Clarisse walked into the room and greeted everyone quietly, not bothering to even look around. She wasn't lying when she said that the work was waiting for her, but she'd rather be anywhere else.

Her outburst wasn't something that she could have just forgotten in a blink of an eye. It was the outcome of years of fighting her own feelings, fighting that overwhelming sense of being a nuisance to her own mother. Maybe she would regret her words later on, but right now the only clear thing was that her mother preferred to force the nightmares on her, rather than accept Riss for who she was or, at least, wanted to be.

She bloody hated being this vulnerable. Clarisse didn't want to look around, because she feared that everyone would be able to spot her weakness and she truly hated this idea.

"Auror Bouchard." Harry Potter's voice sounded in the room and she forced herself to meet his gaze. "Are you alright? You don't look so well."

"I agree. Have you slept?" Ashworth joined in, clearly worried.

Okay, so now she simply had to look around. Unfortunately, Finley sat at the table, staring at her with a small smile that made her even more uncomfortable. Well, he probably already knew that she had slept like a baby.

"Yes. Everything's fine. I guess it's just not so easy to rest, when you haven't slept for a few days straight," she muttered and shrugged noncommittally.

Even her voice sounded different, like it lacked its usual spunk. She wanted to walk away so badly, to shield herself from their scrutinizing gazes, but she couldn't. Riss needed to stay strong, just as she always did.

"Really, I'm fine," she tried again, this time sounding much more convincing. "What are we waiting for?"

"For Mr Leighton, obviously," Finley responded with irony and it made her feel somewhat better that their relations weren't going to change drastically, even with this awkwardness she felt every time she looked at him.

"Thank you. That's exactly what I wanted to hear," she scoffed and shot him an angry stare that made him smile softly.

Okay, so maybe they weren't back to their normal relations. What the hell was he smiling at, huh?

"Mr Leighton should be here any minute. He took the book to his apartment, claiming that it would allow him to focus better," Ashworth specified and Clarisse frowned slightly.

"Who's with him?"

"Auror Colbert. Mr Leighton seems to like him, so we decided to send them together."

Oh no… So that meant Jacques would be here for the meeting. She really didn't have the strength to put up with it right now. Riss looked at Aedan and he raised his brows, clearly wanting to know what was he supposed to do. She shook her head slightly and looked around the room, not wanting anyone to know about their inaudible conversation.

"Where's Fabré?" she asked, realising that her mentor wasn't there as well.

"He got injured," her boss muttered and Clarisse froze in her spot, shocked at Deschamps' words.

"How the hell did it happen? Is he alright?!"

"Nothing serious. He got Stunned and fell off a bridge, straight into the Seine. Turns out, cold water reverses the effects of a stunner, so, fortunately, he had managed not to drown."

Clarisse snorted with amusement and cleared her throat, when Ludovic shot her a harsh look. It wasn't her fault that it was a bit funny. Antoine Fabré, such a great Auror… defeated by a bridge.

"That's a great accomplishment." Her voice lacked seriousness, but Deschamps couldn't exactly punish her for that.

She was actually grateful for that moment of comic relief, as it at least helped her to forget about her feud with Eugenia. Unfortunately, it was only a moment and her grim mood returned in its full grace.

The room became quiet once more, as no one had the need to talk about nonsense. Clarisse tried to ignore Finley's gaze, which was constantly fixed on her face, but it was getting harder and harder. Luckily, she was saved by the opening of the door.

Mr Corrick Leighton walked into the room with a brilliant smile on his face and Clarisse couldn't help, but smile as well. Her expression didn't change even after Jacques appeared behind him and it became clear that her best friend wasn't feeling all too well. He looked tired and Riss wanted to chuckle at his not-so-subtle annoyance. Even someone as talkative as him couldn't stand Leighton's constant babbling, apparently.

"Mr Leighton, Auror Colbert," Deschamps greeted both men and gestured them to sit.

Jacques looked around the room and took a spot next to her, smiling gently. Leighton sat at the end of the table, directly opposite of her boss, so that everyone could see him perfectly. He seemed excited, almost to the point of feeling weak because of it. Clarisse pushed her grim mood aside, as her intuition urged her to focus solely on information that were about to escape Leighton's mouth.

