The world shook Pyrrha awake with a dull BOOM.
Her first waking breath drew in as much agony as air. Her body throbbed with each beat of her heart that struck like a thrown stone, sending blood that burned streams of molten lead through her limbs; inside her stomach, a mire of bile threatened to sear through her innards and drown them in acid.
BOOM.
"Wallow in pain later," Ashlin said. "Something's knocking at our door."
Pyrrha pulled herself from the bed and sank onto her knees, crawling over the carpet on trembling limbs. She could see, but it was all wrong, out of focus; the table was a dark blur ahead of her, the benches long and fuzzy shapes blending with the dimness. Her head bumped the wood, and she pulled herself up on the bench to lean across, groping blindly under the table for her wand.
BOOM.
Ashlin was there, crouched beneath the table with an impatient expression clear as the rest of the world wasn't. She pointed to a mismatched strip of darkness, and Pyrrha snatched at it, scraping up her wand with stiff fingers. Pushing up from the bench, she stood on shaking legs and staggered to the door that was nothing more to her than a discolored patch in the wall, and she threw it open with all of her strength.
BOOM.
Pyrrha stumbled down the corridor, held upright by a hand against the wall as she turned the corners without watching her path, guided by ingrained memory. Hati's booming barks rang out from the common room, resounding down the hall to her like guttural gunshots and beating against her head. She shambled into the room with her wand aimed at nothing.
BOOM.
The ground shook again, and it was enough to unsteady her as she went; she tripped and fell against a couch, the landing like an anvil to the chest. The wide open area was a sea of indistinct shapes in shades of darkness. A patch of pale silver darted up and down the far end of the room, baying and howling. Something past Hati shifted, an enormous grey form sweeping down from the fathomless waters above to impact the wall.
BOOM.
Cracking stone split the air. Hati's barking grew more urgent, and alarm coursed through Pyrrha anew as she heard his paws splashing when they hit the floor. She squinted up into the expanse of dark water. Overhead, like a gleaming sun in the blackness of space, a massive yellow eye shined upon them. A monumental grey tentacle whipped down with stunning speed and slammed across the dungeon wall.
BOOM.
More cracks of groaning stone, followed by trickling water as the walls wept the lake into their domain. Pyrrha called Hati with her heart pounding in her throat as she propelled herself with her arms along the furniture, taking three tries to shore up the stone with a charm as she went. The wolf met her at the exit, panting excitably, and she propped herself on his broad back as she tapped at the wall with her wand. A flash of light made her glance back as the wall slid open.
BOOM.
The thunderous cascade of shattered stone was quickly drowned by the swell of water roaring through the room. The tide overtook them before she could raise her arm, and she was blasted across the hall to impact the opposite wall, stars winking to life in her vision. Pyrrha cast blindly, blessedly hitting her mark; the charmed entrance began to slide closed again, straining against the torrent from the lake. As she craned her neck to keep above the surge she caught a final glimpse of the common room while the wall closed, sealing behind it a pair of glowing yellow eyes growing closer.
She had only moments; Pyrrha yanked her arm from the water and performed an intricate motion at the wall. Her chest hurt as the blood was drawn, as if each drop were at all edges serrated, and it swirled across the hall in crimson coils to spread over the sealed entrance. The blood sank into the stone as if swallowed, a faint hiss sounding over the splashing water.
The deluge had already run down below her waist. Pyrrha sank against the frigid wall to the flooded floor, Hati paddling up to nuzzle her face intently, as if urging her on.
"Have to be sure . . . the wall holds . . ." Pyrrha said weakly, patting the wolf's head. She twirled her wand at him, and he jumped, giving a startled grumble.
"Bark for me, would you . . . ?"
The wolf stared, dubious expression barely perceptible even inches from her face. He opened his jaws, and instead of barks, her own voice rang out.
"Run. Run."
The wolf made a startled noise in his throat, and Pyrrha laughed softly. "It'll wear off. If the witch breaks through, I'll delay her . . . If that happens, I need you to . . . to go find Daisy and flee. Can you . . . can you do that for me?"
"Run." Hati growled his dissatisfaction, but grudgingly nudged Pyrrha's face with his nose in assent.
"Thank you," Pyrrha sighed. She was too exhausted, too battered to feel anything but empty, even at the prospect of death looming beyond a charmed wall. "Let's see what happens."
In the semidarkness they sat side by side to the gentle sound of water flowing down each end of the hall until the sodden floor was only submerged by an inch. The wall held firm, without hint of giving way while they watched with unwavering gazes. Pyrrha brushed a hand through Hati's soaked fur as she fought to stay awake. The wolf nipped at her hand when she nodded off, sniffing at her chest with a whine. Pyrrha looked down at herself, her robes still parted open from before.
