One
Mandy stared at the stone ceiling and fingered the material of her orange robes. It was a coarse cloth, mostly wool probably, a pathetic way for the prison to keep its inmates warm during the brutal nights. She used to think about her Wizarding prison perched high on the Appalachians. When she committed her first murder, she wondered what it would be like to live there. After her second and third murders, she envisioned it as a vulnerable stranger on the street, whom one couldn't help but taunt. With each fatal slash of her wand, she knew she was actually egging on the steel teeth of the fortress, daring it to swallow her whole. Now, at last, she was caught. The law had stuffed her into its dark, cold, corpulent belly. She breathed out and lifted her legs onto the cot.
The warden didn't like her, but she knew Mandy was pregnant, and had to allow her some modicum of comfort. The freshly laundered pillows and sheets were nice and soft. When she was still new to the fortress, she used to bite off the skin on her arm and let the blood run into the bright, white cotton of her bedding. She had her block mistress changing her sheets three times a day before she was punished and mouth-manacled. After a week, the mistress removed her impediment, and made Mandy promise not to injure herself again. Mandy had stayed true to her word, but only because the fun of the joke wore off. If it would make her laugh and enrage the guards, she would soil her entire cell with her innards.
Mandy heard someone walking down the hall towards her cell. The footsteps were precise and dignified: Dr. Wiggins, her counselor. Mandy dug underneath her mattress until she found her pointed stone. When the earthquake hit in the autumn , the fools never found all the loosened shards of cinder that fell from her walls. She had spent the last two weeks sharpening the shank, waiting patiently for her chance to properly wield it. Dr. Wiggins would be its first meal.
"Mandy, are you decent? It's Dr. Wiggins." The witch said from beyond the bars. Mandy sat up on the cot and shoved her weapon up her sleeve. Her counselor walked into view with the block mistress at her rear. The mistress unlocked the cell with a large, rusty key.
"Thirty minutes, Doctor. I'll be right over here if you need me." The mistress bowed to the older woman and walked away. Dr. Wiggins entered the cell and closed the gate behind her. She smiled at Mandy.
"How have you been?"
Mandy saw past her polite, benign countenance; the witch was a fraud. She had encouraged Mandy to open up, to unfurl her opinions and rages, as if they were scrolls scored with crayon doodles. Dr. Wiggins had told her she would find a means to recovery if she would let herself, if she would free herself. Mandy didn't believe a word of it. The world would never allow her to live naturally, because the world frowned upon those who murdered, and Mandy decided murder was a part of her natural being.
"I'm fine." She responded neutrally. Dr. Wiggins took a small step forward, and Mandy allowed the shank to slip an inch down her forearm. She would wait until her counselor was distracted. The blow would have to kill her immediately, otherwise she would struggle and cost Mandy crucial seconds. A pity, that; Mandy would have enjoyed seeing Dr. Wiggins writhe.
"The warden has told me. ." Dr. Wiggins didn't finish her sentence. She was staring out the small, barred window above Mandy's cot. Her mouth fell open. Mandy tensed and straightened her back. Dr. Wiggins pointed at the window and stepped back.
"Oh my God! Mistress! Quickly!"
Mandy twisted around, and then was blown across the cell. She landed on her side. She was dazed, but snapped herself out of her shock; she might have found a benefactor, an enabler of her independence. She listened to Dr. Wiggins scream, and faced back towards her cot.
Standing on top of it, with the crimson sky visible beyond the blasted wall, was a monster. His muscles were grotesque and matted with dirt and hair, and his arms were winged, elongated, and dark gray. Mandy didn't look into his red eyes, but instead observed his scruffy hair. It looked oddly familiar. She stood up hesitantly.
"Terry?" She addressed the beast quietly. The monster, upon hearing the name, opened its horrible snout and bellowed into the cell. Mandy jumped back and tripped over a piece of rubble. She fell onto the debris and watched the mutated brother of her dead boyfriend leap from the cot onto her body and swallow her face.
