A/N - Thank you for your patience in me getting this chapter to you! I'm sorry it's a little shorter than usual, but I hope it's still worth the wait.
Thank you to Court18981 for betaing this, and for her endless work and contributions to this amazing fandom.
Cinna looked at the unfamiliar surroundings. Once upon a time it would have been fascinating to him to see parts of the world that otherwise would have remained forever hidden. But now it was merely tiring. He longed to spend his days in one place, rather than being magically whisked off to the far corners of the globe without even a moment's notice.
His current surroundings, whilst unfamiliar, did not seem all that exotic. Indeed, the solid oak furniture, leaded windows, and the grey landscape beyond them were all decidedly English.
"Where are we?" asked Cinna.
"Woodhay Manor," replied the gentleman. "Although to describe this place as a 'manor' is stretching the truth a rather disgusting amount. In my book, it barely even passes as a 'shack.' More impudence that deserves punishment."
"This is the magician's home, yes?"
The gentleman laughed— a cold, humourless sound. "Yes. I am not surprised that he chooses to live in such a crude fashion."
Cinna had to bite his tongue. He was all too used to the gentleman idolising wealth, indolence, and opulence, and while Mr Mellark's country estate was modest in comparison, it could hardly be described as 'crude.'
He looked around. The place seemed empty and deserted, almost neglected, as if it had been devoid of occupants for a long time. "Why are we here?" asked Cinna.
The gentleman's thin lips stretched over his teeth in a leer that Cinna presumed was supposed to be a smile. "I wish to have a look around," he said. "I find that getting to know one's enemy is the key to stopping them."
Suddenly the gentleman's eyes widened and he rushed to the window, gazing at the landscape beyond. "I know this place," he whispered, closing his eyes.
A flicker of movement caught Cinna's eye. Strange things were happening. It appeared to him that two worlds occupied just the one space, and it was a terrifying, nauseating feeling. Ravens flew at him, their beating wings creating little disorientating eddies of wind, and their screeching voices shouting warnings at him in a strange language. But then the gentleman opened his eyes and England had returned.
"The boundary between Faerie and England is very close here. Very close indeed. It is little wonder the magician was able to steal powers from me if this is where he lived. Follow me."
All of a sudden, Cinna was stood upon a high cliff, facing out to a treacherous and turbulent grey sea. Far below them, the waves crashed against the rocks, and Cinna took a step back away from the edge, unnerved by the sight of the foamy depths.
"This is where we shall take him," said the gentleman. "Cinna, I need your help. Find me four rocks. One the size of a man's head. One the size of his heart. One the colour of love and friendship, and one the colour of misery and grief."
The instructions were confusing, and Cinna could not begin to guess at the gentleman's intentions. But Cinna was nothing if not diligent, and set about trying to find rocks and stones that matched the gentleman's descriptions.
It was hard, back-breaking work, and the gentleman was incredibly fastidious about the rocks that Cinna found. One was just a little too rounded, another far too jagged. One of them did not convey enough beauty, and another would be witless and make very poor conversation. These strange demands did little to help Cinna understand the nature of the gentleman's plans.
But after many hours, as the temperature dropped even further and the sun began to fade, the gentleman clapped his hands together in delight. "Yes, Cinna! You certainly have an eye for detail! This is perfect! And now, we shall make the magician pay."
The gentleman snapped his fingers, and Cinna was back home, in Mr Everdeen's house in Piccadilly. Miss Everdeen was sat in her usual spot by the window, and she turned towards him, sympathy and understanding in her tired, grey eyes. She clearly knew that he had been whisked away by the gentleman, but that he had been forced to help plot the magician's downfall, she could have no idea. He tried to whisper an apology to her, but the words that fell from his mouth were merely nonsense about a child who had found a violet opal inside a phoenix egg. He shook his head, and Miss Everdeen nodded sadly. She was silenced in the same way, after all. He dreaded to imagine how she would react to the news when they met in Panem, where he would be able to speak to her freely.
