hello-hello, my dears
We finally finished this chap!
A lot of thanks go to Samui san my great, cool beta!
As usual if you have any question about the universe and can't find answers to them in the 2 part (Some explanation or a Brief description of the universe "Ashes") feel free to ask. I'll be happy to give you answers and explanations).
As always your comments are appreciated )))
and it's always nice to know that what we are doing with Samui-san is worth all the time and effort we spent
Soon there will be side story posted - Sherlock's POV))hehehhe)))))
The evening city, washed by rain, met him with fog and dampness; the cool air chilled his exposed skin. The gloomy gray sky hung, unfriendly, over his head discouraging him from looking upward. It was presumptuous of him to expect that after the past few days spent within the walls of the Registration Department the weather would decide to please him with warm sun.
But even the cool wind did not prevent him from enjoying every deep breath, filled with magic that was free from spells and the shackles of runes. At that moment, to him, there was nothing more beautiful and wild. He had always wondered how all the glass, concrete and metal around him could still pulsate with the same pure energy that was present in the trees, rocks, water and earth.
John stood at the curb wondering what he should do. Several abandoned cars with red marks on their black polished sides huddled at the curb. The open doors of all the cars more than eloquently showed the speed at which the agents of the Ministry had rushed to Baker Street. John wearily looked around; there was not even a hint of a cab, only fog and empty streets. Now he would be more than glad to have a ride in one of ministry cars, but only as an ordinary passenger and not a criminal.
Two days in healing sleep had helped him to regain his strength, but had not given him any desire to get to the Registration Department on his own two feet. John did not expect to catch a cab immediately, but luck was on his side - from the mist, as if it was salvation, emerged a gig. It stopped beside him, an enticing comfort and shelter from the chilly weather of London.
"Where to, gentleman?"
John raised his head, surprised by the familiar phrase. The driver looked at him with barely any interest. Under the bonnet that he wore, an elderly puffy face with bushy eyebrows and a big nose stood out under a thin slit of a mouth, from which protruded a cheap cigarette. Smoke billowed out of it in beautiful curls and looked more like the smoke exhaled by small Asian dragons than tobacco.
"To the Registration Department, please. And as quickly as possible."
As soon as John reached out and touched the door, he fell instantly into a trap. For one long heartbeat time seemed to stop, before immediately flying back into a gallop as the spell unwound. John looked down at his feet and froze. Under him darkness swirled; it greedily grabbed at his shoes and reached out for his legs. A skillful illusion had hidden the dangerous runes from him, and even now, knowing that he was caught, John could hardly distinguish any familiar characters or identify them from any familiar spell.
"Sit back and relax, we have a long road ahead of us."
Unable to resist, John, like a puppet on strings, jumped on the seat and sat, frozen with an unnaturally straight back and a stiff facial expression. There was no one who would pay attention to his strange behavior, and he could only grind his teeth in frustration and his own negligence. He had just been kidnapped off the street, and what irony - right under the noses of the agents of the Ministry.
Several times he tried to speak, but only silently opened his mouth. His magic thrashed about, held down by the spell while they sped past both familiar and unfamiliar signs and shop windows, rare cars and even more rare passersby.
The only thing left to him was to repeatedly go over in his mind the possible options for his escape. It was unlikely that Holmes or anyone else would have caught onto his abduction. Especially not when the dark mage had opened a time portal for him, and received criticism in return. Moreover, there was no longer any stored energy or artifact available to allow for another portal to be opened again. No, he had to get out on his own, without relying on anyone.
John cursed silently. He now understood why cabman's greeting had seemed familiar to him - the driver had already picked them up earlier. How blind they had been, when all this time the killer was so close. Really, who would pay attention to a gig Certainly, the last of his sacrifices must have been stolen in the same manner directly from the busy streets. Now he himself was just one of the few people who were headed somewhere in this dull evening, another lone passenger in the gig, which took him away from the lighted streets and further into the darkness.
The familiar streets were replaced by dark, rarely illuminated suburb. When they turned onto a side road and stopped at the curb, the only buildings he could see were some ruins in the gray dusk.
John had not expected to see dilapidated old ruins as the final destination of their journey. An abandoned castle or warehouses maybe, but not ruins. As soon as he left the gig and followed his abductor, it was like scales fell from his eyes.
Illusions had hidden a long, low building without windows - its roof, covered with red tiles, had gaping holes in some places; the walls were bare, the last peeling flakes of paint almost gone. The structure twisted like a stone serpent among strange trees with red bark and yellow leaves. John had heard about them, but had never thought that he would ever see them firsthand, especially in London. Extracts of their leaves could enhance almost any potion, so he was not surprised that a small grove of these trees was helping to maintain a spell of such strength and power and to hide this place away from prying eyes. He did not notice any other homes nearby, and the hope that he could be seen by at least someone finally left him.
"This is a bad place," John winced; his throat was sore, as if he had not spoken for several days. "It steals the light..."