A jagged red line of torn flesh ran down the center of her chest, seeping blood down into her robes. She'd aggravated the damage. Groggily, she ran her wand up and down the wound, slowly sealing it, mending her robes afterward. From her pouch she plucked a bottle of Blood-Replenishing Potion and unstoppered it with clumsy fingers, taking a healthy swig.
Alertness made a halfhearted return as the potion took effect. For several minutes more they sat watch, and Pyrrha alternated examining the wall and peering down the corridors, hoping in vain for the smallest improvement in her vision. Nothing eventful occurred in either case. The silence from beyond the wall was equally unnerving and reassuring, a breath-abating stalemate laden with deadly potentialities that Pyrrha's mind hummed with in the air's inertia.
The quiet unbroken, eventually Pyrrha was satisfied. With some difficulty she pushed herself upright from Hati's back, and together they made their halting way through the dungeons and up the stairs, undoing her voice charm and drying their bodies as they went. They were relatively safe, for the moment.
The centaur stood waiting at the top of the steps as if he hadn't moved from hours before. "I heard—well, several things. Are you well? What happened down there?"
Pyrrha looked up as she leaned on the wall. The centaur's head had no more detail than a patch of black fuzz. "Morrigan. She . . . enthralled the giant squid. It smashed into the . . . the common room. Flooded it." Pyrrha still labored for breath. The lingering side effects of replacing her heart, this time, were more acute and diverse than they'd ever been.
"Orion's orbs," the centaur said, dismayed. "Such power is . . ." He trailed off, not needing to finish the thought. "You must bring about her end," he said firmly. "You're the only one who can."
Pyrrha turned away to limp down along the corridor wall, no destination in mind but away. She felt more than saw Hati pacing beside her. To her surprise, the centaur fell into a trot alongside them, ignoring Hati's automatic growl.
"After we last spoke, I decided to consult the stars on your behalf," he began.
"And what . . . what did they tell you?" Pyrrha didn't bother to mask her annoyance. Divination was as close to worthless as magic could be; utterly unfocused, consistent only in its inconsistency. It hadn't helped the centaurs one whit, clearly; they'd have been long gone from the forest before Morrigan arrived if the heavens cared at all for their most devoted of adherents.
"You're a skeptic," he observed. "Not unexpected." For some inscrutable reason, the thought seemed to amuse him.
"Not skeptical . . ." Divination was certainly a proven art, after all, no matter how little it was worth. "Simply unimpressed . . . something funny?"
"Only the whims of fate," he said. "The stars don't always answer our calls, but this time, they did."
Pyrrha's temper was beginning to fray. She paused in her steps with a grimace as her heart twinged. "Say your piece, then . . . or leave me be."
"Certainly." The centaur was silent a moment, then spoke with care. "You've lost something precious."
Pyrrha staggered to a halt again, rage flooding her with fire begging for direction. "Not lost—taken." The scar bled heat into her skull.
"Yes," the centaur said quietly. "And then it was returned to you in parts, twofold."
Returned in parts? Ashlin had returned in the form of a curse, a persistent delusion. It was one small fragment of her, but nothing more. Pyrrha hadn't received anything else of her sister.
"I don't . . . you're wrong."
The centaur ignored her. "The parts will never be made whole, but they will help you attain the knowledge you seek. You . . . you will endure," he finished heavily.
Pyrrha stood propped by her arm against the wall. They'd stopped by one door in a set along the corridor. "That's it, then?"
The centaur's fuzzy head bobbed in what must've been a nod. "That is the whole of it. It's my hope that time will bring clarity to the message."
Pyrrha sighed. "Mine, as well. The thought is appreciated, at least."
The centaur bowed his head as Pyrrha turned away to open the door, not knowing or caring where it led. "It was only right," he said. "In bringing me here, you saved my life."
Pyrrha nodded absently over her shoulder and stepped inside, Hati slipping in after her as she shut the door.
It was a bathroom. Though all she could see was fuzzy whiteness interspersed with patches of grey, she could feel the tiles under her newly regenerated foot. She staggered for the sinks, splashing water over her face, sipping from cupped hands. The mirror reflected only a red blur surrounded by darkness.
Pyrrha turned away, conjured a bed and collapsed onto it, feeling as if one good jolt would shake her apart. She let her wand clatter to the floor and let go of her thoughts the same way, drifting off to sleep.
"Up, up, up! Come on! We've got a witch to kill."