After Mr Mellark had returned from the Peninsula to his London home, he had felt strangely out of place, as if he were invading the home of a complete stranger. That feeling was nothing compared to how it felt returning to Woodhay Manor which had, for all intents and purposes, been deserted for years, and which he had never truly felt comfortable in calling his home in the first place.
The house seemed too cold and empty; the brick walls harboured nothing but bad memories of his late mother's neglect, and worst of all, Mr Mellark could not put from his mind the distance that now spanned between Miss Everdeen and him. Before he left London, Mr Mellark had visited Mr Everdeen, in order to assure him that his residence in Sussex would not stop him working for the government as and when he was needed. Mr Mellark convinced himself that behind Miss Everdeen's overtly cold farewell to him was a hint of longing. Indeed, the idea that perhaps she would miss him while he was gone from London was keeping him sane, and at first helped him to maintain focus on his researches.
However, trying to research with a basic lack of material was proving as difficult as ever. The addition of entertaining his closest friends, Mr and Mrs Odair, in his home soon proved to be too great a distraction, and he found his researches falling by the wayside.
While Mr Odair had been brought up in the countryside and was far more used to the relaxed, easy-going nature of country balls, Mrs Odair was used to the formality of London society, although her own beauty and humble grace soon saw her becoming accustomed to the far less rigid aspects of country life. With Mr Mellark back in Sussex, invitations to balls, dinners, dances, and parties were arriving every other day, and indeed, it was not long until Mr and Mrs Odair's reputation for wit and charm saw them receiving their own invitations, and not merely attending as Mr Mellark's guests.
One such invitation was from Mr Cartwright, an old family friend of Mr Mellark's father. It had been clear for a very long time that Mr Cartwright had aspirations of marrying his daughter to one of the three Mellark sons, and when Captain Rye Mellark and Miss Delly Cartwright had finally announced their engagement, Mr Cartwright had held a dance in their honour, the scale and grandeur of which had rarely been seen outside of London.
The celebrations had gone on for days, and it was only the ever-present nagging guilt over Miss Everdeen that finally sent Mr Mellark home, so that he might try to continue his researches. Mr and Mrs Odair had returned with him, and their company certainly did not prove to be conducive to his studies. Eventually he had to apologise for his rudeness, but that it was necessary for him to lock himself in his room until he made some kind of progress.
Mr and Mrs Odair were more than happy to entertain themselves, going for long rides in the countryside, and walking along the clifftops at Beachy Head to look out to sea. Mr Mellark joined them for dinner every night, then retreated back upstairs to his study.
And so the three of them fell into a routine, until one evening Mr Odair complained of feeling rather poorly, and he did not attend dinner. The next morning, he stayed in bed, and so Mrs Odair entertained herself in the library all day, while Mr Mellark continued to study.
The wind howled outside, causing Mr Mellark to jump somewhat. He looked at his pocket watch. It was nearing 8 o'clock at night. His stomach growled as he realised that he had hardly eaten all day, and he felt himself flush with embarrassment at the fact that he had so wilfully neglected his duties as a host. He hoped that at least the servants had more sense and had fed his guests, and looked after the recumbent Mr Odair.
Suddenly, a loud commotion from downstairs caught his attention, and he recognised the sound of his brother's voice. He left the dark recess of his study for the first time that day to investigate the disturbance.
Captain Mellark was stood in the hallway of Woodhay Manor. His clothes were soaked through to the bone, his hair wild and windswept, but the most upsetting thing about his appearance was the panic clouding his face.
"Where is Finnick?" he called up to Mr Mellark.
"He is sleeping," said Mrs Odair, appearing from the doorway to the library. "Why? Whatever is the matter?"
"Are you sure?" said the Captain. "For I have seen a most distressing sight."
"Quite sure," she answered.
Gale took Captain Mellark's coat from him, and pressed a glass of brandy into his hands. "Thank you," said the Captain. "But I insist that he is checked upon. I was out riding, returning from a meeting with an old comrade of mine in Hastings, and saw a figure upon the cliffs at Beachy Head. I was most concerned about his proximity to the edge, and rode closer. As I approached I recognised the figure as that of Mr Odair."