Two
James glanced again at the newspaper on the table. Its headlines read, 'MYSTERIOUS MAN-SLAYER CLAIMS THIRD'. The murders committed the past week felt like someone knocking on his front door. The first seemed unreal, as if he wasn't exactly sure he heard it correctly. The second was definitive and unmistakable, and the third was just plain harsh. If the volumes of the crimes were equal, how could something as simple as their ordering distinguish them so vividly? James considered how the emotional colors we apply to events reshape them, even if the dye used is as neutral as the gray on a cloudy day.
Morgan, his cousin, stood up from her seat as the Aurors filed into the meeting chamber. James was glad they appeared somber; he was unnerved by the idea they would be buoyant because three of the four victims had been Muggles. They might have solaced each other with the fact that the victims were at first glance far from innocent, two being drug dealers, one being a corrupt stock trader, and one being, of course, Walter. Their comfort, if it existed at all, would abandon them.
Morgan cleared her throat. "Good morning. As all of you are aware, we have a situation on our hands. Terry Deegan, one of our targets from the counterfeiting raid last month, is at large. He has been magically mutated into the monster now wrecking havoc in society. We have been summoned here to analyze the facts and develop a combat strategy." Morgan paused and scanned the room with her eyes. "I will state what we know, and then leave the floor open to discussion. Deegan's body has been transfigured. He now supports wings, dragon-like in nature, which allow for sustained flight and slash attacks. He can penetrate magical barriers, we don't know how. He is not mindless, as is evidenced by the selection of his victims. In each murder, there has been at least one witness left alive. He does not leave remains behind, but carries them away with him. All of his crimes have been committed in the New York metropolitan area." Morgan sat down and took a breath. "Questions."
"So is he invulnerable to energy-based magic attacks?" Paolo asked.
"We don't know. At this point, we would have to assume so." Morgan responded.
"Our spells will have to be physical in nature then, matter manipulation, ground disruption, stuff like that." Hayes suggested.
"Can we even be sure of that, though?" Duran asked pointedly. "How is it that, aside for the witnesses in the immediate area, no one's seen him flying around?"
"He might have Apparation abilities, which would allow him to strike at his victims quickly and without warning." Breeden offered. Rodriguez laughed.
"How the hell is that possible? Deegan's a Muggle, right? You can't just give magic to someone non-magical in nature."
"If he's intelligent, can Apparate or become invisible, and can pass through magical wards, then why hasn't he attacked us? If not here, at headquarters, then why not individually, in our homes?" Pavlovski asked.
"Aside from being scum-bags, what do his victims have in common? What exactly is motivating this guy?" Clugsten questioned the table. "Captain, you stated in your report that his first victim was Walter Limehouse, his 'creator'. Well, his MO seems obvious there. But what of the others? Two drug peddlers and a sleazy Wall Street trader? What's connecting the dots?"
Morgan nodded. "Your questions are valid, Timothy, as are everyone's. Unfortunately, we have not had the chance to mind-check the Muggle witnesses, but James has assured us the FBI and the NYPD are doing all in their power to determine a pattern, if one exists."
Hayes snickered down the table and shook his large, shaved head. James sat up in his chair and frowned. Before he could say anything, the door to the meeting chamber opened, and in flew a red, paper airplane. It circled the table before falling into Morgan's emerald lap. She opened it, glanced at its contents, and then looked back up at the Auror team.
"That's it for the moment, people. We will reconvene at thirteen hundred hours. If you have any other ideas or leads, see me in my office. Dismissed."
The Aurors began mumbling to themselves as they stood up and left the chamber. James noticed Morgan was biting her lip while she re-read the memo.
"Well, Deegan now qualifies as a woman-slayer." She said humorlessly.
"What? Who?"
Morgan gave the note to her cousin. "Mandy Cole."
Three
Confessor ran with Jesse through the dark, stone corridor. From within the bars on the walls, witches were cackling at him, although their voices were blurry in his ears, like the chatter of a flock of wrens. It had been a very long time since he last set foot in Black Mountain Penitentiary. This was his first time in the women's block. It looked and felt the same as the men's.
