CHAPTER 2
A/N – Hello my dear readers! It's good to be back and I'm so grateful for all the support this story is getting already, I was pleasantly surprised ;) And now, we're on the way of discovering where black magic comes into this story. Enjoy the new chap!
The black mare slowed her pace and her nostrils flared a bit, letting out a snort and blowing out a soft cloud of steam. She was rather unsettled and the gloved hand patting the side of her neck did little to reassure her. Everything was so strange lately. Gilbert figured it might have helped to think of something else, to find some distraction. But what he could think of?
Every single thing was triggering in some way, even Hilde. He rather liked Hilde, she was pretty and soft-spoken, and the fragrance of the wild flowers she wore in her hair had lingered in his nostrils indefinitely. Nothing like the bitter and poisonous woman his brother had married, the reason he would rather take part in a bloody, exhausting war which dragged on and on without resolution than live in that house, with them. That thought alone annoyed him, and then there had been the omen, or at least he'd taken it that way.
It would have been a mistake, Gilbert thought, the reins loose in his hands and his legs relaxed in the stirrups. Hilde wouldn't like someone like him, and if he were to write it would make her uncomfortable and put an awkward strain on all future words passed between them. But he had tried to write, that very afternoon. Only that the glass of wine long abandoned on the table had unexpectedly spilled over the few words he'd mustered, tainting the white sheet like blood gushing from an ugly flesh wound carved on pale skin. It had spilled so brusquely and overwhelmingly that he'd jumped from his seat and had barely avoided getting his trousers stained.
And now this reconnaissance mission had been a very bad idea. His superiors wouldn't see it though; they leaned over the spread maps puffing their pipes and wanted to know where the Austrians were hiding in wait. And they only saw the candle-lit, yellow paper of their maps, not the thick forest lying ahead, not the fog, not the growing darkness of the cold autumn evening.
Gilbert had gotten lost from the rest of the small group – which had probably ceased being a group anyway - he could no longer hear the muffled sound of hoofs through the layer of dead leaves or the occasional snort of moving horses, only the eerie songs of the forest. It did not worry him too much though; he'd kept a straight line since leaving the village camp and had not gone very far as it was, so getting back shouldn't have been a problem. The light was gradually fading, but he could still make out his surroundings quite well, and thought he would distinguish the enemy's white uniforms among the elongated shadows of the trees.
It was getting colder and colder though, and Gilbert let out a muttered swear, shrugging helplessly in the uniform coat and adjusting his hat. Just as he did so, he caught sight of a small hut nestled between thick trunks, only a bit further away. Cautiously, the Prussian dismounted, loosely tying the reins of the still nervous horse to a tree, then proceeded to creep towards the house on foot, as inconspicuously as possible.
It couldn't have been too many men in such small a place, if indeed there were any. Maybe a couple of scouts, sent to identify their positions as well? Although they'd occupied the village two weeks prior and by now-
Gilbert stopped dead in his tracks and his hand instinctively descended to the hilt of his sword as the small, wooden door opened and an old woman stepped out, looking at him directly.
A man with more of a desire to live would have run for cover, lost himself in the depths of the forest before the enemy would have even laid eyes on him, in case the woman would have alerted any Austrian soldiers hiding under her roof. But Gilbert did not have such a will to live. Indeed, what had he to live for? He would fight, for it was his duty, but aside from that he really had nothing.
But the woman did not stir, long white locks which had escaped the confines of her shawl dancing in the breeze. Yet she was not motionless due to fear, on the contrary, there was a smug, almost pleased expression on her wrinkled face.
"I have been waiting for you, Prussian," she said, out of the blue. "You're just as I pictured you. Everything I want."
Gilbert scowled, ignoring her nonsense and trying to peer past her thin frame, into the house. But no one else came at the sound of her voice, there was only empty darkness beyond the doorframe, so he concluded that she must have been some hag living alone in the middle of the woods. Maybe she'd been banished from the very village he'd come from because she was crazy and people were tired of her bullshit.