"You are certain it was him?" said Mr Mellark.
"As certain as I am that I am now stood here before you!" he answered. "But when I rode even closer, the figure had vanished. At first I feared that they had slipped and fallen into the sea, but I could see no footprints on the clifftop, and could see no body below."
"Then you must have been mistaken."
"I was not mistaken!" said Captain Mellark. "I saw him as clearly as I see you all now!"
"This is easily rectified," said Gale. "I last checked on Mr Odair to bring him some broth and bread for supper not two hours ago. I shall go and check on him again now."
Mr Mellark, Captain Mellark, and Mrs Odair watched Gale retreat upstairs. He reappeared moments later, his usually swarthy complexion drained of colour. "Mr Odair is not in his room. His bed is empty and appears unslept in."
Mrs Odair turned to Mr Mellark. Panic distorted every one of her beautiful features. "Find him. Please."
He nodded and marched into his study, Mrs Odair, Captain Mellark, Gale, and some of the other servants following in his wake. "I need water," he called out to the room at large. "Fetch it from the brook. Running water will give us far more accurate results. And a large silver dish. Now."
Gale and the other servants turned on their heels and rushed to follow out their master's instructions. Mr Mellark took Mrs Odair's hands in his own and sat her down on the comfortable chaise-longue. "Annie, I will find him. Please, have faith."
She nodded and wiped her eyes on a silk handkerchief. Mr Mellark stood up and took a deep breath, focusing his thoughts. He had been working on spells of location ever since Wellington had first demanded it of him in Portugal, and in the last couple of months he was certain that he had finally perfected one.
Gale returned with the dish, and Thom with a large jug full of water. Focusing his thoughts once more, Mr Mellark slowly poured the water into the dish, careful not to spill a single drop. He tapped the surface of the water, and at his touch, glowing silver patterns of light began to dance across the mirrored surface.
He studied the patterns for a moment, memorising their configuration, then swept his hand across the surface of the water. Leaning in closer, he frowned. Something was wrong. The pattern of lights that should have represented Mr Odair was nowhere to be seen. He swept across the water again and looked once more. Still nothing. He repeated the action several more times. Nothing. He ran his hands through his hair, pulling at it in frustration.
"Gale," he said, turning away from the dish at last, picking up a candlestick and handing it to his servant. "Take this and hide it somewhere on my estate. Give me no clues as to where."
As soon as Gale returned, Peeta set to work. He tapped and swiped at the water, studying the shimmering patterns, and in less than a minute, he looked up at Gale. "It is in the stables, the second stall from the left, under a bale of hay, am I correct?"
Gale nodded his affirmation.
"Then the spell works, dammit," he said, frustration overcoming him once again.
"Then please, try it again. Find him, I beg you," said Mrs Odair, tears spilling from her eyes.
Moved by her plea, Mr Mellark attempted the spell once more. Mr Odair was nowhere in the vicinity of Woodhay Manor, nor of Beachy Head, where Captain Mellark claimed to have spotted him. He widened his search. Mr Odair did not appear to be anywhere in Sussex at all. In fact, he did not appear to be anywhere in any part of England.
Mr Mellark angrily tore his gaze from the shimmering silver lights, swearing under his breath at how the spell seemed to be mocking him. "This is pointless," he spat. "Gale, fetch me my coat and riding boots. Thom, ready Victor for me. I shall go out and search for him myself."
Within ten minutes, the four men—Mr Mellark, Captain Mellark, Gale and Thom—were in the saddle and riding out into the night. Mr Mellark conjured a glowing ball of light to travel ahead of them to aid their search, but within just a couple of hours, the weather had worsened to a degree where their search became impossible.
It was with a heavy heart that Mr Mellark returned to Woodhay Manor, to the expectant face of Mrs Odair. Despair clouded over her as he shook his head to her unasked question. She collapsed to the floor, weeping for the unknown state of her love. Mr Mellark rushed towards her, and knelt beside her, clutching her hands in his own. "Go up to bed," he said. "Rest yourself, and in the morning I shall send a message out to all able-bodied men nearby, and together we will find him."