The warden's guards led him and Jesse around a torch-lit corner. There were fewer cells in this hallway, although the ones he could make out were wide and commodious. Someone was shouting in the darkness ahead of him. Jesse drew her wand and lit it. Confessor brought his satchel down from his shoulder and unfastened the latch. Every type of preservation potion he knew of was at his disposal. He doubted any of them would be enough.
"Here! By the stones!" Someone instructed. Confessor saw that the cell at the end of the hall was open and crowded with guards. Through the iron grating on the stone floor was a dark patch of blood.
"This probably isn't going to be pretty." Confessor stated as he slowed his pace.
"I'm sure it won't be." Jesse replied. Despite her raw brilliance, Jesse was inexperienced in field medicine. Confessor wondered how she would react to the sight of trauma away from the safe confines of the hospital. Gore was so much easier to deal with, when it wasn't spattered recklessly on hard, poisoned surfaces.
"The healers are here! Make way, make way!" The block mistress ordered. The guards moved to the sides of the cell as Confessor and Jesse passed the gate. Jesse came to a sudden halt by Confessor's side. Confessor felt a blast of icy wind, but that's not what made him blink.
"Goddess have mercy."
Spread around Confessor's boots was a large pile of shattered rocks. The wall at back of the cell was torn open, as if by dragon claws. To his left, draped over a large, unhinged stone, was Mandy Cole. Her orange, prison robes were spread outward from her body, making her look like a dollop of dying sunlight. Her head was missing.
Jesse rushed over to her and put her hand on her stomach.
"How far along?" She asked the block mistress.
"Five months."
Confessor rummaged in his bag and pulled out a bottle half-full of clear potion. He gave it to Jesse, knelt down next to Mandy's body, and looked behind him.
"What have you administered?"
"Just our stock suspension drafts." The mistress responded.
Confessor shook his head and cut away Mandy's robes with his wand. "Five months. It's running on fumes." He looked at Jesse. "Can we move her?"
"It'll take three minutes to get her outside. We probably don't have that much time."
Confessor slowly circled the neck stump with his lighted wand. Within the exposed blood something sparkled.
"What the. .?"
Confessor carefully reached for the shining object while Jesse internally applied the potion. She glanced at Confessor.
"What is it?"
Confessor pulled from Mandy's vertebrae a barbed slice of bone. He held it in his palm and prodded it with his wand. The bone glowed green, and Confessor nearly dropped it in his shaking hand.
"It's a tooth, and. ." Confessor jabbed it again, and the hue shifted from green to red. "It's dragon!"
Jesse ceased her ministrations and stared at Confessor in shock.
"Dragon! How is that possible?"
Some of the prison guards began shuffling forward to get a closer look. Confessor didn't notice their curiosity, but instead placed the tooth on a flat piece of raised stone. He stood up, took a step backwards, and slashed at the tooth with his wand; the fang turned into a fine, white dust. Jesse took a potion bottle from the satchel while Confessor brushed the powder into his hand.
"Let's pray there's enough juice left in it." Confessor said gravely.
"What can you tell us, Doctors?" The block mistress questioned.
Confessor dropped the dust in the bottle, and Jesse applied the charged potion to the fetus. Confessor brushed his hands on his white robes. "Live dragon teeth are highly magical. One of their properties is the ability to provide continuous sustenance. It's why dragons can survive for decades in hibernation. If its magic hasn't completely faded, we can use the tooth to sustain the child until its term is over." Jesse nodded at him while she re-sealed the flesh of Mandy's dead skin. Confessor shook his head in disbelief. "I can count on one hand the number of active dragon teeth ever recovered by witches and wizards. This is one lucky kid."
"No, it's fate!" A guard said against the wall. Everyone looked at her. She was quivering and pointing at Mandy's belly. "My brother has foreseen this!" She kept her trembling arm raised. "This is the Second Witch, the one who shall be called Ravenbane!" She swept her eyes around the crowded, silent cell. She appeared as if she had been run through with a sword. "We have just witnessed something extraordinary!"
