Illusions of Choice

Author Notes: Methyl once again crawls out from under her mossy rock, clutching her ever-present cup of tea and offering a long, long, long, long, long overdue update. This chapter was a royal pain and had to be torn apart so many times that the commas bred like pixies when Methyl wasn't looking. Many thanks to the beta astraia_ourania, who looked over this chapter twice because Methyl just had to do some serious fixing after her first edit. Hopefully it was worth the super extra long wait.

Enjoy!

Hidden under the glamour of a weathered witch, Arcana hustled down the street with her hood up and her head bowed against the freezing rain. All she could think about was how soon Isabella Cumanus would take information about Arcana to the Summoners' Guild to get her banishment rescinded, and how no matter how badly Arcana wanted to find the witch first, she was stuck in Prague until she led the Dark Lord to Boris Raskovic at midnight. Why was it always midnight anyway? There was nothing wrong with midday, especially in Prague. Dark magic worked just as well with the sun up. Arcana walked faster, but her restlessness wouldn't abate. She couldn't hunt down the witch yet, but she could find a way to track her prey.

The hawkers and their carts that had crowded the streets of wizarding Prague yesterday were gone, leaving the city eerily empty. Arcana grumbled and gingerly stepped over some particularly slick cobblestones, thankful her ankle had healed from when Xhal Thos had broken it from within her dream.

The demon's deep voice rumbled under her thoughts followed by the feeling of its teeth tearing into her throat, vivid as it had been on that Solstice night. Her feet slid out from under her, and she shrieked, arms flailing, barely catching her balance. Heart pounding in anticipation of the demon's laughter, she planted her feet firmly on the street and looked within, but found only her own thoughts.

Arcana kept a straight face when her Dark Mark warmed and sent tingles running up her arm. It fell silent as the Dark Lord's attention turned elsewhere. She shook her cloak to break the ice that had frozen on it, realizing that she should have renewed its water-repelling charm years ago. Pausing to peer through a foggy shop window, Arcana once more prodded the dark corner of her mind where Xhal Thos had lingered, but there were only her own familiar shadows. Maybe the demon's voice had just been her imagination, maybe the Dark Lord checking up on her had been a coincidence, and maybe, if she tried harder, she could convince herself those lies were the truth.

A cold gust whipped up the freezing rain to sting Arcana's face, making her tug her hood lower and mutter a spell. Drops steamed as they hit her magic instead of her skin. She hoped the Dark Lord arrived unprepared for the foul weather, if only so she could enjoy a spot of silent mirth at his expense without having his wand turned on her afterwards. He kept a hefty warming charm on his robes, so it wasn't as if his wizardy bits would freeze off. Pity.

A brass sign squeaked as it swung in the wind, and Arcana squinted over her dark glasses to read the words obscured by a thick layer of ice. Ducking around the vicious icicles hanging from the sign, she pushed open the door and peeled her hood back. Bits of ice clattered to the hardwood floor and crunched under her boots as the door swung shut with a bang, startling the young witch sitting behind the counter. Her bow screeched across the strings of the fiddle she was tuning, and she froze for moment before carefully setting down the instrument.

"Only fit for doxies," she scoffed, plucking a string with her finger and sneaking her other hand under the counter.

"They'd choke on the cursed wood," Arcana replied.

The young witch smiled slyly, deliberately lifting the wand she'd retrieved. "You can hear it on the lowest string, yes. Good ear you've got. It's for sale, you know."

Arcana nodded. She could not only hear it but also see it, taste it, and feel it, but not as well as if she had been in Britain.

"I'm not in the market for fiddles, cursed or otherwise. I'm looking for a compass."

"Oh, well, they're over here. I'm Dusana Sarac, by the way. I haven't seen you around before. Moving to the city?" Sarac led Arcana to a glass case, casually slipping her wand into her sleeve.

"Maybe," Arcana replied. Sarac gave a snort of irritation at Arcana's ambiguous answer.

"Wasn't expecting anyone today with the weather and the full moon. It's dark enough that the bloodsuckers will be out early." Scowling now, she unlocked a glass case full of compasses.

