A moment of stillness swept through the room—then, Lucian sighed into the quiet and broke its hold.
"Theodora Stavros," the man said without ceremony, leaning a hip upon the desk Cage had claimed. "You were not expected."
The woman grinned, but I saw how her eyes slid to Saule, expressing irritation the smaller witch ignored. Saule spotted Mistress Voronin and shoved herself forward, throwing her arms about the other witch as the joyful barking of her mutant mutt followed at her heels. Their reunion rankled in my skin, so I let my attention wander to the other newcomer now standing in the middle of the study. At the back wall, Connie was staring at the floor and refused to meet my gaze.
"It's nice to see you, Lucian," the witch Theodora replied with a smooth nod. "And you, Marian. How is life outside the coven treating you?"
Marian didn't answer. She touched Lucian's shoulder in a short caress before departing from the room. Theodora watched her leave with a smirk firmly in place and Lucian only exhaled.
"Are you the Mistress of the Circe coven?" I asked without waiting for introductions, as whatever drama was unfolding here wasn't of interest to me. "I take it you're responsible for the lack of mages at the Facility tonight."
"Perhaps. Responsibility is a tricky thing: claiming it can be problematic at times." The woman tapped her nails against her chin. "You're the one who brought the witchling, aren't you? How strange. I thought it was Lucian for a moment when she brought us here at the behest of this one." She indicated Connie with a slight shoulder shrug. So that was what the huntress had been trying to say earlier. "You aren't what you appear, little man."
"He's the Sin of Pride," Cage interrupted without prelude, and the witch stumbled with the look of a woman struck. "Or was. Or will be. The timeline's a bit hazy on that fact."
The witch stared, unsure of whether or not to believe the irreverent black mage sifting through the contents of Lucian's desk. He found several curious silver instruments and slipped them into his pockets.
"Your timing is apropos, Mistress Stavros, was it?" Cage slammed a drawer with a loud thump. "We require the assistance of a witch to bind a soul's memories to its incorporeal form. Is that the kind of devious magic you're interested in?"
She regained a semblance of control in the face of Cage's taunting and smoothed her hands down the lines of her black gown. I gathered that the Circe Mistress was not a woman easily flustered. "I'm interested in all forms of devious magic, honey. But I fear the magic you seek is beyond the grasp of a sorceress such as myself."
The man beamed, said "I'm not your honey, coven-breaker," and lost all interest in the Mistress. Again she was startled, and now clearly angry.
What is a coven-breaker? I wondered. I believe the full extent of its implications are lost upon me.
"It requires a slight manipulation of the void, you see," Theodora explained, slowly prowling the room toward the mirrors. In the reflection, the witches appeared as tightly wound clouds, and if they were to abruptly move, the cloud would drag and distort their being. I hadn't seen something like it before, and it was difficult to tear my eyes away, but I managed to do just that as Stavros neared. I circled toward the entrance, keeping distance between us.
"As a sorceress, I'm incapable of achieving the right effect—but why ask me? You've a capable necromancer in your party, after all."
In the corner, Voronin stiffened and Saule gasped as she extracted herself from her Mistress's embrace. "You said you wouldn't tell!" Saule cried, caught between the whims of indignation and fear. I'd known necromancy was frowned upon by covens, but hadn't expected this kind of reaction to its existence. The priestess—necromancer—was looking to her coven leader with wide, pleading eyes, and though Voronin was frowning intensely, she extended a hand and laid it upon Saule's slumped shoulder.
"It is okay, tutghik-iksk. It is okay."
The younger Baba Yaga witch closed her eyes and shuddered on an exhale as clear tears shone on her flushed cheeks.
I gave the scene a final incurious glance, then returned my attention to the seated black mage.
"If this insanity were to work, how would you summon her back?" I asked him. "Your transport runes or spells or whatever would not function in the Realm. The essence there is not the same as it is here and only arises from tears in the void where the static nature of the plane is disrupted. The magics do not compute."
"True," Cage replied with ease, fiddling with a silver gadget he'd unearthed from Lucian's collection. The other black mage snatched it from the ribbon-wearing man and hastily stuffed it into a pocket. "Because magic can't be utilized there, it would all have to come from this side of the void. I know of a brief ritual curse a sage can create that will act as a lightning rod, of sorts, and guide a summoning spell through the void and into the Realm, using a spirit as an anchor—but the energy necessary to employ the curse would be substantial. A council must be convened. We'll need a syndicate's help."