"Brooke, shut your muddle-tongued mouth." The block mistress commanded.
Confessor gestured towards the open gate. "We can move her now."
The block mistress folded her arms across her chest. "If the situation is under control, Doctors, I must insist you stow your wands."
"Perhaps your guards can help us carry her downstairs?" Jesse requested.
"Very well." The block mistress bowed and left the cell.
Four of the guards picked up Mandy's body and carried her out of the cell. Confessor and Jesse followed.
"What was that all about?" Jesse asked quietly.
Confessor snorted. "Working in this place has given some of these people issues." He saw out of the side of his eye a tall, blindfolded witch with blond hair stand up inside her cell.
Jesse remained silent until they turned the corner. "You have to admit, it was a little peculiar."
"How so?"
"Are you serious? What were the odds we were going to save that kid?"
Confessor rolled his eyes and considered Morgan and her philosophical opinions. When you love a woman, everything she is becomes a tiny part of you, even her determinism. "Let's not play the fate card today, Doctor Lagrotta." Confessor advised ironically.
"Sure thing, Doctor Westerling." Jesse responded wryly. She quickened her pace until Confessor was at her back.
Four
Morgan led James towards the interrogation chamber. Several subordinate Aurors greeted her professionally as she passed them. She briskly nodded at them, but didn't speak. She thought of Deegan biting and slashing his way into her home, desiring to quaff his thirst with blood. She didn't know how much time they had until his next strike. She felt she was standing in an open field during a thunderstorm, waiting for the next bolt to pummel the earth.
James followed her into the chamber, which was well lit with torch and candlelight, completely unlike its normal, dark, gloomy state. Headquarters obviously wanted to make sure its guest did not feel like a suspect. Morgan was glad to see Doctor Wiggins sitting brave and upright at the table. She was alert, even if unhappy, but Morgan wouldn't blame her for that.
"Hello, Doctor. It's good to see you again." Morgan politely commented.
Doctor Wiggins nodded. "Thank you, Captain. How is Circe?"
"She's fine." Morgan smiled in spite of herself. "She sends you her regards."
Wiggins smiled back. "I'm sure she does."
Morgan gestured towards James. "This is my partner, James McBride." The two shook hands, and Morgan sat down at the table. "You were a witness to a terrible crime, Doctor. James and I would very much like to apprehend the perpetrator and put an end to these killings. Your help would be crucial to that end. Do you feel up to helping us?"
Wiggins' neck maintained its stiffness. "Yes."
Morgan nodded and glanced at James. "Excellent. I would like to accomplish two things. First, I want you, in your own words, to describe what happened. Then, with your permission, I would like to view your mind and witness the attack for myself. Is that suitable?"
"Yes."
"Very well. Please begin."
James sat down and leaned forward. Wiggins looked down and then at the door behind Morgan.
"Mandy has been in my charge for the last three weeks. I had gotten in the habit of dropping into the penitentiary on a regular basis to check up on her and continue my psych evaluation." Wiggins took a breath. "The block mistress led me past the blindfolded witch in the cell next to Mandy's. She was standing by her window, which I thought curious, since she couldn't see out of it, but I didn't think any more of it. We came up to Mandy's cell. She was on her cot, looking hassled and nervous. The block mistress opened the gate, I went inside, and greeted Mandy. I took a step towards her, to get a better look at her expression, when I saw something dark appear in the window above her. I thought at first a banner or blanket had fluttered down and draped itself over the crevice. Then I saw the darkness shift, and a pair of red eyes bore themselves into me." Wiggins swallowed. "I stepped back, startled, and called for the block mistress. The next instant, there was a sharp, crackling explosion. I hit the bars of the cell and fell down. I was screaming. There was a beast of some sort standing on Mandy's cot. I didn't see where Mandy herself landed until I heard her whisper something. The beast roared, and jumped atop Mandy, who was on the other side of the cell. I kept screaming as it bit and worked its mouth on Mandy's head. The guards rushed into the hall behind me, and the monster looked up." Wiggins rubbed her temples and paused.