"Yes, best to be inside before dusk," Arcana agreed. Her dark glasses slid down her nose as she leaned forward. Most of the compasses were already enchanted, their delicate needles whirling around slowly rotating dials that stopped occasionally to point at some obscure symbol. Sarac pulled out several, but Arcana shook her head at each.

"And this one was based on the Orloj. The wizarding one of course, not that silly Muggle contraption." Sarac presented the highly decorated compass to Arcana.

"Yes, splendid workmanship, but not what I need." Arcana pointed to a simple, un-enchanted compass the back. "But that'll do nicely."

"This one's rather dull," Sarac said, reluctantly handing it to Arcana.

The compass was solid in her hand, and empty of magic. "Perfect."

Sarac looked put out, clearly hoping for a better sale, but took Arcana's gold all the same.

"If you don't mind . . . well, what do you need it for?"

Arcana pushed her glasses back up her nose and smiled. Sarac stepped back, her hand inching toward her wand.

"I've lost something, of course."

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

Back in her room at the inn, Arcana cast extra wards and dropped her glamour. The second skin slid off her body, and wisps of white hair fell into her face to tickle her nose. She pulled off the now ill-fitting robes, threw them onto the bed, and tucked her hair behind her ears. It did not stay there for long, and she attempted to blow it out of her eyes only to have it fall back over them again. Muttering a curse that would have made Shelly blush, Arcana unbuckled her belt and reached elbow-deep into the pouch hanging there, rummaging around until she found the trunk she had shrunk. If she was going to be outside after sunset, it wouldn't be without her armor.

Arcana missed Shelly's help in donning her heavy hunting garb, and missed the house-elf's cooking even more. Food was never really filling nor settled in her stomach without magical ingredients that were sorely lacking in both Muggle and wizarding cuisine. Arcana secured both of her wands on her person, and then sat on the creaky bed to envision the glamour she would cast.

It was significantly more difficult to cast a glamour disguising both skin and clothing, even when the latter was not as saturated with protective magic as her hunting gear, and despite her skill the illusion would not hold up to thorough examination. The bed creaked when she sat down to cast the glamour, and she breathed evenly through the dizzy spell that followed. After the magic had settled, Arcana's stomach rumbled. She methodically removed all of the wards she had cast over the room and pulled the old robe off of the mirror.

"Oh, that's better!" the mirror said. "Well, I didn't think it possible, but you look even worse now, dear. Been casting Dark spells all day? You should really see a specialist about your skin. Magic takes its toll, but a witch--"

Arcana slammed the room door shut and went downstairs, intent on sating her hunger, but found Svetozar nursing a smoking tankard in Arcana's spot at the bar. The werewolf's wild hair was pulled back, revealing a heavy earring fastened to her right ear that sang with Dark magic. Svetozar turned her feral gaze on Arcana, and her nose twitched. The innkeeper Marko hastened from the kitchen, pretending not to notice the werewolf's unhealthy interest in Arcana.

"Can I get you lunch?"

"No, I've things to get done before nightfall." Arcana ignored her protesting stomach and handed him the room key, plus a generous tip. He pocketed both.

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

The Orloj bonged an ominous note as night fell over Prague. Doors slammed shut and wards sprang up, locking all good witches and wizards behind thick walls until the sun rose. Of course, Prague being Prague, the term "good" was likely an exaggeration. Vampire dens rose to life, their legal blood donors on display behind cursed windows. Deceptively innocuous music drifted out into the streets where the night folk had begun prowling in earnest, and when the moon rose the howling began. It was illegal for transformed werewolves to roam the streets of Prague, but sprigs of wolfsbane still adorned all open doors and the belts of the few daring Dark witches and wizards outside. Vampires had little to fear once the sun went down.

Arcana sheltered in the relative safety of a divination salon, shunning all company after paying the cover charge. She listlessly played with a set of house runes, reading them five ways each throw, glimpsing useless snapshots of potential futures that faded instantly from her mind's eye. Growing restless, she shoved them away and studied her compass. It was too dangerous to enchant it in Prague, and Cumanus was too far away for her spell to take anyway. Besides, there was only one place the witch would go, and Arcana had enough to worry about without seeing that little brass needle spin to the southwest.