"King's breath," I seethed from the room's archway, my fingers curled about the wood of the arch's frame. "Where do you suppose we'll find a syndicate who'll help, mage?!"
After I spoke, Lucian muttered an oath and rose, glaring down at Cage with something akin to hatred. "I told you we are not your toys, nor your tools. You cannot command us on a passing fancy."
"This fancy is less passing, more pressing, Lucian."
Straightening, I didn't feign ignorance to what their conversation insinuated. "You are in a syndicate?" I asked Lucian, and as the man glanced at me, Cage lifted his left hand behind Lucian's back and tapped a finger against the foul brand several times. My eyes narrowed. "A black mage syndicate? How preposterous."
Apparently it wasn't as preposterous as I believed, because Lucian jerked his chin in affirmation and a soft, snide laugh rose from the bookshelves. Stavros was perusing their contents, long fingers gliding upon the leather spines. "Don't you know? He's the head of the Black Iris Syndicate."
Ridiculous. Even as the thought slid through my mind, I again looked at Lucian's coat and its inky lining. Black, a taboo color among the mages—so perhaps I was the fool for not suspecting this earlier, because what syndicate would employ black if not a syndicate made for black mages?
"That is how you stay informed," I mused, looking at the man anew. "You have your shadowy syndicate members out asking all the right questions and hunting all the right leads." It was impressive he could play the part of a lone, aloof black mage living in the fallow lands of Halefield with such aplomb.
Lucian grunted, displeased by his outing. "I was a prominent member of the Blue Fire council before certain...events led to my dismissal and arrest. After escaping, I fell into this position. Most black mages are lower-rung syndicate members who turn from the respected disciplines to gain power and prestige. I have more experience as a leader than most."
"Oh, so modest!" Cage dropped his feet and levered himself upright, patting the front of his coat and shirt. Gray dust from his cell left imprints on the desk, the chair, and the carpet. "So modest I could be sick. Come, Darius. Let's have a word in private."
I disliked being summoned along like a whipped servant, but little else in this room interested me. Cage did pause as he stepped by Stavros and craned his head to look at her, his manic smile stretching wide and feral. He inhaled through his nose—one sharp, audible sniff—and the Mistress leaned away with clear revulsion.
"Do you know what they call me, coven-breaker?"
"No," Stavros retorted as she shoved a book back into place. "Nor do I have the inclination to ask."
Cage told her anyway. "You should. They call me the Devil's Augur, honey," he crooned, allowing one finger to toy with a loop of his silver ribbon. The Mistress's measured grace stuttered, and her careful expression slipped, unveiling a look of fear in her dark eyes. "You stink of Pit-embers. If I were you, I'd stick around and help our sordid little party, lest my knowledge of your activities earlier this evening be whispered into the wrong ears."
Stavros said nothing, and Cage moved on. Together we left the study and traipsed through the quiet halls of Lucian's home. I could hear Marian in the kitchen, her relentless cursing filtering through the sound of pots banging together or scraping the stove's iron grate. Cage popped his head inside just long enough to express a useless, flirtatious remark, and Marian laughed. Her swearing abated as we exited the house.
The night was cool but not freezing. Mounds of clouds crossed the velvet sky and pushed the atmosphere's warmth toward the earth, melting the gathered bluffs of ice and the paltry icicles hanging from the eaves. Gentle drips fell and pattered upon the porch's railing.
The black mage and I stood together in contemplative silence, observing the lay of the land and the imminent defeat of winter's last snow. I couldn't keep my eyes off the sky, as I knew Aurelius was out there, somewhere, and could appear at a moment's notice. The Absolian was dampening his power—just as Lucian and the other mages had—but the pressure it exerted upon my psyche remained, like the thumb of a cruel lord pushing on the head of his beat dog.
"I'll need help defeating him," Cage uttered, breath escaping in a paltry haze of white. His bronze eyes were strange in the dark, vivid like an animal's, shifting color and texture without discernible reason. "You know I wouldn't go to such extremes to revive your shadeborn from the goodness of my heart. She was a lovely girl, but she was only human, and death is a part of life, regardless of its cruelty."
Arms crossed, I leaned a shoulder on a painted column and observed the mage as he carefully braced his hands on the wet railing. "I suspected you had your own motivations."