"How are you? You look better," Jacques muttered quietly, as Corrick busied himself with setting out all of the various papers and books from his bag.

"I am better. I think I was so tired, that my body simply couldn't take another nightmare," she explained, using the same lie as before, but her friend didn't seem to be entirely convinced, so she decided to change subject. "To be honest, you don't look so good."

He sighed and rubbed his forehead, making Clarisse genuinely amused.

"You were right, Riss. I didn't get much sleep, because he was talking all the time." His voice was full of misery and she chuckled lightly in response. "I like my job, but I don't think I've ever been this excited about it."

Their quiet conversation was interrupted by Deschamps, who said:

"Mr Leighton, have you managed to translate this document?"

Corrick nodded and cleared his throat, readying himself to speak.

"First of all, I would like to thank you for providing me with such an amazing opportunity. The language is one thing, but this book itself is ancient. It comes from the times of the Ancient Alchemists, way before Merlin or Hogwart's Founders!" he exclaimed and everyone looked at him with surprise.

Clarisse switched her gaze towards the old document and frowned. Well, its yellowed pages and the language it was written in, strongly suggested that it hadn't been the creation of recent times, but it was so greatly preserved that it was almost hard to believe its real date of origin.

"Are you sure?" Auror Potter asked with hesitation in his voice. "Because it doesn't look this old."

"Ah, that's because of the protective spells cast upon it!" Leighton said with a smile and caressed the book's cover. "I've never seen anything quite like it. None of my previous researches proved to be useful in determining what kind of magic was used here, but it led me to a conclusion that it must have been the Ancient Magic."

"Ancient Magic?" Finley asked and raised his brows, while Clarisse tried to hide a sudden shiver that rushed through her body.

Suddenly, her mind returned to her visit at Hogwarts, the day of her first meeting with Corrick Leighton. She remembered their talk about the Founders and their skills. On that day, she admitted that no one was able to recreate their achievements, because no one had that much power. Some kinds of magic had been completely forgotten. Was it possible that their killer tried to bring them back?

"Yes, Auror Finley. I thought you would know about it, since your father spent years trying to locate as many proves of its existence as possible."

Interesting. Judging by Aedan's expression, he didn't really want to talk about his father. Or to him, for that matter. Clarisse had no doubts that if his father had spent years chasing history, he had to know about the book's origins. And yet, Finley hadn't even mentioned it.

Was his father really this bad? He must have been if even talking to him proved to be too difficult.

"My father and I don't really talk about his work," Finley said after a while and Riss couldn't think of another time she had heard him speaking with such coldness and animosity.

Everyone in the room, including Mr Leighton, must have noticed his sudden change of mood, because they weren't going to press the subject. Corrick cleared his throat and looked down to the book's cover with slight uneasiness.

"Yes, well… Maybe Mr Cillian Finley would be able to shed some more light on those spells, but I don't think it's the most important thing of all."

Riss felt her heart sink at the mention of the name 'Cillian'. She knew all too well that its striking resemblance to her own father's name wasn't a coincidence. It felt almost impossibly awkward to know that their fathers bore the same names…

She felt Jacques' questioning stare and she shook her head lightly, not wanting to talk about it. Kylian Bouchard was one of those subjects that stayed untouched, even in her friendship with Jacques.

"I translated the requested chapter, but I couldn't stop myself from reading the entirety of this document. I think it was a great decision on my part, because the things I've managed to find are… staggering." His voice was filled with amazement, but Clarisse couldn't help, but notice fear hidden deep inside his eyes.

"Mr Leighton, we would be immensely grateful if you could just tell us what does it say," her boss asked and tapped his fingers against the table, betraying his impatience.

"It doesn't have a tittle, but its dedicated to the various ways of expanding one's magical power," Leighton said. "It talks about rituals, about spells and creatures…"

"What creatures?" Clarisse interrupted his speech, as her entire body tensed in a blink of an eye.

Could it be… No. There was no way in hell that her dreams were trying to show her the killer. Or killers, for that matter. The Merlinite might have awakened her hidden gifts, but it certainly couldn't lead her to the killer's identity, could it?