As soon as she got the Dark Lord and Boris Raskovic in one place, she would go hunting. Anticipating the thrill of the chase quickened her breath and brought her magic humming under her skin. If Cumanus reached the Summoners' Guild before Arcana dispatched her, nightmares of a slow death by a demon's hand - almost certainly Xhal Thos's - would become reality.

A Seer seated one table over shuffled his cards, drew three, and halted. The next he pulled out with a shaking hand, eyes darting around the dark room.

"You better not be playing the old creepy gypsy game with me," said the Dark witch across from the Seer. "I paid for a reading, not theatrics."

"No, no," the Seer muttered, collecting the cards and shuffling them again. "The table must have contaminated the cards. It was nonsense, or the reflection of a soul I would not be for all the world."

The witch snorted. "Save the act for the tourists."

"You mean the blood snacks, I take it," he said, failing to completely cover his disquiet.

The witch snickered.

Arcana pocketed the compass and slipped out of the salon before the stain of her magical signature spread further. Sharp eyes darted her way from under hoods and hats, and fingers ran over wands even before her back was turned. She clung to the most populous streets, wandlessly countering the occasional curse and hexing one wizard who tossed a foul smelling rag in her face that would have dropped her into a stupor had she been human. He was now slightly less of a wizard and slightly more of a flobberworm, for the betterment of all humankind. Not that she cared about the last part.

The number of living in the streets thinned as Arcana neared the Raskovic District where Inferi lurked in the darkest corners, their stench alerting her when the ambient magic became too thick for Arcana's senses to penetrate. Claws scratched against the cobblestones behind Arcana, and she spun around, wand raised, as a feral kneazle darted into the shadows with a rat in its mouth. She took a calming breath and did her best to ground her magic. The land slipped away from her magic like an oily sludge under her feet, and a dissonant host of nasty wards buzzed louder in her head.

A choir of werewolves howled at the moon, and a flock of bats swooped by at roof level, swarming into the windows of a tower and scolding the world with their screeches. The sky was clear now, and the stars beckoned to Arcana with voiceless whispers. She looked away and the calling ceased.

When the Orloj announced a quarter to midnight, Arcana dropped her tremulous glamour and stepped into the shadows.

The weight of the darkness settled onto her shoulders in a fashion that was not quite natural. The buildings along the narrow alley towered over Arcana, blocking out all but the smallest sliver of the night sky. Talismans were embedded in the walls, and wards, charms, and curses were layered so thickly that it made the air feel strangely viscous. Arcana cast a subtle illusion to disguise her face, her instincts ringing with warning as the spell knitted together more slowly than it should. Everything shimmered at the edge of her perception, and she suddenly knew she could not trust even her second sight to be accurate.

Someone was waiting at the corner of Fer Alley. His chin jerked up as Arcana approached, and his head lolled to the side, as if the owner no longer had full control over his muscles. Rotten magic and rotten flesh. Inferus. Arcana's hand flashed to her sleeve to draw her holly wand as a half dozen more Inferi stepped around the corner and lumbered toward her, moving faster than one unfamiliar with the undead would expect.

"I am the Dark Lord's emissary, and you will let me pass," Arcana announced. Someone had to be nearby to control the Inferi.

The elder witch Arcana had spoken with at Ulanov and Kashtic's Emporium materialized from the shadows, and Arcana's breath caught in her throat. She should have been able to sense the witch. Damn the city to the fate of the undead it cursed.

"Emissary? I think not. The Enclave only accepts official ambassadors. Using outdated magic makes your upstart lord look more the fool." The witch pulled a talisman from her pocket, frowned, and then put it back. "Where's the wizard's bastard son? He's expected. Not you, girl."

Arcana pulled on the ambient magic to assert her rightful authority, but it fizzled and slipped away like murky sludge. She knew this whole Prague thing had been a bad idea. Riddle was not going to show up, and if the witch did not verbally confirm Arcana's status as emissary, she'd have no magical protection.

"I am the Dark Lord's emissary, and Boris Raskovic will speak with me. Those are the Dark Lord's orders."