"As you were right to." He spread his fingers with precision, tongue flicking across the dried blood crusted to the sparse hair on his upper lip. Cage had allowed Lucian to punch him to spare his own hands injury. I'd witnessed the man's reflexes before and was aware of his surprising speed. "Lucian is more a bureaucrat than a battle mage, and though he would assist in this realm's defense without hesitation, his assistance wouldn't be enough. You want to hand off responsibility for the Absolian, but you can't, Darius. I need a Sin—a real Sin—to assist in his defeat, because he won't leave unless forced. That is the reason I am helping you return Sara. I need you to be the Sin of Pride once more."
"If your convoluted plan is successful," I retorted, refusing to acknowledge the niggling shred of hope that'd found purchase in the anterior of my thoughts. "There are far too many ifs and far too many contingencies. You do not know for certain if this method will actually work: it is all theoretical, the humdrum theories of a bored scholar, and I will more than likely be dead when all is said and done."
Cage scoffed and leaned off the railing. "Then consider the girl your reward for services rendered," the mage spat. "Because if you fail, if you refuse to assist, Terrestria will fall. Sara will die—again. You will die—again, and you will have no one to blame but yourself." As he walked to the front door and wrenched it open, he left me with a final remark. "Rest up. Lucian and I will discuss the preparations farther with the necromancer and will establish a plan. Prepare yourself: tomorrow you die, Darius."
As he entered the house and the door began to swing shut, the huntress crossed the threshold and hesitated when she realized she wasn't alone. Connie stared, fidgeting with the red wisps of hair that'd fallen free from her ponytail, then slipped from the porch's steps and started walking along the gravel drive.
"Where are you going?" I asked the huntress, frowning.
She stopped and wrung her hands together before deciding to face me directly. She spoke so softly I almost couldn't hear her—but when I went to step off the porch, she skittered back, fearful.
"I...I can't," she managed to say with her eyes locked on the toes of her boots. "I can't do this. It's like, y'all kept saying some crazy, end of the world shit is going on, and I didn't believe it. It always feels like its the end of the world when you're out there in them deserts, hunting leeches by starlight, praying nothing bigger than a coyote sneaks up on you. I mean—you ain't even human. You're the Sin of Pride! A Sin!"
She threw her hands in the air with a note of exasperation and, finally, looked me in the eye. I returned her gaze with a measure of distaste, refusing to defend the choice not to explain my situation to the woman at an earlier date.
"I just...all along, you derided my profession, kept pointin' out flaws, saying I was too rash, too impulsive. I thought you was worried about me, didn't want to see a woman get hurt or something, but that wasn't it at all. You were only speaking the truth. I realized I can't do this. I ain't...brave enough. Strong enough. I thought I was, but I'm not."
The cold evening wind still smelled of ash from the distant farm that Aurelius had reduced to cinders. The scent of it pulled memories of that terrible night through my thoughts, and I realized Connie had the makings of a strong huntress in her—but she needed to learn. Like Saule, she needed to experience more of life and its tribulations before she could be fully actualized. I didn't fault the woman for her desire to leave. It was possibly the smartest decision she had done for the duration of our acquaintance.
Before she could depart, the huntress perked up one last time, her brown eyes sparkling in the dim night. "She must really be something."
I canted my head in silent inquiry.
"From what I've gathered, you've lived for a damn long time, Pride. She must be something for you to risk ending it all just to see her again."
My mouth quirked, eyes downcast. "She is something."
"What is it about her, if I can ask?"
I opened my mouth to respond, then shut it, fingertips grazing the solid lump under my shirt that lay against my chest. "Unless you've lived a life like mine, you cannot comprehend my reasons, huntress."
She snorted, feet shifting. "I guess that's fair." Again she set off into the night, and once more her voice rose in salutation. "See ya around, Darius."
"Goodbye, Connie."
I watched the vampire huntress wander into the dark until she disappeared entirely. I stayed where I was for a long while, arms folded against my chest and impervious to the predawn chill trailing its hateful claws across my bare flesh. Connie was correct: I'd lived for a very long, long time. All of the Original Sins had, and we'd all clung desperately to life, surviving like misers hoarding the years while never risking what remained of them to find meaning in their existence.
I'd had my time. Dying to give Sara a chance to have hers wasn't a big imposition for me. Not any longer. Not when surviving without purpose, without her companionship, without her strange mind, and without her infuriating behavior, would be excruciating. It'd be its own kind of death—and I'd lived a long, long time.
Tilting my head to stare at the weak stars, I whispered, "She's something indeed."