And yet, her mother's words would certainly point to it. "I knew that you weren't going to drop that horrible case, so I needed to make sure that you will be ready for what's coming your way," her mother said, but back then, Clarisse was way too angry and confused to let those words sink into her mind.

"Oh, it's a vast subject, Miss Bouchard," Leighton waved his hand dismissively and Clarisse bit the inside of her cheek.

How was she supposed to tell everyone that she was having dreams about those creatures, even before she became aware of their existence? Bloody hell… She looked at Jacques, who seemed to understand her doubts completely, and then at Finley, who stared at her with a deep frown marring his forehead. What was he thinking? Did he make the connection as well or was he simply surprised at her seemingly random question?

"Please, continue, Mr Leighton," Ludovic smiled at the man and then shot her a warning glance.

"Yes, yes… As I was saying, every single chapter refers to a way to gain more magical power. Those are very dark themes, I'm afraid. Back in the times, when this book was created, people viewed things like sacrifices or even blood rituals completely different. They were considered normal, sacred even. Without them, the wars would never end, just like the general bloodshed. Alchemists created those rituals and spells in order to make themselves invincible or, at least, stronger than their opponents," Leighton smiled with sadness and sighed. "I don't think anyone could use those spells today. Their incantations are complicated and demanding, and I think they require vast amounts of power. Isn't that ironic? Gaining power requiring even more power?"

No one seemed to appreciate that irony very much, so Leighton cleared his throat one more time and continued his tale.

"The ritual described on that page you marked is no different. But it's peculiar in a way, I have to admit," he said and opened the book. His fingers pointed to the woman's neck and everyone stood up, trying to see better. "That wound on the neck… It had to be thin and clean, as to not violate the body. Every cut, every bruise would damage the power residing inside of it. You see, the Ancient Alchemists believed that our magic flows in our veins. Sure, it fills the entirety of our bodies, but it is concentrated in the blood the most. That's why every blood ritual is considered to be powerful and that's why blood is usually one of the main sources of every potion's strength."

She didn't know why, but his words had managed to mesmerise her. Maybe because magic was the greatest mystery of them all and she loved mysteries more than anything? Even thinking about it made her tingle with excitement, despite the fact that Leighton's words seemed to make everyone else highly anxious.

"Those wounds shown in the picture were meant to provide the performer of the ritual with an access to the victim's power. According to the description, you have to make two incision on your hands and place them directly upon those wounds, so that your blood is mixing with the victim's. Next comes the incantation; 'Let your power be mine, as I reach for it with good intentions'. I was surprised when I first translated it, but everything became clear once I finished the chapter."

Clarisse frowned and propped herself on her hands, leaning forward and looking at the book from a closer distance. That incantation… It sounded almost as if those victims were willing to die. Was she right? But if she was, how could one convince such young women to die?

"You see, the ritual cannot work if the sacrifice wasn't made willingly. Those women had to agree to everything beforehand," Leighton said, confirming her theory and she couldn't stop the shaky breath that escaped her mouth.

It was clear that their translator had a lot more to say than that, but he fell silent, giving them time to digest those information. Everyone seemed distraught by his words and they couldn't really be blamed for it. The reason for why they hadn't found any signs of struggle or fighting was the fact that those victims knew what would happen. They had been lying on the cold ground, waiting for their death.

"Why women?" Finley broke the silence with a question and Clarisse bit her bottom lip. His question might have been sexist, but, unfortunately, she couldn't really discredit it. All of the victims were women and it became clear that it had to be more than just personal preference.

"Women didn't have too much to say back then, at least in the Muggle world. The Alchemists, however, believed that women were vessels for great amounts of power. It wasn't a coincidence that Muggles believed in the existence of the Oracles, who were able to predict the future. Those girls who got chosen to become the Orcales were considered special, sacred even, as God spoke through their mouths. The truth was slightly different and the Alchemists recognized it. They've discovered that those girls were very powerful. Something about this gift they possessed made them so."

Clarisse felt her knees go week and she had to sit down, causing everyone's attention to shift from Leighton to her. She felt dizzy and her usually tanned face must have been drained from all the colour. How else was she supposed to look? Apparently, everything in her life had to revolve around that fucking gift.

"Riss? Are you okay?" Jacques crouched down, looking at her with worry, but she found herself unable to answer. "Riss?"