"It's okay, Doctor. You're doing fine. Take your time." Morgan said soothingly.
"It looked at me with its bloody, elongated mouth." Wiggins began shaking. "Her hair was hanging down between his lips. Her head. .everything she was, she thought, she envisioned, was chewed apart inside his mouth." Wiggins stopped and began crying. James stood up.
"Let me get some water for you."
"You do not have to continue. You've done great." Morgan complimented.
Wiggins rubbed her eyes. "Thank you. I'll be okay, just give me a moment." She took several deep breaths and looked steadily at Morgan. "If you wish, Captain, you may check my mind."
James sat down and gave Wiggins a stone mug of water. Morgan folded her hands together. She had no desire to prolong the Doctor's suffering. She hoped her Legilimency was quick.
"Please, Doctor Wiggins, keep looking at me."
Wiggins didn't blink as Morgan pushed past her blue eyes and held herself on the edge of her thoughts. Morgan saw the guards storm the cell with their clubs. She saw Deegan twist and leap back onto the cot. His movements were frightfully lithe, cat-like, effortless. Morgan saw Mandy's leg shake beneath her orange robes. Deegan jumped through the hole in the cell and vanished. Morgan put her cold fingers over her eyes to shield herself from the passing terror. One of the guards went to her and tried to help her up.
Wiggins took a sip of water, but did not break eye contact with Morgan. Morgan flipped through her memories until she found the one she wanted; the last, live image of Mandy Cole. She was twitching her arm as Morgan advanced towards her in the cell.
"Splendid, Doctor. Just a few more seconds."
Morgan listened carefully to Mandy's final, spoken word. It was uttered with a hint of exhilaration.
"Terry?"
Morgan maintained her psychic contact, but gestured to James.
"She knew. She recognized him."
"Are you done yet?" Doctor Wiggins asked.
"Just one more second."
Morgan swam back to the instant she passed the cell adjacent to Mandy's. She looked behind the dark bars and saw the blindfolded witch by the window. She was tall, with long, fine, blond hair, and graceful, even while wearing her blaring, orange robes. Her face was impossibly young, giving her the look of an anxious girl waiting for her father and brothers to return from a treacherous hunt. If her eyes were not covered, Morgan would have sworn she was looking at something. Or someone.
Morgan pulled away from Doctor Wiggins' mind. "Thank you, Doctor. You have been of tremendous service. Please finish your water, and when you feel ready, an escort will lead you to the exit." Morgan stood up and turned to James. He stood up as well.
"What is it?"
"Ever been to North Carolina?"
James smiled. "You know I haven't."
"You'll love it." Morgan glanced at her garnet ring. "An old friend's waiting for us there."
Five
James felt Morgan release his arm. He was standing on a flat, broad, stone surface. The sun was shining brilliantly, but a bitter wind stung his face. All around him, with a radius of at least two hundred meters, was a walled ring of shadowy rock; the Apparation zone was shaped like a frying pan. Within the rock walls were small, reinforced windows. James saw robed guards behind them.
"This way, James." Morgan instructed soberly.
Before her, with the concentrated light of day blasting off it, was a mountain. Two guards, with their wands drawn, stood at attention in front of two wide, ominous, double-doors; the facility was inside the base of rock and earth.
"They've increased security since you last were here." James observed.
"This is in response to Mandy's murder." Morgan began walking. "Have your badge ready. Because I'm an Auror, they'll let me keep my wand, but they might confiscate your sidearm."
James and Morgan identified themselves to the guards and were permitted to pass beneath the wall into the torch-lit foyer. Once inside, James felt the dampness of the fortress penetrate his skin. He remembered Morgan feeling the same coldness each time she approached the front desk.
"Does this place ever get warm?" James asked sarcastically. He stared at the heavy-browed wizard perched high behind his desk. He was reminded of a displeased judge in criminal court.