Mrs Odair nodded and rose unsteadily to her feet, then inhaled sharply, her eyes widening as she looked beyond Mr Mellark into the hallway. "Finnick!" she cried, rushing forward, ready to embrace the man she loved.
Mr Odair was stood in the hallway, his hair plastered to his head with rain, his dripping clothes leaving a dark puddle of water around him. He slowly wrapped his arms around her, a politely perplexed look upon his face. He moved his arms slowly and stiffly, as if they had not moved in a very long time.
"Where have you been, dear heart?" she asked him.
He coughed once before answering, a dry, dusty sound that rattled his lungs. "I was watching the relentless sea-witch as she beat mercilessly at my earth-mother. I have rested beneath the young clouds, and watched the sky born anew for millennia. And one day I shall sleep again, undisturbed, with the rest of my kin."
Mrs Odair looked at her husband in confusion, at his ashen features, and ran a gentle hand across his cheek. "My love, you are frozen. You must sleep. And in the morning you shall feel yourself once again."
But the next day Mr Odair did not rise from his bed. He refused all food and complained of a terrible ache in his body. But he described the ache in such a peculiar manner, saying that he was 'decaying from his foundations all the way to his summit.'
A doctor was sent for to examine Mr Odair, but aside from a chill to his skin, there was nothing wrong with him, and all the doctor was able to prescribe was plenty of bed rest.
By the evening, however, Mr Odair's condition had taken a turn for the worse. The dry, dusty cough that he had produced when he first arrived home had not only returned, but had worsened. His normally bronzed skin had taken on a terrible, sickly grey pallor. Mrs Odair tried to insist he eat some broth to warm him, but he refused.
By the following morning, Mr Finnick Odair was dead.
Sir Adam Cresta was a very influential gentleman amongst London society and when Mr Heavensbee heard that his son-in-law had died suddenly—a man who was very close friends with Mr Mellark, no less—then Mr Heavensbee saw an opportunity to ingratiate himself further with Sir Adam.
He had heard that the widow Mrs Odair had returned to her father's home, and he asked Haymitch to compose a letter to send to Sir Cresta, expressing his deep sorrow at Mr Odair's passing, and reminding Sir Cresta of his friendship, and that he was ever the great man's servant.
Haymitch sat alone at a writing desk and re-read the letter. For a moment, he considered waiting for Mr Heavensbee to return from a meeting with Prime Minister Coin before sending it, but there was little point. Heavensbee would inevitably just nod and say it was acceptable, with nothing more than a cursory glance. And so instead, Haymitch carefully folded the letter, and held a stick of sealing wax to a candle, the sputter and hiss of the melting wax being the only audible sound in the room. He allowed several large globules of wax to fall against the letter's opening before firmly pressing Mr Heavensbee's seal into it.
Suddenly the entire room shifted. Haymitch found himself on an open, dusty road beneath a vast grey sky. Birds flew at incomprehensible speeds above him, the numerous black wings writing messages in an impossible to decipher ancient language.
In a split second, Haymitch was back in the study in Hanover Square. It had only been a blink of an eye, but Haymitch had the impression that he had travelled hundreds, maybe even thousands of miles.
Breathlessly, he reached for a nearby crystal decanter, carefully pouring himself a large measure of fine brandy.
No sooner had the glass touched his lips and he had felt the warmth of the first sip upon his tongue, then the room shifted once again. He dared to try and read the language of the birds, and every single one turned their beady eyes upon him.
He cried out in distress , dropping the brandy glass to the floor. It shattered in an instant, and every single bird screeched at the sound of the broken glass. He fell to the floor, and halfway through his fall, he found himself back in London once again.
"Are you alright, sir?" asked a voice. Haymitch looked up into the concerned face of Rue, the young maid.
"Fetch me a glass of water," he said, his voice shaking somewhat. She nodded and turned on her heel as Haymitch clawed his way back to his feet and sat back down at the writing desk. He felt a sickeningly fast movement as he was pulled back to the other world, and closed his eyes tight shut, not wishing to risk garnering the attention of the many thousands of birds once again.