Before she could get a grip on herself, everyone gathered around her and Jacques was joined by Finley, who crouched next to her on the other side.

"Hag? Say something mean for me," he asked and Clarisse couldn't help but react at that obvious insult.

"Shut up, you prick," she said in a squeaky voice and Aedan smiled lightly, although his eyes still seemed worried.

"What happened?" Her boss growled and she took a deep breath, trying to get rid of that nauseating feeling.

"My life's a fucking joke, that's what happened," she muttered and closed her eyes "My mother calls herself a Seer, but if she had lived in those Ancient times, she would undoubtedly be called something else."

Leighton gasped at her confession, while everyone else looked at her with caution.

"Your mother is an Oracle?! But that means that you have to be…"

She snapped her eyes open and met his stare, forcing him to close his mouth.

"It doesn't mean anything. I'm an Auror, Mr Leighton. I want to find this son of a bitch and I want to do this as fast as possible, so can we please continue?"

"Clarie!" Jacques sighed and shook his head. "You can't just do that. Don't you think your mother can actually help us now?"

Clarisse wanted to laugh like a maniac at that question. No, she didn't think that. Her mother was probably never going to speak to her again and getting her to change her mind would mean a lot of apologising and sulking. And she sucked at both of these things.

"That's actually a valid question," Leighton agreed. "You see, the ritual was designed to work only if the victim was an Oracle."

"So what are you saying? That all of them were Oracles? What are the chances Mr Leighton?" she asked with irony and wiped the sweat from her forehead, deciding that she was starting to feel better.

"Apparently, they were big enough," Deschamps muttered and shook his head. "If Mr Leighton says that the ritual requires the victim to have that kind of power, we have to assume it's true. After all, our Forensics Department says that those poor gals were found with not even a trace of magic left in them."

"That's interesting," Leighton said and everyone looked at him with surprise. "The ritual doesn't require the performer to take all of the power. Actually, it kind of forbids it. The Alchemists believed it to be great disrespect to deprive someone, who's made a willing sacrifice for their benefit, of their magical abilities. The victims were supposed to die like every wizard, with dignity," he said and then frowned, his skin paling considerably. "Auror Bouchard, why did you ask about those creatures?"

Clarisse bit the inside of her cheek, trying to come up with a plausible explanation for her stupid question. Maybe the truth about her mother was now out in the open, but she really didn't want to talk about her nightmares. Besides, it wasn't like they could identify those creatures, was it?

"Because of the saliva," Finley said, before she could have said something and she looked at him with surprise. "The killer must have cleaned the wounds from his blood, because we weren't able to find any traces of it, but the tissue around the cuts was covered in a grey substance. Our tests proved it to be dried saliva, no matter how weird it sounds."

Clarisse shot him a grateful look, but he ignored it completely, although she could have sworn that the corners of his mouth twitched slightly. Still, his explanation was pretty valid an she felt quite disappointed with herself for not coming up with it.

"That's not good… Not good at all," Leighton muttered and started to flip the pages frantically. He didn't even try to be delicate with them, as he clearly wanted to find something as fast as possible.

It took him only a minute to find it and he raised the book, showing them a drawing that covered the entire page. Clarisse tried her best to keep a poker face, but looking at the exact creature that was at blame for her insomniac nights wasn't particularly easy. She felt goose bumps prickling her skin and fought the urge to rub her arms.

"What the hell is this?" Ashworth asked and his voice sounded a bit unusual, as it lacked its cheerfulness.

Riss looked around and found everyone else wearing expressions similar to her own. They tried to remain impassive and calm, but she could see the uneasiness, residing deep within their eyes. She almost wanted to smirk, knowing that she wouldn't be the only one with nightmares, if they were to meet those creatures.

"They don't have a name," Leighton whispered and shifted nervously. "I mean, they do, but it's not easy to translate it into our language. In a literal translation, we would have to call them 'Those, who were born out of death, who feed on power,'" he said and Clarisse snorted, even though the situation was hardly amusing.

"Very catchy," she noted and Leighton blushed. "Can you think of a shorter version?"