"We don't take orders from your lord. Go!" The witch waved her wand, and the Inferi lurched towards Arcana.

Wards ripped like the crack of a whip an inch from Arcana's skin, and a werewolf appeared, crouching next to the witch in a doorway that had not been there before. An earring gleamed from the shewolf's red-brown fur. Svetozar sniffed the air and stared down Arcana with amber eyes, growling in recognition. She had sent her hounds after the Riddle glamour on Raskovic's orders, but Riddle had vanished without explanation, and she had caught Arcana's scent while wearing another face. The pieces clicked into place behind Svetozar's eyes, and Arcana knew the werewolf realized that Riddle's face had been false as well. With that information it wouldn't take the Raskovics long to work out the puzzle of how Arcana had done it, if Svetozar didn't already guess she was fae.

Raw magic pooled in Arcana's hands, and she fought to control the instinct the wield it. There were too many witnesses. She gripped her wand tightly.

"You were not invited, witch, and there is no trespassing on Raskovic lands."

The Inferi staggered closer.

"Prague would not be Prague without a few magical explosions," Arcana softly parroted the Dark Lord's words. She was done with wizarding politics for the night, deal be damned. He could find Boris Raskovic by himself.

Arcana slashed her wand through the air and ignited a curse amidst the Inferi. Flames roared up to the rooftops, forcing the witch and the werewolf to duck into the doorway as fire engulfed the narrow street. Arcana turned her head away from the searing heat, the brim of her hat shading her eyes from the blinding light. Smouldering chunks of undead flesh spattered everywhere, the fire fading when its work was done. Arcana smiled tightly. It was the only sure way to destroy the abominations.

The witch raised her wand, and Svetozar howled. Arcana started running.

Space ripped apart, and two cloaked wizards sprang forth at Arcana's right, sending curses flying, stalling her escape back down the alley. She dodged, blocked, and flung the spells back to their casters. They threw the rebounded curses aside to crash against the walls and burst into red lightning against the wards. Magic rent the space behind Arcana and a large golem trudged out of a dark shredded void in the air, followed by that watchwizard with the jangling bracelet. He smiled and touched one of the charms at his wrist.

A wall of fire flared up behind the golem, blocking the only escape route and painting the street in an angry hue. The witch picked her way over the Inferi remnants and laughed.

"Avada Kedavra!"

Arcana dove to the ground, the flash of green light impacting harmlessly against the towering golem. Her dark glasses tumbled off her nose, and her pointed hat followed after, leaving only the weak glamour that hid her face from unfriendly eyes. Svetozar growled and bounded forward, intent to take her piece of Arcana before the wizards charred her flesh. The earring shone like a beacon, and Arcana suddenly realized what it was.

She rolled to her knees, ducking away from another curse, and slashed her wand, slicing off the werewolf's right ear. Svetozar howled and tumbled to the ground, then clambered to all fours, shook her bleeding head, and bared her teeth with a low growl. The wolf's amber eyes were wild, no longer held in check by a human mind, and she lunged for the nearest of the two cloaked wizards. His hood fell back when she latched onto his throat, and blood went everywhere. Arcana sprang to the far side of the golem, using it as a shield, and flung a Bone Breaking Hex at the remaining cloaked wizard. He barely dodged it, and the wall behind him lit up with red lightning.

"Crucio," the cloaked wizard hollered back.

Arcana dropped to one knee and leaned away. An instant of agony exploded over her body, but she threw back a nasty curse, which caught the cloaked wizard's left side and spun him into the wall. The wizard with the charm bracelet yelled in Hebrew and the golem suddenly moved, forcing Arcana to roll away as a large foot stomped down on the place she had been kneeling. Flames sprang up from the edge of her cloak where it brushed the wall of fire, and she doused it with a swish of her wand, coughing from a whiff of burnt cloth.

The werewolf tore into the dead wizard. The witch flourished her wand over her head, and swath of crackling copper sparks blossomed across the empty space behind which the Inferi had been hidden.