"Greetings. I'm sure you both are aware, but absolutely no wand usage is allowed within the prison, unless specifically prescribed by the warden. Ma'am, as an Auror you may carry your wand, but must not wield it. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Sir, I must insist you check your weapon with me."
James produced his Glock and handed it up to the wizard. He took it, looked at it curiously, and then offered James a log book. James and Morgan both signed it. The wizard received it back hastily.
"Name of the inmate?"
"Helena Argola." James answered.
The wizard glanced at a scroll and then called over a guard.
"Missy! Vistors for Argola!" The wizard jotted down something in the log book and looked again at the cousins. "She'll lead the way. You have one hour." He smiled and pulled back a brass lever protruding from the desk. A bell rang, and the gate to the women's block slid slowly upwards. "Welcome to Black Mountain. Enjoy your visit."
Missy gestured for Morgan and James to follow her. She led them through the gate to a wide, rectangular stairwell.
"She's on six." She smirked wickedly. "I hope you two don't mind climbing."
James stepped ahead of Morgan. "How has she been behaving?"
"She's been an absolute angel. She didn't even object to the blindfold. At first we enchanted it so it could never be pulled off or loosened, but about a month ago we developed spectacles that allow us to keep eye contact with her." Missy gave a short laugh. "Of course, as a precaution, she still has to wear the blind during the day, but we let her take it off before bed."
"I see." Morgan began. "You should know that these security measures are terribly inadequate. All she has to do is catch someone's naked eye with her blindfold off and the mind will succumb."
"Duly noted, duly noted." Missy retorted with an artificial warble. James looked back at Morgan and raised his eyebrows. "Has she developed any habits or customs?" He asked Missy.
"At night, she loves reading the Mage. When one of the guards is done with her copy, she gives it to her."
"How did she react to the attack?"
"Oddly enough, she was calm. It didn't appear to bother her." Missy looked back at James and grinned unpleasantly. He noticed she was missing her front tooth. "I hope you don't mind me saying so, but if anyone on the block should have gone, it was Mandy. She never adjusted well to the Mountain, and she always gave us trouble." Missy sighed. "It would of broken half of our hearts had Helena went."
At the sixth floor they turned off the stairs into a narrow, cement-walled passageway. James smelled stale sweat and urine, and heard the clanking of something metallic. He kept his eyes focused ahead of him as they walked through the first avenue of prisoners. He heard many witches catcall and whistle at him, but he maintained his composure; he didn't even break a smile.
"You will notice a yellow box drawn in front of her cell." Missy said as she pulled a pair of scarlet spectacles from her pocket. "We ask that you do not breach it. Gertrude ahead will issue you glasses."
"Actually, we're covered on that end." James said as he raised his garnet ring. Missy frowned at him.
"Very well. Guards will be posted at both ends of the hall. If at any point she attempts to remove her blindfold, notify them immediately. Got it?"
"Of course." Morgan replied.
They rounded a dark corner, and James noticed fewer cells. The witches inside them were silent. James was unsettled by their dignity; he would have been much more comfortable had they taunted him like the others.
Missy stopped before she passed the penultimate cell. There was a yellow square on the floor before the bars.
"Helena? Are you presentable? You have visitors." Missy called.
There was a pause, and then a familiar, accented voice responded. Goosebumps trickled up James' arm.
"I am presentable, Missy. By all means, bring them before me."
Missy faced Morgan and James. "I'll be right over there against the wall." She put the glasses on and passed the cell. Morgan and James stepped in front of the bars.
James noticed that the cell was large and well kept. There was a fragrance of flowers, although none were in view. A small window was chiseled into the back wall, and standing before it, with a black blindfold tied snugly around her head, was Helena. The sunlight transformed her long hair into a waterfall of liquid gold. Her skin was smooth and devoid of age. Even with her eyes covered, James was impressed by her beauty. He wasn't sure how to begin, and was thankful Helena spoke first.
"Hello. Whom am I speaking with?" She said while keeping her head profiled in the light of the window.
Morgan glanced at James. "It is I." She returned quizzically.
