Violet awoke to the sound of a song that she alone could hear. Halfway between the sound of waves on sharp rocks and a soprano's swooping note, it appeared directly within her mind. Yawning, she reached for the mirror Satria had gifted to her, feeling the song draining away as it did. She wished Satria didn't make a habit of contacting her in the middle of the night, but she seemed to take amusement in Violet's irritation at being abruptly awoken.

"Yes?" said Violet as the silver mirror began to resolve itself into Satria's form. Then she blinked and rubbed her eyes. Unfortunately, the image before her was unchanged. The Winter Lady was naked, restless looking, and covered in blood. Violet could feel a headache developing behind her eyes.

Wonderful.

"This should be good," she muttered.

"Quite," said Satria sharply, licking blood from her lips. "We have a situation."

"We do?" Violet asked dubiously. "Because it looks like you have a situation, to me. Another disappointing lover, was it?"

Satria gave herself an appraising look, then laughed lightly. "As it happens, no. It was… satisfactory. Unfortunately, I wasn't prepared for him to try to murder me in my sleep. Typically, that's my role."

"Right," said Violet. "As thrilled as I am to be awoken at—" she squinted to read a clock on the other side of the room, "two in the morning to hear about your fascinating sex life, is this actually relevant to me?"

"Unfortunately," she replied, turning her mirror so that Violet could see the face of her dead lover. His face was more than a little disfigured, and Violet had to squint to see clearly.

"Wait, is that Audube?" she said, shaking her head. "He really tried to assassinate you?" To say that was a shock was an understatement. Audube was a member of Satria's personal retinue, a group of fae believed to be utterly loyal. Clearly, that hadn't been the case here.

"I know," Satria said mournfully, turning the mirror back to herself. "And he was always such fun, too." Her gaze sharpened. "Do you remember what I told you of the proceedings in Mab's Court a few months ago?"

Violet did, unfortunately. Over the past six months since Satria had first informed her of the budding conspiracy, more and more fae had been murdered. It seemed that the situation had now reached Satria as well. "I do. You believe this to be related?"

"I know it is. After getting the better of him, I had the chance to ask a few questions."

Well, that explained the disfigurement and blood, at least. "So Audube was a traitor." Violet whistled softly. "And his shadowy masters had him try to assassinate you? Surely they didn't think it would be that easy."

"I'm certain they didn't," Satria said with a sly smile. "It seems that our little cur fancied himself as more than a lowly spy. He believed that if he could kill me, his backers would ensure he would take my place as Lord. Foolish, obviously, which makes it unsurprising that he knew so little of his employers."

"Pity," said Violet. "But you learned something?"

"I at least learned everything he told them, which was a great deal. He had more access to information than most, given his position." She sighed. "Most regrettably, that includes you."

Violet leaned backward, taking a moment to think. "Your secret weapon. And they clearly had interest in you even before knowing of me. This is unfortunate."

"It gets worse," Satria said grimly. "He believed that his masters intend to eliminate you before making their move against me. Likely, they don't fancy the prospect of coming up against your mortal magic, to say nothing of the possibility of permanent death, of course. Worse, he overheard them discussing something to do with a prolonged expedition to the mortal world. I don't need to tell you who the likely target of that is."

"Well, fuck," Violet swore. "How 'prolonged' are we talking? I was under the impression that fae were limited to a single day in the mortal world each year? Unless you think they've convinced a mortal to assist them, that is."

"Ah," said Satria. "It is slightly more complex than that. Under normal circumstances, you are correct that fae are limited to a single day on Earth with each turning of the seasons, but there are exceptions to every rule. The conspirators behind the deaths of so many prominent fae are surely nothing if not resourceful. Though I could not guess the exact means by which they intend to extend their stay, I have no doubt that it is possible with sufficient effort."

"I understand. Should I return to the court, then? There is nothing here I cannot leave behind."

"No. If they are truly experimenting with the boundary between Earth and the Wyld, they could be tracking anyone traveling between worlds. Besides," she said with a grimace. "If there is one traitor in my court, we must assume that there are more. Until each and every one of them is crucified to the walls, the court cannot be considered safe. Lastly, there is one other matter."