He sighed and turned, looking over to where he'd tied his horse. The black mare snorted and even pulled at her harness, appearing even more agitated than before.
"You have an empty heart, untouched by love, and a blade which has tasted blood more than once," the hag went on.
"Shut up, you crazy witch!" the Prussian snapped, taking a few steps forward, hand still on the hilt of his sword. "Are you alone in there? Have you seen any soldiers around here?"
The woman chuckled. "Oh, I have seen plenty of soldiers. Had my pick from the very best, you see. And now it's your turn, Gilbert Beilschmidt!"
"What-… How the hell do you know my name?!"
"If you did not have a handsome face, I would chop off your head and throw it in the lake for all it's worth. Not working at all," she said. "But as it is, I wouldn't want to waste a good thing, so I will settle for carving out your heart."
Gilbert saw the danger when it was too late to run from it, and too late to fight it. The sword only drawn in the last moment dropped on the ground from his limp hand, giving a last pale gleam before being swallowed by the carpet of dead leaves.
The witch looked up at the crows perched on the surrounded branches, countless black, bead-like eyes trained upon that sole thing of interest, namely the bloodied corpse lying on the ground. She waved one bony hand in direction of the village.
"Fly west, there will be a battle there tomorrow. On my account you'll only go hungry again, dumb birds. Have you not yet learned that I don't share my prey? Why are you so stupid? Why the hell is everyone so stupid these days?!
She snorted and spit on the ground and the birds took off with sharp cries.
Elizaveta sighed, throwing an almost dismayed glance around the matchbox-sized living, taking in the shabby couch, stained carpet and cheap coffee table. In a corner there was an ancient TV someone had put their foot through or something, and that was a bugger, because apparently it made it count like 'a suite with a TV' and thus the rent was higher, even if said TV was practically fucked.
But this miniscule and absolutely shit place was all Toris could manage to find on a very short notice and they'd moved right in after gathering a few essential belongings from their apartment and leaving everything else behind. They'd been out the door almost as soon as the ambulance had come to pick up Natalya.
She would let the boys take the living and the extendable couch (they hadn't yet checked if the 'extendable' thing was working or not) and take the adjacent bedroom for herself. Goodness, it was really, really small…
The brunette walked in and dropped the bag somewhere in the narrow space between the one-person bed and the wall with the tiny window, deciding she would not venture to open the wall-embedded wardrobe just yet. The bare mattress of the bed was soft enough and Elizaveta sat down, overwhelmed with fatigue and momentarily putting aside the fact that they would have to make some immediate purchases to make their new home properly usable. She and Feliks had not said a word to each other after the incident and for now she really wasn't in the mood for it. He probably had no money left from his allowance, but the Hungarian had decided to let his boyfriend deal with him for the time being. She had some savings in the bank, but there was no point in trying to cover at least some of the debt, not after what had happened.
"Eliza? Are you okay?"
Her eyes remained firmly trained on the view outside, even if it was already dark, refusing to look at Toris who now stood awkwardly in the doorframe.
"I don't know. I worked so hard in school and then for another four years with the firm , never broken any fucking law or done anyone any harm, yet here I am now buried in this shithole, investigated by the police and pursued by Russian mobsters! What do you want me to say?"
She scrubbed a hand over her face, shoulders sagging ever lower.
"Ever since he showed up in my life, I always did whatever I could to stick to Feliks, cover for him, fight for him, fix things for him… because I love him, he's my little brother. But I can't fix everything, okay?"
"I'm so sorry… It's my fault too, I don't know why I thought-"
"Do you have a smoke?"
The Lithuanian dug quickly in his back pocket and handed her a full pack, together with a lighter, then left without another word. Elizaveta lit up hastily and kicked off her shoes, beginning to rummage through the bag trying to find the cell phone in the pile of things she'd stuffed in there at maximum speed. A task which could not be accomplished without throwing everything out first.
