mortal eyes to dart furtively upward and mortal mouths to utter nonsense prayers. Arcana swung down from her perch on the sturdy branch of an oak tree, sparing the mortals one last glance. Humans must have done something terrible to make this world hate them so.

The vision dissolved as Arcana's Dark Mark burned. She let go of the crystal ball, resting the shining sphere of magic in her lap, and then acknowledged the summons. The sharp pain below the crook of her left elbow faded to a tingling, and the Dark Lord's attention moved elsewhere, but not before ghosting over the magical haze of the dream. He had noticed, again. Arcana grimaced and rose, gently replacing the crystal ball in its box and returning it to the locked drawer by her bed. That piece of furniture belonged to her and not the Dark Lord, and she doubted he could break into it without loss of limb and considerable scarring. Arcana exchanged slippers for boots, pulled on her long gloves, and tossed her cloak over her shoulders, drawing the hood low over her face and tucking an errant wisp of white hair behind her ear. The corridors were blessedly empty that day.

The door of the Dark Lord's study creaked open as Arcana approached, sending a shaft of golden candlelight across the corridor's floor. The Dark Lord was ensconced behind his desk, busy setting a sealing spell on a rolled-up scroll. Arcana offered him a shallow bow, carefully hiding her revulsion at the sludge of demonic residue coating his magic.

"Have you been sleeping well, my fae?" The Dark Lord set aside the sealed scroll and locked gazes with Arcana. A heavy pressure descended upon her shoulders, and a command to kneel drifted across her surface thoughts. She slipped through his magic without physically moving, and then wiped away the filth that tried to sink into her being.

"Yes, my lord," Arcana replied with a slight inclination of her head. "Your potion prevented any dreams."

"And there have been no other problems?" The Dark Lord propped his elbows on the desk and steepled his fingers.

"No, my lord. I have not experienced any episodes during my waking hours." The crimson eyes bored into Arcana's mind only to hit her impenetrable mental shields. The Dark Lord's mind ghosted across the barrier and then retreated, leaving behind a faint haze of demon filth, which Arcana immediately stripped away.

"Then we will assume that the matter is resolved unless further incidents occur. You may go, Arcana." The Dark Lord rose and went to consult a detailed magical map levitating in front of one of the bookshelf-lined walls.

Arcana bowed and turned to leave.

"I will expect you on the East tower at midnight for Stargazing."

A complaint rose from her throat regarding the incompatibility of the High magic required for Stargazing and demon filth, but she shoved it back down with a grimace. He was in no mood to be bothered, and she had no desire to get cursed while his magic was stained.

"As you wish, my lord," Arcana said obediently. The Dark Lord waved a shooing hand in her direction, and Arcana left, the door closing and locking behind her with a solid click.

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

Silver fire lanced through Arcana, so compelling that she almost cried. She stretched toward the stars, floating in the nothingness above the world, and they began to whisper. It was faint at first, but Arcana had learned to tune out the magic of the land upon which she supposed her feet still rested. The promise of all that could have been and all that may yet be danced before her, just out of reach. Always out of reach.

Cords of red-black magic tangled around her limbs and tugged her back. The stars were almost within her grasp, but a familiar voice issued a command, and Arcana fell. She gasped for breath, suddenly seeing the valley spread below her and the night sky glittering above. The tower was unsteady under her feet and the stone parapet felt unreal under her trembling hands, like she would fall through it at any moment.

"What did you see, my fae?"

Cold fingers snaked around and grasped Arcana's chin. She yielded and turned to look up at the swirling magic that was the Dark Lord, now barely stained with the smoky residue of demon magic. The stones under her feet and at her back turned to serpent coils for an instant, and then were stone again. Arcana shifted her vision, and the Dark Lord's pale visage resolved itself.

"I saw nothing, my lord." Arcana took a deep breath to ground herself, and the world steadied - earth below, life around, and sky above. "Again, nothing."

It was the truth, and Arcana made sure the Dark Lord knew it. His thin lips pressed together in annoyance, and the skin around his eyes creased, but that was the end of it. His hand fell away, and Arcana turned to look at the forest. The winter wind bit her cheeks, whispering its own dark message and blowing the embers of her frustration toward anger.

In the half-dozen times Arcana had tried to Stargaze, she had made no progress. The failure was irritating as failure always was, but deep down she was relieved. Something inside drove her to reach further every time, and she didn't know what would happen if she finally touched that silver fire.

"Perhaps next time," the Dark Lord said. He grasped Arcana's arm, and her brand warmed. She tensed when he pulled her closer, her hands tingling as she instinctively pooled raw magic there. "There is one more thing."