He did not know why he had said it, but this strange place terrified him, causing the desire to be as far away from it as possible. But here, he really could change nothing. He was still a puppet yanked along on invisible strings by a strange spell, forcing him to move against his will.
"Mister, is afraid that it would sap the light from him?" His captor raised his broad brow, theatrically releasing thick smoke from his nostrils.
"And should I be?"
"Worry not, I won't allow that."
"That is certainly encouraging," grumbled John. Suddenly he was overcome by apathy. Perhaps he should fear this strange place, not just his kidnapper, but he couldn't bring himself to do so. "But why would you kidnap me?"
"…Mister is not Sherlock Holmes, but I could not resist."
"Sherlock Holmes? What about him?"
"He has a fan. This Holmes fellow has captured the attention of my client, and the next victim was supposed to be him. So much power, and such great potential-it would have been nice to feast on him."
"You have a master?"
"I do not belong to anyone. No one!"
Perhaps John should not anger the man, but it was almost impossible to resist. The familiar feeling of excitement and danger pushed him to commit yet another folly. Well, he would not be John Watson, who had volunteered for the war, if he did not try to learn as much as possible even in such grim circumstances.
Such a revelation worried him, suggesting unfavorable thoughts. Before him was a performer, cruel and dangerous, but not the one who was really pulling the strings behind the killings of random mages and witches. So far, only his sudden abduction had not been planned, and he hoped to take advantage of that fact.
Through the dark door, they entered the spacious hall as if stepping into another world. The room was unusual, and it was not only because of the stuffed wild animals, strange weapons and old yellowed skulls – all of these seemed unnatural and alien even in this gloomy deserted house.
John, with seasoned eyes, looked around: some stuffed animals of species that he had never seen before. Collection was rich and, judging from the skulls, carefully kept and preserved with spells, had been gathered for many years.
More than anything his attention was drawn by a collection of human heads. He could not help but look into the dead eyes, wanting to know what only those that had long gone into the darkness would know. But the heads remained silent, and did not hurry to reveal their secrets.
Spreading around a strong smell of cheap tobacco the cabby quietly and reverently told him the story of each head, enjoying the presence of a new audience. While John himself sadly thought that he did not want to be part of this terrible show.
John considered a head with an uncertain past, which could not even be remembered by his captor - the head of a white woman, for an especially long time. The dried-up ears were still decorated with gold earrings with black stones; silky copper hair flowed like a shimmering waterfall from the skull. He looked at the hair, gray lips and staring dead eyes and thought that in the past this head had sat on top of a body, with hands and feet. The hostess of the head had most certainly loved, suffered, hated, feared ... and now, on a whim, was gathering dust on the table.
The farther away from the entrance they went, the smaller the number of the remaining heads became, until in this strange excursion they stopped near some skulls. Old, yellowed skulls were covered with a thin layer of wax. Its light, characteristic smell mixed in with the smell of dust and desolation, and not even the most powerful spells could erase the traces of the past years.
Trying to maintain a visible serenity John dutifully moved his legs, following his abductor. Intuition told him that he was not a regular, even if was an unexpected victim, but that did not mean that something less awful was in store for him. Several times he-although unsuccessfully-tried to throw off the spell, but it continued to firmly keep him on a leash, not allowing his magic to break free from the imposed shackles.
One dark corridor was replaced by another, then a passage and arches, and he knew that they had been travelling down deeper and deeper. Sometimes the darkness was diluted by the weak glow of crystals, and John could see stones blackened by time. Breathing in the moist cool air, he thought of dungeons, abandoned catacombs and crypts, and such thoughts did not inspire any optimism.
There was no point in asking where they were going; he was led to a particular particular destination. And when feeling of the sticky wetness on his skin gave way to warm air, and when soft light loomed at the end of the next corridor, it became apparent that they were close. He unwillingly walked faster, no longer resisting the effects of the other's will, only to freeze in shock at the entrance.
The cave was huge, simply immense, and littered with gold coins, bullion, precious stones, ornaments, cups and utensils. John had never seen so much wealth gathered in one place. This treasure was illuminated by eight huge torches that gave sickly yellow light.
The touch of a rough palm to his neck caused him to flinch. Unable to escape, John had to endure that almost gentle caress, until he was pushed inside.
As soon as he clumsily tumbled into the cave the spell eased, and his once again unrestrained power spilled out, dissatisfied with incarceration and inactivity, filling the area all around John with a bright searing light. Disturbed gold in sparkling heaps moved, ringing, knocking John down and swamping him with coins.
"Haha! I knew it!" Somewhere from his side rumbled a low, deep voice that could never have belonged to a human.
John leaned back against the cold shifting pile of coins and was afraid to move. Before him no longer stood a strange cabman with bushy eyebrows and a cheap cigarette. Instead, with whitish, almost blind eyes, a huge decrepit dragon looked at him.
"You will be my most precious treasure."