"Here you go, sir," said Rue.
Haymitch opened his eyes a fraction. He was in Heavensbee's study. With an unsteady hand, he took the water from Rue. He looked at it for a moment, before reaching for the crystal decanter and swigging a large mouthful straight from the bottle.
Some kind of magic was occurring, and whatever it was, Haymitch was certain that Mr Heavensbee was not the source. But there was a way for Haymitch to find out. After taking a second calming gulp of brandy, Haymitch held the glass up in front of him and whispered, "Show me."
He stood up, looking through the water in the glass, and slowly turned around.
"What are you doing, sir?" asked Rue.
"I wish I knew," Haymitch shrugged. "It's supposed to detect magic, but I have no idea what I am looking for." He walked around the study, holding the glass up in every direction, until he saw the strangest thing—a tiny, glowing ball of golden light. "Would you look at that?" he said quietly, more to himself than to Rue.
He experienced the nauseating rushing sensation again, and this time he was prepared for it, reaching a steadying hand out to lean against the wall. He was back in London once again before he knew it. Swallowing the mounting sensation of fear, Haymitch held the glass up once more to try and capture the ball of light.
"It's outside," he said at last. "Someone out there is doing magic." Haymitch walked to the window and looked outside. There were several people in the street: well-to-do ladies out for a morning stroll, rich gentlemen on their way to coffee-houses and business meetings, servants performing their daily duties… But no one that looked as if they were performing magic.
"Do you think it could be Mr Mellark?" asked Rue.
"Perhaps," said Haymitch, unconvinced. There was no distinctive blond hair amongst the gentlemen outside, and Haymitch was certain that they would have received word if Mr Mellark had returned to London. Haymitch held the glass up once again. "I wonder if I have made a mistake," he muttered. There was only one way to be certain.
He walked downstairs and straight out of the front door, into Hanover Square, and held the glass up once more. The light was much brighter out here. Whoever was performing the magic was close. Even as he had that thought, the worlds shifted rapidly once again. Looking around the square, no one else appeared to be affected. He wondered at this; perhaps his close proximity to Heavensbee for all these years had made him much more susceptible to the effects of magic than most folk?
After taking several deep, steadying breaths, Haymitch began to push his way forward. The light within the glass of water grew brighter and stronger with every passing step, but as he drew closer to the source of the magic, the lines between the two worlds seemed to grow less distinct.
He began to stumble as he crashed between London and the strange land of the ravens over and over again. Words seemed to fly at him. Concerned gentlemen asking if he was alright mingled with the screeching sound of birds, and their cawing became indistinguishable from the human voices.
A carriage appeared, and to Haymitch it seemed to be driving through both Hanover Square and the Other land. He held the glass of water up towards it, but it did not appear to be the source of the magic; instead the source was on the pavement, moving on a path to intercept with the carriage. Haymitch stumbled onwards, determined to solve this strange and terrifying mystery, while he was still able to hold on to some semblance of reality.
As he approached the carriage, several things happened at once: Heavensbee stepped out of the carriage, while at the same time, a nearby woman reached up and pulled the hood down from her cloak. Haymitch recognised her from somewhere, although in his disorientated state, he could not place exactly where. But as he held the glass of water up towards her, he realised that this woman was the source of the disrupting magic within Hanover Square.
A shout rang out across the Square. As he flickered between the two worlds, Haymitch could see that the young woman had raised her arm towards Heavensbee, a pistol pointed directly towards his master's heart. Haymitch ran forward, and pushed Heavensbee to the ground, just at the precise moment that a loud bang rang out. An eerie silence followed the terrible noise, which was soon replaced by the sound of panicked screaming. Without warning, Haymitch was thrown fully back into London, and as a sickening pain spread from the bullet wound to his chest, he collapsed on the cold, hard cobbles of the road.
A/N - I'm so sorry! But... these things HAD to happen. Please forgive me! Anyway, reviews are always very much appreciated and may well make the enxt chapter appear faster ;) Also, come say hi on tumblr!