Without another word the Dark Lord Apparated them to his rooms. He released her arm, and Arcana forced her magic to settle, clenching her hands into fists as best she could without gouging her palms with her claws. She hated side-along Apparition. The Dark Lord's rooms were sweltering as usual, and the abrupt change in temperature made her flush. She pulled off her cloak and outer robes, tossing them over a disused chair in the corner. Her gloves clung to her skin uncomfortably, but she wouldn't remove them without a direct order.

Steam was rising from a pitcher of spiced cider that a house-elf had set on a table in front of the hearth. The Dark Lord crooked his finger, prompting the pitcher to rise and pour cider into two cups. He levitated one cup to his outstretched hand and sat, gesturing expectantly to the chair across from his. Arcana held back a snarl and did as he desired, taking the less imposing chair that was built with wizards in mind, making it too high for her feet to rest comfortably on the floor. The Dark Lord's red eyes gave nothing away, so Arcana just summoned her cup of cider from the table with a wave. Her patience was a finite commodity, and she was coming to end of it.

"There is a delicate matter that must be attended to, my fae," the Dark Lord stated. "I lack the time to travel to Prague and track down the necessary parties personally, and the few of my loyal Death Eaters possessing the necessary qualities for this mission are otherwise occupied."

Arcana regarded him warily and took a sip of the cider. She recoiled with a scowl, tasting a mild relaxant mixed in with the usual spices. The Dark Lord smiled slightly. He had not drunk any of the cider. More games.

"You will act as my emissary, Arcana."

Arcana hid a sneer with the pretense of sniffing the contents of the cup, feeling the lightest touch against the edge of her mind as the Dark Lord tried to gauge her reaction. She met his eyes for a moment, and then looked to the dancing fire. Though acting as the Dark Lord's emissary in matters of politics was bearable, it was an order, and Arcana did not appreciate being ordered.

"I am not contract-bound to do so, my lord," Arcana replied without emotion, catching a faint note of irritation in the Dark Lord's magic. The fingers of his wand hand twitched.

Nagini slithered into the room, brushing past the Dark Lord's boots and flicking her tongue at Arcana before twisting into a mound of coils on the warm flagstones in front of the fireplace.

"You will be well paid, as always, and you can't deny that you want to . . . stretch your legs a bit."

Arcana set the cup of cider on her knee and glared at Nagini. So that was why he'd been keeping her cooped up. Arcana resisted the urge to tap her claws against the cup. The last time she'd annoyed the Dark Lord with that habit she'd gained a new appreciation for his skill at casting curses.

"I haven't lived this long by stirring up trouble, my lord."

"No, you usually Disapparate before the trouble erupts," the Dark Lord said.

"Only when I'm able to choose my battles." Arcana fidgeted in her creaky armchair. The Dark Lord needed a better reason than that to convince her to do his dirty work.

"Have some more cider, my fae, lest your stubborn streak get the best of you."

The dangerous look in the Dark Lord's eyes prompted Arcana to take a very small sip, letting her hide another sneer behind the cup. The drug in the cider was dilute enough that could drink it all without ill effect, but the principle of the matter irked her to no end. Arcana settled deeper into the chair, leaving her feet hanging above the floor, and like a bored human child stuck in a similar predicament, she longed to start kicking at something.

"Do be grateful for your lord's kindness," the Dark Lord advised. Arcana didn't bother to look contrite. "Remember, I know you've worked in Prague before."

"I took one contract, and left quickly after, my lord. Half the city smells of golems and the undead. The rest is now packed with chattering Muggle tourists blindly walking through wards they can't see."

"Neither of which will trouble you."

"That land is not receptive to the subtle spells that are best suited for such delicate situations." Arcana despised open confrontation if victory wasn't assured. If danger arose she was more suited to manipulating ambient magic to create distractions that granted her time to slip away from drawn wands or unweave wards. The British Isles were mostly amenable to this. Prague was not.

"Prague would not be Prague without a few magical explosions," the Dark Lord countered, waving one spidery hand in dismissal. "You wreaked plenty of destruction on my land when it was against you, and you could always fall back on 'crude' wizarding spells." He had drenched that last bit with disdain, which made a cold smile tug at Arcana's lips.

"The weather in Prague is dreadful this time of year," she said forebodingly. The Dark Lord's eyes narrowed to crimson slashes on his pale face, and bright anger rippled along the edges of his magic.

"You will learn to accept my orders with grace, Arcana."

"The sun will burn green first, my lord."

"Is it green in the fae realms?"

"Perhaps." If time and place were not static in the realms, there was certainly no reason the sun could not do as it wished.

The Dark Lord's magic flashed with sudden rage, and Arcana prudently took another sip of the adulterated cider, thinking the act might ease what was to come. The brand on her left arm burned, but she ignored it and plastered a thoughtful look on her face. Surprisingly the pain faded to a dull throb quickly enough instead of intensifying to agony. He must really need her to go if that had not broken his temper. Perhaps being needed was not all that bad.

