The Theory of Magic (Book 1)

2 // Vampires & Finger Bones

"I am well," came his polite—if shocked—reply, the creature laying an alabaster hand against his broad chest. Grigor was a full head taller than Fi and a fair amount heavier, though his height stretched much of his musculature into something lanky and thin. "Forgive me—I am surprised to see you here, scumpa mea."

Fi's wrinkled her nose at the foreign endearment. Her attention wavered toward the alley's dim alcoves and she reminded herself of her determined pursuers. "Grigor, I am being followed and would appreciate a place to stay while I think of what to do next."

Wordless, Grigor stepped back and ushered the hedge witch inside. He cast a searching look toward Knockturn before shutting the door.

"Who is it that dares force you from your home?" he asked once they began to march up the stairs to the higher landing. A hard edge tightened the tone of his voice and ruffled Puck's feathers. "More importantly, why have you not...dealt with them?"

"We should probably wait until we get inside. Morgana only knows what kind of ears this place has."

"Of course."

Grigor led the way to his flat and Fi felt the various wards woven in the floorboards hum beneath her worn shoes. The smell in the air left something to be desired, but she guessed it came from the shop below, where they most likely also cleaned the flesh from the bones they so proudly displayed. Grigor popped open his warped door and Fi stepped inside with a grateful sigh. The flat was comprised of a single room, clean and spare in furnishing, the winged armchair dragged from the fireplace to the scratched windows overlooking the alley. A single candle charmed to never drip rested on the sideboard and gave light to the vampire's dreary lair.

Fi set her bag down, earning another complaint from Ever, and went to the windows. "Come, see."

Grigor did as he was bid. He stood at the hedge witch's side and stared at the dirty street below, his keen eyes gleaming like a wolf's in the hungering dark, though Fi paid him no mind. A minute passed before one of the wizards following her flowed by, and though he had foregone his mask, the man had thrown some kind of Disillusionment spell upon his face, making it all but impossible to memorize his features.

"Does he have a Tracking spell on you?" Grigor asked, alarmed.

Fi shook her head. "No. I cannot be Tracked. My Will overrides the power of their spells—however, if they were particularly strong, it is possible their spells could surpass my Will." Fi shrugged. Though she looked no more than twenty years in age, her posture and the sharpness of her limpid eyes betrayed a liquid, aged acumen that always sent a thrill through Grigor. "But that's not the case here. There's simply only a finite number of ways a person can travel in the wizarding quarter, and I know they heard me say Diagon Alley when I used the Floo. I would have Apparated, but I felt them throw up wards the moment they arrived."

The wizard passed by, unaware of Fi's damning stare.

"That does not explain why you did not simply dispose of them." Grigor paused and a hand came to rest on his narrow chin, his lips parting, a flash of fang peeking between them. "And how did they come to know of you?"

"Oh, I am not exactly subtle, I guess." Fi framed her face in her hands and batted her eyelashes, earning a reluctant grin from the vampire. "I've looked the same since we met, have I not? What's it been? A hundred years or so?"

"Or so."

Nodding, Fi jostled the Augurey from her person and urged him to settle instead on the back of the armchair. He went, though if the shriek he emitted was anything to go by, he was not pleased. Ever sighed from the bag.

"They sent a wizard before," Fi explained to Grigor, turning to the room again. "Three nights passed. I was in the garden, harvesting my ipomea dew. He said his Lord required my services. He spoke cordially enough, of course—." She rolled her eyes. "But what else is a witch to do when a masked man comes up to her house in the middle of nowhere? Invite him in for tea? I think not." Snorting, Fi went to her bag and set about freeing Ever from her impromptu prison. The skull's complaining grew in volume when Fi unwrapped the scarf and tossed the fabric aside.

"—tossing me about like common pantry dishes! Rude, I say!"

"Ever, you remember Grigor, right?" Ignoring the dramatics, Fi turned the skull to face her friend and Grigor grinned, bowing at the waist.

"Lady Everild, a pleasure."

"Oh, it's the vampire." The words were harsh but Ever's tone was soft, affectionate. "Just as handsome as ever, I see."

"You honor me, High Witch."

Amused, Fi marched over to the fireplace and set Ever on Grigor's mantel, pushing aside a moth-eaten volume of Germanic writings as she did so. "Go back to sleep, Ever. The danger is passed."

The jewel flashed with orange light for an instant, then dimmed. "Impertinent child," the skull bickered, but High Witch Everild Everdeen settled again in what passed as rest for a witch's bound sentience. Smirking, Fi cast a quick sticking charm to ensure the skull could not be stolen if someone managed to force their way into the flat, then went to Grigor.

"So they returned in greater numbers, and will keep coming for your defiance," he said, crossing his long arms. "Do you know who sent them?"

Fi shrugged. "Whatever Dark Lord is in power now, I'd imagine." Truth be told, as wild as she lived, Fi paid little mind to the goings-on of the wizarding world and wasn't precisely sure what overstuffed ponce had decided he was top sparkler in the sparkler pile. Fi's coven had a long history, and in that history they had watched many a Dark Wizard rise up and demand his due. There was always someone who decided he deserved more. Fi slumped into the armchair and, with a twist of her hand, summoned a plush ottoman for her feet. "Wait, I know it. It's not Gellert. I remember reading that he got banged up, though I dealt with a few of his zealots over the years. It's Vold—something. Voldelort? Voldetort? Voldedort? Voldesnort?" Fi tapped her fingers on the arm of the chair. "Voldeshort? No, now I'm just making up nonsense...."

Grigor flinched, then cleared his throat. "Voldemort, Fi, but in polite society you must call him He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

"Well, that's just a mouthful."

"Delphinia." Grigor folded his hands behind his back and adopted a stricter tone. Fi's brow arched, interested in the sudden shift of his demeanor. "Don't make light of the situation. He killed many, many people. The Dark Lord was defeated almost eleven years ago now. Why would followers of his be searching for you? You, the Mistress of Life?"

Fi frowned. "I don't know," she admitted in a soft hush. Puck leaned down to butt against her head, clicking and crooning, and Fi sent her fingers through the bird's feathers as she considered her situation. She may tease Grigor by exaggerating her ignorance, because she did recall there being a celebration about the Dark Lord's apparent demise, but Fi was a skeptic at heart. For a dead Dark Lord, Voldemort sure had a lot of followers still out and about. "It is quite the curious thing though, isn't it?"