Pyrrha groaned into her pillow. Her body felt less dead than it had before, and the ache throughout her chest had dulled considerably. She kept her eyes shut, dreading to wake to an indistinct wash of color.
"And how do you propose we go about that?" Pyrrha said, throat raspy and dry. "She can't be harmed."
"Yes she can," Ashlin retorted. "I blew her head off myself. It just didn't stick, that's all."
"That's all," Pyrrha repeated, voice low and incredulous. She sat up and rubbed at her eyes still firmly closed. Her bare foot brushed the cool tile floor, and she sighed as the previous night's events replayed in her head.
"Yeah," Ashlin said. "Morrigan nearly broke in and gutted you, and you spent the night in a lavatory. It's all uphill from here, hopefully."
Hogwarts had held up for a shorter period than Pyrrha had expected, but it was enough. The castle was no longer safe; she would have to depart today, and leave Daisy behind. There was only one logical place to go next.
"Obviously," Ashlin said. "But we should do some thinking before you go charging off. We've still got time. First on the agenda . . ." she said over Pyrrha, a flare of heat silencing her. "You're an idiot."
Pyrrha stood and felt her way around Hati and the bed to the sinks along the walls, washing her face and wetting her throat. "Excellent. Now that that's out of the way . . ."
"Why are you an idiot?" Ashlin pretended to repeat an unasked question. "I truly don't know. If you meant to ask in what way, that I can tell you; the answer to the question of Morrigan's source of power is staring you in the face."
Pyrrha opened her eyes to her reflection in the mirror, dark eyes ringed with dark shadows, the scar stretching across her face like tongues of fire spreading from the charred flesh under her temple. Tentatively she raised her gaze over her shoulder, and she could see the details of the bed a few feet behind, a simple frame of wrought iron with unremarkable dark blue sheets. Ashlin sat atop it with an expectant expression, Hati dozing at her feet.
Past the bed, the opposite wall faded into obscurity. The borders of the white tiles were blurred into a fuzzy haze that could be any shape at all. Pyrrha's eyes couldn't tell her what she should easily perceive. Yesterday she could see as well as she ought, and today she was nearsighted.
She slammed her palm into the mirror; it cracked to pieces under her hand. The twinge of nicked skin barely registered as she stared down into the sink, anger boiling hot in her belly. Her use of blood magic had robbed her of her sight. Her body was beginning to degrade, and the timeline was unprecedented; everything she'd read of other practicioners' experiences suggested it would take far longer than two scant years to see such deterioration.
Pyrrha had delved so deeply and intently she had outpaced her predecessors while making a fraction of their progress. She seethed in silence, watching her blood trickle little trails from her hand down into the drain. She summoned her wand from the floor and mended the cuts, and it clicked.
"You're saying Morrigan's powers are a product of blood magic?" Pyrrha said.
"Of course. Who else do we know besides her that can regenerate her body, or locate someone clear across the country?"
Pyrrha felt a sudden sweep of understanding, instantly assailed by contradictions. "Even I couldn't recover from having my skull blasted apart," she said, "and the tracking spell only functioned because Ashlin and I share blood . . . shared blood." The scar simmered with pain. "It wouldn't work on anyone else without assimilating their blood into my own. Morrigan never did that to me."
Ashlin moved without a sound to stand behind her, up on her tiptoes to peer over Pyrrha's shoulder into the shattered mirror's kaleidoscopic reflection, their gazes joined a dozen times over. "Are you certain?" she said. "Because the alternative is . . ."
"Fionn and her," Pyrrha finished, bewildered. "It's . . . it seems wrong. They were enemies, weren't they?"
"In the story," Ashlin said pointedly. "But we can't rely on stories. We need the truth."
Pyrrha realized her next course of action, and the thought of taking her first step to ending Morrigan was invigorating. To kill her, Pyrrha needed to know her, and there was one man most likely to have answers; the historian her father had primarily corresponded with in his research into the McCoul family line. Twyford Furnival had been all too happy to discuss anything remotely related to Ireland's magical history in his verbose replies to her father's letters. Pyrrha could reach him in an instant.
"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Ashlin said. "You've still only got one shoe on."
After cleaning herself up, Pyrrha stopped on her way to the door with a glare at the blurry wall tiles. She turned on her heel and beckoned with her wand at the broken mirror; the largest shard dislodged itself and floated before her. Under her direction it twisted and reshaped to form a pair of wire-rimmed glasses in front of her eyes, and she peered through them as she twitched and motioned subtly with her wand tip, adjusting the focus of each lens until she could once again see with flawless clarity. After imbuing them with a battery of protective enchantments she slipped the glasses on, giving the perfectly detailed wall pattern a satisfied nod on her way out.