She hated politics, and the Dark Lord knew it. Perhaps that was the reason for the civility of his proposal. Truth be told, she was desperate to get away from the fortress and the oppressive magic that permeated the place. Her trip to Alexandria in autumn had been her last break from the monotony of Darkness, and with the stress of the demon summoning her sojourn at the Library seemed years past, not months.

Arcana's thoughts suddenly flew back to Alexandria, and it took all her control to keep her face and magic free of emotion. She took several steady breaths and ran a finger along the rim of her cup. If there was anywhere she could learn about blood magic, it would be the Library. Mucking about Prague was risky, but the opportunity was too good to pass up, and he expected her to take the mission just to get away.

"I will have freedom to act and time for myself after this task of yours is complete, my lord," Arcana said, tasting victory.

"Of course." The Dark Lord relaxed into his chair, extending his legs and crossing them at the ankle. "You will be contacting an old acquaintance of mine and as such, you must be able to defend yourself properly."

Arcana took another sip of cider, playing the part of the semi-obedient servant, and grimaced. Prague was full of Dark wizards and was home to the few European necromancers outside the Summoners' Guild, and she was supposed to track down one of them. Lovely.

"When you find Boris Raskovic you will contact me and make sure he doesn't slink back to his family home before I arrive. Aggravating him is acceptable, but be mindful that my negotiations will be trying, even without a pile of corpses."

The name was familiar to Arcana, and she repressed a snarl that threatened to break her cold expression. The Dark Lord could contact the entire Prague Enclave through Boris Raskovic, scion of the Raskovic family. She only had a vague idea of what territory the family controlled and what branch of particularly nasty magic they specialized in. Again, lovely. She thought about Alexandria and revenge, and the Dark Lord's task seemed more palatable.

"I'll need accurate maps of the city and the surrounding countryside, my lord."

"So you haven't been back since then."

"No," Arcana said. Wanting to cut off that line of inquiry, she finished her cider in two gulps and pointedly set the cup down on the table next to the pitcher. It took concentration to pull her arm back from the table and not let it just fall limp. Surprise was dulled as her heart rate slowed in response to the relaxant.

"Lord Voldemort provides for those who serve him faithfully. You will have all the information you need, my fae."

Arcana muttered an acknowledgment, her eyes drifting shut. Her head fell back against the chair. The Dark Lord's magic shimmered with amusement, and Nagini hissed her version of laughter.

"I suppose I should have warned you that it tends to sink to the bottom of the cup."

Arcana had the urge to make an obscene gesture, but that seemed like too much work. "I know it does," she grumbled, unwilling to admit her surprise. "Just do what you intended and leave me in peace."

The Dark Lord chuckled. His mind drifted into their link, and Arcana's Dark Mark burned. The red-black magic smelled faintly of brimstone, and she cringed, shifting under its touch. He withdrew a few moments later, and Arcana shoved away the smoky slime of demon magic residue. She turned her head to glare at the Dark Lord, but the movement made her dizzy, and she snarled, going very still until the room stopped wavering. Upon applying her concentration to cleansing the relaxant from her body, Arcana's thoughts cleared somewhat.

"There was no need to contaminate good cider for that, my lord," Arcana said sharply.

"Be glad it was unnecessary. I had to verify that I could contact you over long distances, and that you could accurately relay your location to me."

"And asking me was out of the question?" Arcana rubbed at her itching brand, careful to keep her head still.

"Yes."

The look on his face and the cadence of his magic dared her to question him further. Arcana bit her tongue to keep from asking what he had really been after, recognizing the edge of a bad mood when she saw it. She turned to glare at Nagini, who had started hissing rude comments. The snake ignored the fae and slithered up to the Dark Lord, winding around him with a self-satisfied look in her sharp eyes. The Dark Lord's hand automatically started stroking Nagini's scaly coils, and some tension slipped from his bony shoulders.

Irritation trickled back as Arcana cleared the drug from her system, but she kept her face blank - the image of an obedient servant, or at least as close as she could manage. The brand on her arm tingled, and Arcana caught a hint of the Dark Lord's emotions sliding along their link. Then there was just the normal hum of magic. She needed to get away from the Dark Lord and his fortress, if only to think without him hovering over her shoulder.

In another age Arcana would have enjoyed these twisting games, but now they just made her head hurt. Maybe that was what being mortal was like.

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Next: "An Ironic Riddle." Arcana journeys to Prague, intent to complete the Dark Lord's mission as quickly as possible so she can make her way to Alexandria and come one step closer to revenge and freedom.

Thank you for reading this latest installment. Methyl is nearly ready to send chapter four off to the beta and is currently writing chapter eight. Maybe we'll manage to update sooner this time! :p

If you haven't gotten enough Methylethyldeth yet, she also resides on livejournal, where she posts regularly on a variety of topics. She doesn't bite visitors . . . often. :D