"Yes?"

"I do not believe that our enemies have dedicated such an effort for you alone. Aside from the fact that Audube informed them of your importance only recently—too recently for them to have developed a method for long term travel to Earth—such a monumental undertaking must have a more concrete goal. Whatever it is, it must not be allowed to pass."

Violet nodded sharply. "I understand. You wish for me to intervene."

"Correct." Satria had carried her mirror into the bathroom now, where she proceeded to wash off the blood staining her skin. "It is not a prospect I regard fondly. You are far too valuable to risk in this way, but if they would hunt you anyway, it is better for you to hunt them instead."

"How will I find them? For that matter, do you know anything about them?"

"Little," admitted Satria. "However, I expect that, given the difficulty of such a prolonged stay, there will be only one fae, perhaps accompanied by lesser Sidhe. Likely a powerful one, however. They will be almost certainly of Winter; I do not think Summer is at all involved in this affair, mercifully. As for how to find them…"

She trailed off as she emerged from the bath, beginning to dress in a characteristically elegant dress. "Well, they are looking for you, obviously, so they'll be in your general area. Additionally, the means by which they extend their stay will likely draw attention, though in what form I cannot say. Trust your instincts; I know that you will prevail."

"Right," Violet said a little shakily. This was a lot to take in at once. "Will you be all right?"

"Of course," Satria said dismissively. "I merely need to have a prolonged discussion with the rest of my retinue. Oh, and one last thing. It's possible that they can trace the use of the mirrors. I deemed it worth the risk to warn you of their presence, but, ah, you might want to vacate the premises. Promptly."

Violet's eyes widened. Of course she had saved that little revelation for last. "Right. I'll try not to contact you until the situation is resolved, if possible." She rose, quickly dressing in her robes. "Is that everything?"

"I believe so. Good hunting." The mirror went dark. Violet cursed. She'd have to move quickly if the mirror had been detected.

Trying to suppress her irritation, Violet began packing as quickly as she could. She threw open her trunk, grabbing her sword and tying it around her waist. A pistol joined it, tucked into her robes. It wasn't likely to be useful, but iron bullets had proven effective against fae before. Unfortunately, it was likely her enemies would be well prepared for the use of iron. She hefted her quickly packed trunk, filled with various valuables and supplies.

She was just about to teleport away when she thought better of it. There was at least one person in the building who knew too much about her to allow to fall into the hands of her enemies. Besides, she rather liked Jon and would prefer not to expose him to the tender mercies of a Winter fae.

"Jon!" she barked, pounding on his door. He lived in a flat similar to hers, also above the pub. "Wake up," she hissed.

Several agonizing minutes later, a bleary eyed Jon dressed in a bathrobe opened the door. "What the hell?" he grumbled. "Is that a bloody sword?"

"Listen up," she said. "Some unsavory types are looking for me, and they're not the sort to be discriminating, if you get my drift. If you decide to stick around, don't say I didn't warn you."

"Morgana's tits. I always figured you'd bring trouble down on me, but stupid me thought it would just be the Ministry for renting out to a runaway." He disappeared back into his flat, speaking loudly so that she could hear. "Who's after you?"

Violet chuckled humorlessly. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Lovely."

Jon reappeared, having dressed in record time. He had his wand in his hand. "Right. Let's go."

"Us?"

"'Course. I'm not about to let a nine year old wander off on her own with bloody knows who chasing her."

"Twelve and a half," Violet hissed. "Trust me, you don't want to involve yourself in this."

"Oh yes I do," he said. "Particularly if the bar's getting smashed because of it. I expect a colossal paycheck when this is over. Bloody hell, I'm supposed to be retired from this shit."

Violet gave him an assessing look. Truth be told, she'd feel a lot better with backup, and having an adult with her opened a lot of doors. On the other hand, she wasn't sure exactly how much help Jon Whitby would be. True, she got the impression that before he opened a pub his life was considerably more exciting, but that had been years ago now.

The choice was made for her as suddenly, the building began to shake, and Violet saw frost creeping along the windows. Time to go.