"Oh God… fuck this shit! Fuck everyone!" the brunette grumbled, cigarette dangling from the corner of her mouth. Eventually, she found the blasted thing and scrolled through the contacts, then pressed the call button.
"Hello, Arthur? Uh… yeah. I need to see you."
"So they don't know where that tosser's off to?"
Elizaveta took a long drag from the cigarette, then settled it in balance on the edge of the ashtray. She shook her head.
"Look, this part's not as big a problem as it seems," the blond on the other side of the small table went on. "They'll find him alright and you'll be cleared."
"How do you know they'll find him?"
She kept throwing nervous glances around the foul little pub her old schoolmate had decided to bring her to, but Arthur Kirkland was perfectly relaxed, leaning back in his chair.
"I'm saying it's very likely. They find more than half of the chaps doing this sort of thing. They do the shit convinced that they can totally pull it off, disappear and all that. But they can't, because they're just not as smart as they think. So, they find him and make him spill what he knows. Down go the people at TFTE, because they must have paid him to tamper with the figures, obviously. But no one can accuse you of anything, because you didn't make shit out of it and you're not even a partner in the firm."
The Hungarian let out a gasp. "So the other partners are still going to face charges? You mean… Roderich-"
"Fuck Roderich, luv. It's you that you should be focusing on," Arthur said, taking a drag from his own cigarette, which happened to be a spliff. And it was only Tuesday, for fuck's sake. "Besides, we had this talk before, you know, about married men."
Of course, Arthur happening to be a gentlemen's man, must have known what he was talking about. And he was right, Roderich had a husband, as well as an influential family to handle things for him if it came to it. In contrast to that, Elizaveta's family only served to cause more problems and put the icing on the shitcake.
"The Russians are bad business though," the Englishman stated. "They won't be that easy to shake off."
She nodded. "And we can't even go to the police, because Feliks did buy the drugs. And he pushed Natalya off the fucking window. We'd probably get arrested ourselves for that!"
Arthur chewed on his bottom lip, rubbing the tip of his index finger on the moisture on his bottle of beer. He seemed to be pondering on something, hopefully a potential solution. After all, she had asked for his help because he was working for the MI6, although anyone hearing that would have dismissed it as a joke. Arthur Kirkland had no apparent special talents other than an odd sense of humor she'd always appreciated, had at least three piercings and almost certainly didn't own a single suit and tie. But he was working for some obscure MI6 department nevertheless.
"Liz, I never told you what it is that I do at my job."
The brunette shrugged, picking up her smoke. "Do I want to know?"
"It's called the Magic Crime department. Sort of short staffed for the moment, because it's hard to find the right, open-minded sort of people for the job, but we're hopeful. We call it the Magic Club. Look, there's a lot about the so-called Underworld that is carefully kept from public knowledge, like the practical application of black magic. But the good news is that while there's trouble, there are also possibilities."
Elizaveta blinked. "…with black magic."
"Yes."
She dropped backwards on the backrest, closing her eyes. "Arthur, I'm telling you I'm about to be accused of fraud, some Russian thug is after me and Feliks and you fuck me with this Harry Potter shit! Goodness, are you fucking serious?!"
The blond propped one elbow on the table and rested his chin in his hand. "I'm sorry, I still haven't devised an effective way to explain this to people."
"You mean to muggles," the accountant said rolling her eyes. "Look, this really isn't funny."
"I know."
"And what would you suggest? That I cast some spell and everything will just… get solved?"
Arthur leaned over the table, reaching for her hand. "Look, I'm very serious, alright? And no, that's not really the way it works. In fact, it's quite different from the books. So now, what I'm suggesting is that we find you a sort of… bodyguard, someone with the ability to take care of all of your problems. A magic bodyguard."
To be continued
A/N – So yeah, there essentially couldn't be any magic stuff without Arthur Kirkland and his Harry Potter stuff, right? Heh.