Helena faced the bars. She smiled. "I know that voice." She turned her body and stepped forward. Her orange robes billowed out as if by their own volition. James involuntarily stepped back.
"It is the voice of my pursuer. Indeed, my captor." Helena sat down on her cot. James saw a copy of the New York Mage on it. The headline read, 'MAN-SLAYER: WIZARD OR MUGGLE?' Helena brushed the paper with her fingers.
"Welcome. I recently read an article about you, detailing some of your adventures. It was very flattering. Is your male, Muggle partner at your side? The Wand-destroyer?"
James stepped forward again. "I'm here."
Helena nodded slowly. "I can probably remove my blind, then, but of course, I won't. Gertrude has cleverly constructed a surveillance device that notifies her when my eyes are exposed." She folded her hands in her lap. "How may I help you?"
Morgan boldly stepped into the yellow box and crossed her arms. "We are investigating the attack last night. Witnesses indicate that you might have relevant information."
Helena laughed softly. "These Man-Slayer crimes are insignificant. There are larger forces at work that should be seriously considered." She gestured with her head at the wall to her right. "The Ravenbane has come. I heard it from one of the guards. Seers have been prophesying her birth for centuries." Helena curled her lips venomously. "Your world is about to be rocked, child."
Morgan furrowed her brows. "Forgive me, but I do not consider murder insignificant. Before the attack, you were seen staring out the window. Please describe for us what you witnessed."
"I witnessed nothing. My eyes were veiled, as they are now."
James became impatient. "Did you hear anything, smell anything?"
"I did not."
"Then why were you at the window in the first place?" Morgan demanded irritably.
"For the same reason I always am: the enjoyment of knowing freedom is a mere centimeter away from my skin." Helena stopped smiling and stood up from the cot. She raised her arms to her head and stepped forward. "Of course, you may search my mind if you wish, but be warned, there are over eight hundred years of memories to sift through. You may become. .overwhelmed." Helena resumed her grin and fingered the black band around her eyes.
"Hey!" James yelled and stepped back again. Two bespectacled guards rushed over. With his garnet ring, James knew he was psychically protected from Helena's gazing ability, and yet the witch had poked holes in his composure. He doubted he knew anyone alive who could talk so smoothly and dangerously, even with English as a native language. "Morgan, she's not going to give us anything. Let's go."
Morgan didn't react to James, but continued staring at Helena. "I'm going to recommend to the warden your blindfold be permanently attached to your head once again."
"Please do so." Helena twirled around and lay down on the cot. "I actually would like to thank you. The last time we met, I told you I wished to experience life no longer, that I was ready for eternity. Confinement has re-awoken my thirsts, my appetites." She twisted her head towards Morgan. "I feel challenged once again." She produced a final, cunning smile. "Perhaps we'll meet once more, in circumstances less disadvantageous."
Morgan shook her head, turned on her boot, and swept herself out of the yellow box past the guards. James followed her. Before they turned the corner, he looked over his shoulder to make sure Helena was not leaning out over the bars, staring at them with her exposed eyes. Even when he saw she wasn't, he shivered and quickened his pace.
"Do you think she was bluffing?" He asked as they reached the stairwell.
Morgan didn't turn around, but swiftly descended. "I think she should be transferred to Azkaban, that's what I think, James."
"So where do we go now?"
"Back to headquarters. When Deegan resurfaces, either we'll get lucky and nail him, or we'll get lucky and gather more information."
Six
The sun had completely set. Helena could tell. The taste of the air inside her cell changed from dry and stagnant to lush and moist. She trailed her forefinger down the center window bar, and felt the miniscule grains of rust mash with her skin. The monster last night had Apparated with the slightest rustle, like leaves scattering across a wind-swept road. She could have alerted Gertrude, but she was interested to hear what he would do, whom he would take. She was curious to know which witch formed murder in her heart.