She grabbed Jon's hand and allowed her Winter magic to carry them away as windows shattered and billowing waves of freezing wind rushed after them.

"Okay, kid," Jon said, brushing a light coating of snow off his robes. "Care to explain what the hell that was? Because you'll have an easier time convincing me that you're the daughter of Merlin than that was Apparition."

"I don't, actually," Violet said, scanning their surroundings warily. She'd teleported them to Muggle London, ironically the same back-alley that she had hailed the Knight Bus when she first returned to the mortal world. "Besides," she added with a smirk, "you wouldn't—"

"Believe you anyway. I get it." He shivered, his robes inadequate in the cold January weather. "Let me guess, you don't have a plan either?"

"I did, actually, but it got spoiled when I had to drag you along."

Jon snorted, blowing into his hands to warm them. "How you figure that?"

"Well, while I would be fine with spending the night in a forest, I decided that your ceaseless complaints would spoil the experience."

"Heh. Likely. So, are we going to have the hounds of hell on our trail shortly?" Jon asked cheerily.

"Probably, but fortunately we have you. Apparate us somewhere."

"Huh?"

Violet rolled her eyes. "They're a lot more likely to be able to track my method of teleportation than mor—normal Apparition."

"Sure," Jon said slowly. "I'm going to expect an explanation sooner or later, you know. So, anywhere?"

"Preferably somewhere you won't complain about spending the night."

Violet extended a hand. Jon took it, and then Violet felt the world spinning around her, pressing tightly against her.

"And you complained about my teleportation?" she asked incredulously, staggering away from Jon.

He shrugged. "You get used to it." He gestured to their dilapidated surroundings—peeling wallpaper, visible water damage, and the faint scent of mold set a lovely picture. The room had a dingy stove hooked up to a propane tank, and a refrigerator that Violet suspected, judging by the black mold growing from it, would be unwise to open. "Welcome to my hidey-hole."

"Nice place," said Violet. "Love the water feature." She toed a puddle of grimy water, the result of a sizable crack in the ceiling.

Jon grimaced. "Yeah, yeah, I know. It's almost as if I haven't been here for what—half a decade now? Something like that."

Violet wandered through the house—more like a hut, really, consisting of only a kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom—looking for some place not too damp to put her trunk. Jon was doing something with his wand, and Violet assumed he was putting up some sort of protections, though she didn't recognize the spells. Eventually, she dropped it on the bed, wrinkling her nose at the tattered sheets.

"Wonderful spot you've chosen," she said in her most deadpan voice. "I'll be taking the bed of course, which leaves you with, ah, the puddle."

"Wait, why the hell do I get the puddle?"

"Because," Violet said in a voice that seemed to suggest she was explaining something very simple to a young child, "I'd be perfectly happy to share the bed, but you'd get all awkward over it for no good reason. Hence, you're banished to the puddle."

True to her words, Jon gave a strangled cough at her suggestion. "Right. Well, it should only be for one night anyway. Hopefully."

"Fantastic." Violet yawned. "I'm going to sleep. If you get murdered in the night, make sure your screams of agony are loud enough to wake me up."

On that note, she disappeared into the bedroom, closing the door behind her. Jon stared at the door for a moment, then at the puddle. Sighing, he raised his wand. He'd always been pants at Transfiguration, but maybe he could manage a Cushioning Charm on the floor.

~#~

Violet woke early the next morning. She groaned as she remembered her unfortunate surroundings—the bed was lumpy and hard, and she had chosen to strip off the disturbingly yellowed sheets. It was a far cry from the comfort of her flat or the luxury of a Winter court.

On the other hand, at least she wasn't sleeping in a puddle. She snickered, much more cheerful at the thought. She climbed out of bed and dressed quietly before slinking into the kitchen. She suppressed a laugh at the sight of Jon half slumped out of a much too small wood chair, still dressed in his robes, a trickle of drool running from his mouth. She'd let him sleep a bit longer. Really, it was the least she could do after presumably getting his pub leveled.