"Well, I guess they can be called the Shadows of Power. It certainly sounds better, although it doesn't describe them to the fullest. You see, they are kind of like Dementors. Just like those foul creatures feed on the despair, the Shadows of Power feed on the magical force residing in our bodies."

"I've never heard of them and I know a lot about creatures trying to suck the life out of people," Potter muttered and Clarisse really appreciated his half-comic comment.

"That's because they're supposed to be non-existent. The Alchemists created lots of rituals that allowed them to harness incredible amounts of power. But everything has its limits. Nature loves balance and it couldn't simply allow them to grow more and more powerful. Things got out of control and those creatures came to life, appearing whenever someone dared to absorb too much magic," Leighton explained, making everyone scowl.

Great. Did she really think that being an Auror would be fun? This was the opposite of it; she could hardly picture anyone who would have enjoyed chasing a lunatic obsessed with power, who had managed to gain so much of it that he brought some ancient creatures back to life.

"So, what are you saying? That those creatures appear whenever the killer performs a ritual and then suck the remaining power out of the victim?" Jacques asked with his brows furrowed and Leighton nodded slowly.

"It appears that way, yes."

Silence fell in the room, as everyone seemed completely absorbed with their own grim thoughts. Clarisse wanted to scream, but she couldn't. This case was difficult, frustrating and it forced her to face her worst fears. And now that everything was clear, they were still as far away from catching the killer as in the beginning. Riss wasn't a quitter, for fuck's sake, but at this moment, it started to feel like one of her biggest mistakes.

"Do you think he knows about those creatures?" Ashworth asked quietly, forcing her to forget about her despair. "The killer, I mean."

"He must. They're probably following him everywhere he goes, drawn to his immense power. It wouldn't surprise me if they fed on it, forcing him to kill over and over again, closing the circle yet again."

Clarisse frowned, as a thought popped into her head. Her boss must have noticed that, as he raised his hand, telling everyone to stay silent, giving her the time to connect the missing pieces of puzzles inside her mind. The Aurors from the UK seemed a bit weirded out by this behaviour, but they stayed quiet.

Why did the killer even feel the need to take someone's power in the first place? Was he aspiring to rule the world, like Voldemort? Or maybe he had a different reason that was still hidden from their sight? And those creatures… If he had the knowledge of the ancient times, it wasn't a bad assumption that he could have known about them from the beginning; yet, he still chose to kill. Kill and let them multiply, following him everywhere and feeding on his power. Why?

"Can you kill those creatures?" she asked after few minutes of silence and Leighton frowned. "Maybe he doesn't let them follow him around, maybe he disposes of them after every murder?"

"If they're like Dementos, they cannot be killed," Potter answered and shook his head, clearly distraught.

"That's where you're wrong, Auror Potter," Corrick said and frowned. "Or at least, that's what I think. This book doesn't mention the exact way to kill them, but it talks about ways to harness power. The Shadows of Power wouldn't be in here, if there was no way to access the magic they absorb. The legend says that in order to do that, you have to kill them. If you do that, all of their power goes to you."

Just like that, everything became clear. The killer committed murders in order to gain more power, but foremost, to bring to life the creatures that would consume the rest of magic remaining in the victims' bodies, without violating the rules of the ritual. Even if they sucked the power out of him, even if they weakened him temporarily, he still wanted to create them. And the reason for his actions was simple enough; once he had killed all of them, he would become so powerful that nothing would be able to stop him.

Clarisse felt shivers run down her spine, when another question appeared in her mind. Why did he want to become unstoppable?

"I'm starting to think that I'm jinxed, somehow," Potter said and everyone looked at him with questioning expressions. "First Voldemort decided that he wanted to kill me, even though I was a new-born back then and now this. I wish there was a lottery for the most fucked up life, because I have a feeling that my opponents would give up as soon as they've seen me."

Something about his statement made Clarisse snort in amusement. All of the stress, all of the fear and uncertainty… It was just too much. Before she could have thought it through, she started to laugh like a lunatic, while everyone stared at her with awe.

After a couple of seconds, another laughter sounded in the room, as Potter joined her. Everyone else followed into their footsteps and the tension evaporated completely, even if it seemed completely stupid. Still, she didn't care.

If they were all going to die, trying to solve that damn case, they might at least do it in good moods, right?