With Hati trailing behind like a pale shadow, Pyrrha traveled the corridors to reach the Entrance Hall and relieved the suits of armor of their compulsion to guard, for the sake of the centaur. She ascended set after set of staircases up to the seventh floor, heading off heckling ghosts with a charm along the way. The castle's many arched windows allowed in the pallid light of breaking dawn as it seeped through a thick coat of clouds. Pyrrha didn't stop by Daisy's room; with her asleep, it was the best chance to slip away. She would understand, even if she didn't like it.
"Vicissitude," Pyrrha said to the gargoyle. The statue hopped aside with a suspicious glance at her face, a look returned in kind by Hati as they passed.
Pyrrha ascended the rising staircase and stepped through the doors to a familiar scene; Daisy sat behind the desk, and over her the many Headmasters' portraits were in varying states of distress at their bonds, writhing against the ropes securing them to their chairs and grunting loud imprecations into their gags. Earmuffed and blindfolded in addition, they were each a picture of indignation with the exception of Albus Dumbledore, a mild smile on the old man's face while he twiddled his thumbs in his lap. His head bobbed slightly, side to side, as if to the tune of a song only he could hear.
Daisy stood from the Headmaster's high-backed chair with a victorious smile. "Going somewhere—glasses?" she said, triumph turning to confusion. "Since when do you need glasses?"
"Months ago," Pyrrha answered briskly. It was perfectly plausible, as it had been several months since last they met. "Consequence of aging. Yes, I'm going somewhere, and no, you can't join me. It's too dangerous."
The substantial threat of Morrigan aside, Pyrrha also had the Cabal to attend to. The Lodge was her only safe haven remaining. They'd had more than a day to prepare whatever defenses they could conceive of, and breaking them down would be no small task, not to forget the six themselves. With one mind versus several, Pyrrha couldn't spare a moment to plan and prepare; time was on the side of numbers, and the defenses of Hogwarts eroded with each passing moment. It was time to strike.
Daisy strode around the wide claw-footed desk to stop between Pyrrha and the fireplace, looking up at her with a stubborn expression. "Like I said before, it's not up to you. I won't let you do this alone—you can't. I love you both like family," she said, voice tinged with emotion. "I have as much right as you do to help stop this madwoman."
"And I love you, Daisy." The words rang hollow in Pyrrha's chest. "Which is why I can't allow this. Please, trust me to handle Morrigan. Step aside."
Daisy didn't move a muscle, her face a mask of determination failing to conceal the anxiety behind her eyes. "I can handle whatever comes. I haven't forgotten what you've taught me, not anything—I can be of use. I promise I'll—"
"I said no." Pyrrha steeled herself for what she had to do next as she stared into Daisy's hard brown eyes; Pyrrha inspected her thoughts and worries, picked out her insecurities and perused them until Daisy blinked, intrusive insights soundly muted.
"Did you just read me?" Daisy asked incredulously, a flush of anger already rising in her cheeks.
"I did, and it was pathetically easy." Pyrrha laced her tone with dismissive condescension, ignoring the painfully tight twist in her gut. "If it had been Morrigan, you'd be dead this instant. It doesn't matter what you think you can do—you can't. No extent of instruction from me will change the fact that you're a witch of average skill and limited potential. Your company would only be a detriment, a distraction, diverting my effort to protecting you. Effort better spent elsewhere."
Daisy had her hands clasped tight, shoulders set stiff against Pyrrha's barbs, unshed tears glimmering in the corners of her steely eyes; Pyrrha felt needling pain in her chest to see it, to have caused it yet again. Daisy didn't attempt to speak, her mouth set in a line rigid as her spine as she stared with something like disbelief.
"If you truly want to help, stay put and don't interfere," Pyrrha finished, stepping around Daisy to the fireplace. She didn't want to look at Daisy's distraught face any longer; the sooner Pyrrha was gone, the better. She could help sort out the situation with the Hogwarts staff after the Lodge was secured.
Pyrrha gestured at the fireplace with her wand, and a noise rent the air like a tear in space, the fire flaring a brilliant white before fading swiftly back to red. Her mind whirred as she flung ashen powder into the flames. The Cabal surely expected her to return at some point, and they wanted it that way, wanted her dead and gone; thus, it was unlikely they had severed or blocked the Floo connection, and conversely, a deadly reception was all but assured.