First, though, was the matter of food. Violet wasn't about to trust the contents of the suspicious looking refrigerator, so she'd have to find something fresher. She left the hut, revealing snow covered trees in every direction. It seemed that Jon's safe house was well away from any civilization.

It didn't take her long. Hunting in wintry woods like these was second nature to her, and the wildlife seemed quite plentiful in this region. A flash of green later, and she had killed a small white rabbit. She teleported back to the hut, noting that Jon was still fast asleep.

The stove didn't work, which wasn't a surprise. She considered starting a fire with magic, but seeing as the tank of propane was half rusted through, she didn't want to risk a conflagration. Besides, the rabbit was still hot from life, and she was a terrible cook anyway.

Halfway through her bloody meal, Jon woke up. He took one look at the butchered carcass and her bloodstained fingers and groaned loudly. "Tell me I'm still asleep."

"Afraid not. Want some?" She proffered a dripping morsel.

"What the fuck. No, thank you. I think I'd rather starve."

She shrugged. "It's an acquired taste."

He let out a strangled sound that might have been a laugh. "Please tell me that you've come up with a plan. I don't think I could stand living with you like this for another night."

"Well," said Violet, "I thought we could start by tracking down those who would seek to kill me and murdering them."

"Right," Jon snapped. "That's it. First you show up looking for a room. Fine, okay. Not the first runaway I've met, and not the last. Then you start asking for suspicious magical ingredients and books that are better left forgotten. Fine. Then you wake me up in the middle of the bloody night because you've pissed off somebody and they're liable to kill anyone in their path. Great. And now you're eating a raw rabbit like some kind of twisted vampire and plotting murder. Just who the fuck are you, Valentina Frost?"

Violet calmly assessed the irritable man. She had known that she would regret warning him about the imminent attack, but in a rare moment of weakness, she had allowed her heart to soften. It would be ironic if he forced her to kill him after that.

"For a start," she said, "my name isn't Valentina Frost."

Jon snorted. "Shocker, that."

"Shut up," she said, allowing her expression to go cold and still. Hands and lips still stained with the rabbit's blood, it was clearly effective. "I did not ask you to involve yourself in this affair. Aside from the unfortunate collateral damage to your home, you could have washed your hands clean of it." She tilted her head to one side in a manner vaguely reminiscent of a bird. "I suggest that, should you wish to remain involved, you commit yourself fully. I will not tolerate fits of pique."

Silence lapsed, punctuated by indistinguishable muttering from Jon. Violet wasn't sure how he would react. Jon was a difficult man to read at the best of times, and guarded his thoughts almost as tightly as Violet herself. Hopefully he would decide to be reasonable. Finally, he looked up, meeting her eyes. "All right. I'm in."

"Wonderful," she purred. "In that case, I think we should start by checking on your pub."

~#~

Violet watched as Jon took in the half-collapsed Old Oak. Half of the roof had caved in, and most of the front wall. Wood and stone alike had been split by rapidly expanding ice, forced apart and brought crashing down. Unfortunately, any trace of Winter magic had been carefully scrubbed away. It would not be possibly to simply trace the enemy fae. The occasional passerby cast curious looks at the wrecked pub, but none lingered. There was still a trace of magic in the air, alien and unlike anything found naturally in the mortal plane.

"It's not so bad," he said. "When this is all over, I'll be able to fix it up." It sounded like he was reassuring himself more than Violet.

"Good for you. I want a larger bathroom when you rebuild my flat."

He snorted. "Sure. This mean anything to you?" He gestured to the general destruction.

"Some. There's no doubt who is responsible." Not that there was any doubt in the first place. "More importantly, they overplayed their hand. They didn't expect me to be forewarned of their arrival, so they didn't bother to obscure themselves." She drew her dagger and slit her hand. Blood trailed from the wound, suspended in a sort of three dimensional spiral.

"What are you doing?" True to his promise, Jon sounded more curious than disturbed.

"Putting out a call to those who watch and listen." The blood froze in midair, then shattered into fine red powder, which scattered on the wind.