The rippling, dark range of the Appalachians was spread out in front of her, with a single wall shielding her from its majesty. She didn't count as an obstacle the blindfold; her eyes had been blinkered too many times before for her to truly feel impeded. She recalled the last time she was incarcerated, in 1899, at Kiev. The wizards then debated on whether they should extract her eyes, instead of only blanketing them with cloth. In the end, they decided to cram a blank, iron mask over her head. Helena remembered the discomfort of the device, but also the clumsy design of it. It had taken her only two weeks to remove it and escape.
She sighed and dropped her arm to her side. It had been four months since she last tasted the Elixir of Life, the sustaining drops of immortality. Her body was aging, even if it didn't immediately appear to be doing so. After eight hundred years, the clock of her mortality was once again wound and activated. She was fascinated to discover that instead of causing her anguish and distress, her reacquired limitations made her excited, feverish, and invigorated. Life could once again take on meaning, since life would from now on be a diminishing object, like the twinkling of stars before dawn. Her first husband, Demetrius, sought and achieved death, but he did not seek non-existence. He pictured himself traipsing through an endless, bountiful field of color and comfort. He imagined himself always basking in light, as if light had any significance without darkness. He was a fool. What was the point of absurdly striving for something impossible, when the possible was already arranged before you, a plentiful horizon of feelings and feasts? Helena was bound, like Demetrius and every husband and lover she had ever known, to die. She didn't feel bothered. She felt hungry. Her Nova Wand was crushed, but her own, personal supernova was about to take shape.
Someone walked in front of her cell. Helena could hear the boots scuffing, the breath being drawn.
"Helena, I have your mug of milk." Gertrude stated casually.
"Thank you, Gertrude."
There was a clattering of keys, and the gate squealed as it swung open. Helena faced back towards the exit and sighed once more.
"Gertrude, you have always been a comfort to me. The milk you give me each night is always warm and delicious."
"Aw, shucks, Helena! You know I aim to please!"
Helena's heart skipped a beat, and something hot danced in her veins. She reached up behind her head and grabbed the knot to her blindfold.
"Yes, you do."
There was a strange, airless silence for the briefest of seconds, and then Helena yanked back on the knot and whipped the blindfold from her face. She slit and stabbed the cell walls with her unleashed, stone-gray eyes. She wanted to rub her itchy brow, but such a gesture would have to be delayed, at least for the moment. She took in the appalled face of Gertrude. She looked like an American hippie with her amber glasses on. One who had just witnessed her protesting friend get clubbed by a SWAT team.
"Dammit, Helena! Why did you do that? Now I have to inform the block mistress!" Gertrude stomped her foot. "What was the point? I'm wearing my glasses! You can't control me!"
Helena took a deep, beautiful breath and smiled widely. She stepped towards Gertrude.
"It is not you I need to control."
She finished speaking. She ceased walking. The wall behind her exploded. Helena watched as a fragment of rock smacked Gertrude in the head, causing her to topple. Something to Helena's side roared. She twisted around. She didn't bother absorbing the shock upon seeing Terry Deegan's mutated, revolting body. She only looked into his red, hellish eyes. He drew back his dark arm and prepared to strike her. Helena held up her hand and seized his mind.
"Stop."
Terry froze and examined Helena curiously, but submissively. Helena nodded elegantly.
"Good boy."
She walked over to Gertrude and bent over her until her mouth was close to her ear. She smelled her perfume and her seeping blood. She kissed her lobe tenderly.
"Don't be too angry with him. After all, he just saved your life." She whispered. "Make sure you tell that to the 'Auror of Reason' the next time you see her."
Helena stood up from Gertrude's dazed and incapacitated body. She went over to Terry and jumped lightly on his back. She fit her fingers between the ridges of his sweaty muscles.
"Now take me away. Take me into the sky." Terry turned to the hole in the wall and bellowed. Helena heard the onrush of guards behind her. An alarm bell sounded loudly from above. She laughed wildly.
"Take me into the world once more!"
Terry, with inhuman speed, began to flap his dragon wings. He jumped from the breach, hovered in the night for an instant, and then, with Helena cackling lustily on his shoulders, Disapparated with a light ping.