"I can't crack the rear wards! That Raskovic bastard! We're trapped with that thing! Drop the wall, Gregory," the witch screamed, her terror lit by the orange flames. She backed away from the werewolf, slashing her wand at Svetozar, and slipped on the charred remains of the Inferi. The spell went wide and slammed into the wall, ricocheting down the alley. Arcana stabbed her wand toward it, whipping the magic back at the witch, and then spun aside to avoid another curse cast by the cloaked wizard. It flashed by, mere inches from her face, to strike the wall of flame.

"I can't!" Gregory, the wizard with the charm bracelet, fumbled for his wand and sent a curse flying at Svetozar. The werewolf howled as the spell burnt the fur off her back, and she flung away the dead wizard in fury.

The witch cast a shield, and the rogue spell Arcana had returned smashed into it, knocking her back. The shield failed and the werewolf leapt through the sizzling magic, mauling the witch's throat.

"Yuliana!" Gregory wailed. "Reducto," he screamed, launching the werewolf away from the mangled witch. Svetozar howled in pain as her left leg gave out, and she fell to all fours, crouched low to attack.

Arcana's next curse grazed the cloaked wizard, giving her a moment to reach into the wall of fire to unravel the spell, but she pulled back with a snarl, smoke rising from her gloved hands. Svetozar turned her wild gaze to the remaining wizards, blood dripping from her muzzle. Gregory yelled again in Hebrew at the golem and grabbed another charm, his full attention on Svetozar.

Stone vines sprung from the street and whipped about, snagging the werewolf in their grip. Svetozar howled and thrashed as the vines tightened. Arcana ducked under the golem's grasping arm and jabbed her wand at the cloaked wizard, who had made the fatal mistake of looking away. He flew backwards and hit the wall with a wet crunch, leaving a dark smear as he slid to the ground.

Magical ropes shot from Arcana's wand and tangled around the golem, but it broke them without effort and swung at her again as Svetozar howled, shuddered, and died. Gregory spun back around, his face lit with a demonic hue by the wall of flames.

"Die, bitch."

The golem's clay hands came together with a bang where Arcana's head had been a moment before. Gregory cast a Pulverizing Curse, and she ducked behind the golem's leg, which took the brunt of the spell. The fringe of the curse slammed into her right arm, and threw her off her feet. She fell, grunting when her elbows hit the cobblestones, but at least it wasn't her head. Magic ricocheted off of the clay skin and smashed into the high walls of the alley, sending red lighting dancing angrily up to the sky. The golem stepped backwards to crush her, and Arcana darted between its legs, aiming a curse at Gregory. He batted the curse aside, but it left him breathing hard.

A twist of his left wrist activated another charm, and the stones beneath Arcana's feet turned to quicksand. She tripped, sinking up to her knees in the murky cobblestones, but jabbed her wand toward Gregory's wrist. He doubled over, clutching his side, and the charm bracelet shattered.

"Damn you, witch!"

A clay hand clamped down on Arcana's right arm, and she almost dropped her wand into the mire. Arcana's Dark Mark seared, and the Dark Lord's mind dug into their link. Shocked, she froze, fighting his influence for an instant, and then she wholeheartedly showed him exactly where she was. Then he was gone, before she could swear in even one language.

The golem hoisted Arcana out of the muck, dangling her in midair while she kicked uselessly. She switched her wand to her left hand and cast a powerful Release Charm, but it bounced off of the golem and singed her robes. Breathing hard, she struggled to free her arm from the golem's hand, wisps of white hair sticking to her sweaty face, but gave up with a groan. Where was that half-blood bastard when she needed him? This was his fault. Pain shot through her right shoulder, and the itch of black fear skittered up her spine when Gregory looked up at her and smiled. She grabbed a hold of her fury and twisted to aim a left handed curse.

"Expelliarmus," Gregory cast. The holly wand flew from Arcana's hand and she stared at it dumbfounded, then snarled, fighting against all her instincts to throw her raw magic. Flashes of memory assaulted her mind's eye - a life bleeding away in her arms as blood soaked into the loam - and Arcana thrust them back down into the dark. She would have vengeance. She would not die here.