Several long minutes passed. Violet stood stock still, eyes closed and Winter magic surging through her. She was not channeling it for anything in particular, but its sheer power coupled with her blood made for an unmistakable summons to those who knew how to listen. Unfortunately, that category included the enemy Winter fae. Hopefully they weren't in the area, or they might be in for some unplanned excitement.

Jon's sharp inhalation let her know that her plan had worked. She breathed a sigh of relief. Though it shouldn't have been difficult, she had never actually tried to summon lesser Sidhe to her before. Some of the least powerful Sidhe lived natively in the mortal world, and the pixies she had seen the previous year had assured her that at least some could be found in the area.

Two of these pixies fluttered before her, heads bowed in acknowledgment of her power. She studied them curiously. Unlike the pixies native to the Wyld, they did not look like miniature winged humans. Instead, they were bright blue, and quite inhuman looking.

"Greetings," she said in the language of the fae. Jon shot her a sharp glance. As far as most wizards knew, pixies were incapable of speech.

"High One," tittered one of the pixies. Violet winced at their atrocious accent. Though many of the lesser Sidhe spoke the same language of the fae, they could rarely manage the precise, elegant pronunciation the language demanded. "How may we serve?"

"Last night, this structure was destroyed, by a traitor to the fae. Did you or any of your brothers or sisters witness the event?"

"Oh, yes," said one of the pixies.

"It was awful," interjected the other. "There was one like you, as cold as anything—and two others with her. Humans."

Humans? Unexpected. Precious few mortals even believed in the fae, let alone involved themselves in their affairs. When they did, though, great things could be accomplished. Mortals posed an inherent mortal danger to fae, and one had to look no further than Violet herself to see the value of a partnership between the two.

"Describe the fae," she ordered.

"Oh, the High One stood as high as a man, with a ribbon in her hair. Red as blood, it was. And the world stood still with her steps."

Violet tried not to groan. There were few things more intolerable than overdramatic pixies. "Anything useful?"

The pixies conferred with each other for a moment. "We have seen the High One before," one eventually admitted.

Violet's attention sharpened. "Really?"

"Yes!" cried one. "Oh, for a fortnight she has tread upon mundane soil, and on each night she has taken the life of a mortal. An anchor of blood for the forsworn!"

A fortnight. And if she has to kill a mortal each day, that would leave a trail that could be followed. Violet's mind was spinning as she tried to figure out what the enemy fae's goal was. Obviously, she was trying to kill Violet, but the involvement of mortals spoke to the greater goal that Satria had suggested might exist. What that might be, though, Violet could only guess.

"Do you know where she is?" At the pixies' expressions of dismay, she sighed. It had been worth a try.

"No, High One. The one you seek is hidden to our gaze."

"Very well. You have been most useful." She waved her hand in dismissal, and the two pixies bowed, then flew off.

"Well," said Jon dryly. "I certainly didn't expect that. What language even was that?"

"I don't think it actually has a name in English," said Violet.

"How reassuring. Did you at least find something useful?"

"Possibly." She began walking away from the ruined Old Oak. It wouldn't do to hang around the scene. "I have reason to believe that the… enemy… is forced to sacrifice someone each night to sustain themselves. Likely, they would have to be magical. I don't think a muggle would suffice."

"Human sacrifices," Jon spat. "This just gets better and better. Hate to say it, but shouldn't we turn this over to the redcloaks? Feel like we're in over our head."

"No. The authorities wouldn't have the first clue what's going on. I do."

"If you say so," said Jon. "I'd be a lot more comfortable if you'd tell me just what we're up against, though."

Violet gave him an assessing look. Jon knew how to keep a secret, and he'd already stuck his neck out for her. "Fair enough. I suppose it's better you're forewarned. Can you subtly inquire about any recent disappearances?"

"Yeah, I suppose. I still have a few connections from the bad old days. It's not really something I can have a kid tagging along for, though."

"Agreed. I'll do some investigating of my own. Meet you tonight at seven in the White Wyvern?" Violet sighed. "I'll explain more then."

"I'll hold you to that. Don't get yourself killed." He whirled on the spot, and Disapparated.

~#~

Nothing. Again. The wind picked up, and Violet rematerialized a few kilometers away. The dizziness from performing nearly a hundred teleportations in under an hour was starting to get to her, and she swayed slightly. Even if her method was considerably gentler than Apparition, she still felt vaguely like a wrung out dish towel.

Worse, she hadn't found anything of use despite spending nearly four hours covering a significant portion of Britain's undeveloped geography. Judging by the pixies description of a massive ritual circle, it was a safe assumption that whatever method the enemy fae was using to maintain her presence on Earth would emit a massive pulse of Winter magic, the aftereffects of which would be easily sensed from many kilometers away by those similarly affiliated with Winter.

Unfortunately, Violet couldn't detect even a whisper of Winter magic, which was improbable in itself. Even if she hadn't managed to get close enough to the ritual circle itself, a powerful fae staying in the mortal world for so long was certain to leave some amount of residue. But if Violet didn't know better, she'd say that no fae had stepped foot in Britain for at least a year.

Clearly, they had discovered a method to conceal the fae's Winter magic. Violet had a sneaking suspicion that her mysterious mortal allies were responsible, likely developing some sort of artifact or spell to suppress Winter's signature. But who could they be to not only know of the fae, successfully deal with fae, and also develop unknown and highly experimental magic for a highly esoteric purpose?

Violet wasn't sure. What she was sure of was that she definitely did not want to see a highly complex ritual, spawned of the combined sinister geniuses of a Winter conspiracy and two highly competent wizards, to come to fruition.

But why wait so long to perform the ritual? There was chance that the fae was remaining on Earth for so long by choice. Sacrificing a wizard every night would soon bring unwanted attention on them, even if they chose their victims carefully. Logically, they were either performing final preparations for the ritual that required the fae's presence or, perhaps more likely, they were missing some final component.

But what? A sacrifice?

Violet shook her head. It was pointless to speculate when she didn't even know what the purpose of the ritual was, and she clearly wasn't going to learn anything more by continuing to teleport aimlessly across the countryside.

She checked a small gold pocket watch. It was half past six. Soon she would have to return to meet with Jon, who had hopefully found more success in his investigation. Of course, she would also have to find a way to satisfy his curiosity without giving away too much information. She couldn't tell him the whole truth, could she? Well, before then she had one last task to do.

She teleported repeatedly, covering several hundred kilometers with each jump. Eventually, she emerged in forest in southern Scotland. The dizziness overtook her again, stronger this time, and she spent several long minutes recovering her balance. Once recovered, she assessed her surroundings. Although to any other it would appear as only a patch of unremarkable forest, she recognized the pattern of trees.

Effodere!

Her nonverbal spells were still less powerful than their spoken counterparts, but she was quickly improving. Even in its weakened form, the Earth Shifting Charm was sufficient to remove a large section of snow and earth, revealing a wooden trunk buried deep in the ground.

Wingardium Leviosa.

It rose, loose earth pouring from its crevices. The preservation charm had clearly held, and the wood was as smooth and shiny as when she had buried it. She unlatched the trunk and grinned at the contents.

Despite its small size, the trunk was mostly empty. It contained only two dozen narrow vials of a thin orange potion, in which forks of yellow flickered like lightning. Dark flecks—iron filings—drifted about in the turbulent solutions. Conflagration potions, specially infused with iron.

Back when she saved the Weasley twins from hags, she'd found a number of Erumpent fluid vials in one of their pockets. After giving one to the Weasleys, she had used to rest to try to brew Conflagration potions. She grimaced. There had been a number of explosive failures in the process, but she'd eventually managed a stable batch… more or less. The fluid had grown noticeably more orange over the year they had been buried for, and the yellow lightning arced more frequently. Hopefully they weren't growing unstable. Maybe she'd give them to Jon just to be safe.

She took half the vials, then reburied the chest, gingerly placing the volatile potions in a well padded pocket of her robes. Yes, she'd definitely be handing these off before the fight began.

Rising to her feet, she prepared for another succession of teleportations, groaning inwardly at the prospect. Maybe she'd take her time. Surely Jon wouldn't mind if she were slightly late.

AN: Thanks for reading! As always, reviews are deeply appreciated and are a great motivation to write more.