"Ah, a fine run, little witch, but not good enough." Gregory squinted at Arcana and snorted. "British illusions. We'll get a look at your face and send you back to your master as an Inferus." He aimed his wand at Arcana's heart, crossing it over his left wrist to steady it. He grinned, but Arcana saw McNair's face, and the Dark Lord's, and then she was back holding her dying apprentice while they closed in to kill her too.

"Avada--"

Her instincts took over and she threw all her will against the spell, shattering Gregory's wand. He cried out, clutching his bleeding hand to his face where splinters of wood had gouged his flesh. Magic from the failed spell exploded outward in all directions, and Arcana swung around, latching a leg over the golem's arm and curling to shield her face from the impact. She blacked out for an instant and lost her grip, falling to dangle from her arm, still trapped in the motionless golem's grasp. Her old magical scars ripped her apart from the inside at the use of fae power so far away from familiar land.

She gasped for air and squeezed her eyes shut to clear the sparkles from her vision. A wand, she needed to use a wand.

Gregory lowered his shaking hand, murderous thoughts plain on his face. When he opened his mouth, Arcana whipped her other wand from her robes and cast.

The Insides Out Curse was never pretty, but was certainly more satisfying then Silencio.

Her whole body was shaking. She had lost it. She had shattered a wand, and she had to escape before they came for her.

Arcana looked away from the spreading puddle of blood and gore that had been Gregory and contorted her right arm just enough to face the motionless golem, struggling to block out the pain of twisting her abused shoulder. The Hebrew inscription giving it life shimmered on its forehead. Arcana took a deep breath and chanted softly, staring unblinkingly at the inscription. One of the runes vanished, and the golem was rendered a lump of clay. Arcana sliced through the golem's fingers and fell gracelessly into the quicksand. She crawled out of the mire, and flicked her wand, transfiguring the golem into a mound of flesh-eating slugs that slowly slumped into the mire with an awful slurping sound. No one would be reanimating that when her back was turned. The Dark Mark tingled under her skin, and the scars on her magic throbbed like tight muscles that had been stretched too far.

She summoned her holly wand with a swish of her fae-crafted one, along with her hat and glasses. They muted the blazing light of the wall of fire, but the magic of it still scorched her second sight. She hurried away from it, tucking the holly wand into a pocket. After what she'd just done she'd risk wielding her fae-crafted wand if it meant she could kill more easily. Past the corpses the alley was black in her mind's eye, and she raised her wand. There had to be more of them beyond that ward the witch couldn't crack unless Boris Raskovic had declined the meeting entirely. She resisted the urge to rub at her Dark Mark. Where was that misbegotten half-blood wizard?

The Orloj announced the arrival of midnight, and as the last chime sounded, magic shifted, and Arcana spun around to see the mire and the flames vanish without fanfare. She should run.

The sound of slow clapping made Arcana turn back, wand held at the ready. A tall witch with a gaunt face now stood at the corner of Fer Alley, surveying the destruction. Arcana listened for more surprises behind her, but there was only silence.

"Felix Felicis proves its genius once again, but I suppose this means you've proven your worth all the same. Now we'll see if your luck's run out." She glanced at the corpses on the street, sneering. "I told Gregory that he relied on that bracelet too much."

The witch suspected nothing about the shattered wand. Arcana straightened and lifted her chin.

"I am the Dark Lord's emissary, and I would see Boris Raskovic now," Arcana commanded, struggling to silence her instinct to kill the witch. It would be so easy. One spell and she would be safe. For a moment.

"Easy enough," the tall witch said.

The witch turned down Fer Alley, and Arcana hesitated. Her status as emissary was denied again. The witch looked back at Arcana.

"The way back is impassable, though you're welcome to try it." The witch smiled. Arcana reached into her link with the Dark Lord, but it was silent, and the alley now glowed a warning red in her second sight.

"Very well." Arcana followed the witch. The Dark Lord would repay her for this, wherever he was hiding.

When Arcana rounded the corner the witch waved her wand, and space appeared to rip apart, revealing a formidable contingent of witches and wizards led by Boris Raskovic. Arcana's heart pounded in her chest, and her fingers tightened around her wand. There were too many to fight. A second witch pulled away from the group and joined the tall one to guard the entrance to the alley. Arcana could barely sense them at her back over the angry buzz of ambient magic.

Boris Raskovic was shorter than the Dark Lord, but broad and muscular with a head of thick black hair streaked with grey. A nasty curse scar ran down one side of his face, and that eye had been replaced with a black orb, making him look like Mad Eye Moody's long lost evil brother.

"The wizard who proclaims himself Dark Lord is not welcome in Prague, witch," he said, clutching the heavy amulet around his neck. Magic pooled into her hands.

"So I deduced from the reception," Arcana returned. The Dark Mark on her arm hummed and then burned. Finally. She swore it was not relief she felt sink into her bones.

"The Raskovic family will have no dealings with your lord." Boris Raskovic spat the last word as if it was a curse. "Your reanimated corpse should be message enough."

Two flashes of green light illuminated Boris Raskovic's suddenly livid face, and the two witches crumpled to the ground behind Arcana. Red-black magic hovered at the edge of her vision, too powerful and familiar to be damped by the wards clouding her sight.

"It's bad form to greet my emissary with blood and fire, Boris. Terrible to see such an old family neglecting the proper way to conduct business between wizards."

Arcana offered the Dark Lord a shallow bow as he stepped past her. "My lord," she greeted him.

"Rather messy entrance for you, my emissary," he said without looking her way. His thoughts ghosted along their magical bond and withdrew. In the wake of fear, exhaustion swelled, and she hoped her heavy robes hid her trembling. Emissary and Death Eater were very different things, and tonight had blurred the lines. She would not fight for him. Her Dark Mark tingled as he dipped into their magical link.

The witches and wizards arrayed before Arcana and the Dark Lord reached to draw their wands.

"So eager to die?" the Dark Lord asked Boris Raskovic, a mocking smile on his face. Anger flashed at the edges of his magic, betraying what his expression did not.

"You would do well to take your emissary and leave, Voldemort," Boris Raskovic said. "Your pleas will fall on deaf ears here. The Enclave-- "

The amulet he was holding shattered with a flash and Boris Raskovic fell to one knee, hands pressed to his temples. His followers stood frozen, as if Petrified.

A bellowed, Get out of my mind! echoed in Arcana's thoughts, though it had been directed at the Dark Lord, who stood with empty hands staring at the other wizard with unblinking red eyes. It should have been impossible, but he had wandlessly shredded the protection spells bound to the talisman. And she had taught him how.

The other witches and wizards shook off their stupor when the Dark Lord released the spell, closing ranks behind Raskovic as he warily rose to his feet with his black stone eye trained on the Dark Lord.

"I think you'll find that the Enclave will be most receptive to my offer, Boris," the Dark Lord said. "A moment with my emissary before we begin negotiations." Boris Raskovic grimaced, but signaled his contingent to stand down, harshly silencing their questions.

The Dark Lord turned to Arcana. The command to kneel hammered along their magical link, but she threw it off without flinching. Sweat beaded on her forehead.

"I have a message for you to deliver, my emissary." The Dark Lord held out a sealed scroll for Arcana to take. This had not been part of their deal, and she gritted her teeth against a brash refusal. "You will behave in a fitting manner during your short visit." His magic crackled outward in warning, and Arcana lowered her eyes, knowing he could sense her fury. She dared not disobey. Not here.

"The seal is a Portkey," the Dark Lord instructed, and Arcana nodded. "You will return in due time." Arcana nodded again, envisioning his dead body at her feet and her booted heel coming down to crush his wand hand. If he saw her thoughts he didn't show it.

The Dark Lord held out the scroll, and Arcana took it, putting all of her hate into one last glare before touching the seal. Portkeys were just as bad as side-along Apparition if one didn't know the destination.

Prague vanished in a flash, and then her feet hit stone again. It was pitch black, save for a dozen pairs of eyes gleaming over fanged mouths.

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

Next: "Of Fangs and Fiends." Wherein Arcana is given more reasons to hate Portkeys and demon summoners . . .

Methyl has several more chapters in draft form that need editing and is working on actually writing what comes after that.

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