Hati's side butted against Pyrrha's leg as he leaned forward to sniff curiously at the emerald fire. She looked down at the wolf, his glossy coat a striking neon shade in the magical light flickering about. Even as it entered her mind, something in Pyrrha dismissed the idea of leaving him with Daisy; in her extended absence, there was no telling how Hati would behave. As much as he felt like a tentative companion, he was, first and foremost, a wild animal that wouldn't be tamed.
Pyrrha knelt down and whispered in Hati's ear: "We're going into the fire. It won't hurt. When we come out, be ready to fight, but only if we're attacked first."
Hati let out an eager growl deep in his chest. He stared into the fire with predatory focus, as if searching for a hint, a flash of what waited beyond.
Pyrrha stood and turned halfway round to find Daisy paused with one foot forward, stalled and unsure, her face a panoply of untraceable emotions. She completed the step, took a breath, and said, "Good luck, Pyrrha. Stay alive."
With a nod, Pyrrha turned and stepped into the fire's warm embrace, Hati following at her side. His head darted this way and that through flickering flames in apparent disbelief.
"I told you," Pyrrha said quietly. She seized a handful of Hati's fur, drew her wand and held it ready, and said clearly, "The Lodge—"
Something struck her back as brilliant green fire swallowed her whole.
Pyrrha woke with her face against the cold wood floor. As she regained her senses alarm shot through her, and she jolted upright, pushing to a stand; she bent back down to snatch up her fallen wand and took in the room.
It was empty. The common hall sat undisturbed by soul or spell, with cluttered rolls of parchment and precariously stacked books in more or less the same positions as last she'd been here, covering each and every available surface along the shelves and desks against the dark walls. The musty smell of aged parchment clung to the air, along with a faintly saccharine scent wafting from a pot under Byron's brewing table. Not even the fire behind her breached the silence wrapped around the room.
Under the glow of the fungi Pyrrha could make out her work space at a far corner, the desk still bearing materials for some of her less private side projects; her violin sat readily on its stand, the bow set aside just as she'd left it. Nearest her, the book on Maven's desk was open to the same astronomical chart marked with the same annotations. The distinct lack of anything out of place set Pyrrha on edge.
She turned to examine Hati, but he wasn't there.
Quickly cast revealing spells swept out and returned to her with nothing to show; no signs of life throughout the building, human or otherwise. Pyrrha probed at the room's enchanted trappings with the lightest touch, drawing gentle patterns in the air, deliberate outward motions reinforcing her inner calm. No curse tainted the room, no incited charm lingered in the air with a telltale trail. The wolf had vanished without a trace.
Without moving from the front of the fireplace Pyrrha examined the doors on either side of the room. Neither were open, nor did they bear even the smallest scratch across the wood. She turned about and plucked up the Floo jar, tossed in the powder, but the fire didn't react. She cast on it, coaxed at the network beyond the flames only to reach emptiness, as if the hearth before her was the only one to exist.
Pyrrha's mind tingled with excitement at the conundrum. With a jolt, she realized no signs of life meant Nona was gone, and her heart plummeted. How could the Cabal have circumvented the blood sanction on her private quarters?
"You know the answer."
Pyrrha turned to face a rotted figure sat in her place at the central table. All the more putrid in color under golden light, its decayed arms rested on the table's surface, shining hollow pits fixed on the familiar wand turning between its skeletal fingers. Her wand.
Pyrrha's dead reflection turned just far enough to meet her eyes. "Well?"
"What happened to Ashlin?" Pyrrha said, her wand trained on the wraith. The thought that she might be gone engendered a contradictory mix of feelings she didn't care to analyze.
A surge of pain in her head accompanied the response, and the world rippled like flowing water. "Not important." The thing's voice was low and soft, with an undertone of authority intrinsic to power. "Think instead on how you came to be here."
Pyrrha remembered stepping into the fire with Hati at her side, her hand buried in his fur, the better to ensure he didn't make an early exit. Something had impacted her back as they departed, and she had a fair idea what. Their brief trip through the network ended with Pyrrha lying on the floor alone. There was no memory of her initial arrival, which meant it had been taken from her, or it had been suppressed.
"If they'd had the opportunity to meddle in my memories directly . . ." Pyrrha began.
"They'd have used it to kill you, instead," the wraith confirmed. "Conclusion?"
Pyrrha felt the familiar thrill of a sudden spark of understanding. "I actified a charm, a trap that modified my memory and left me unconscious. Logically, the only reason I should wake is to have been roused by another. That I awoke on my own suggests it's by design, and that, in turn, suggests I pose no threat as I am now."
The corpse's voice took on a sour tone. "You're always a threat. What fool wouldn't keep you senseless, had they the chance?"
"Perhaps . . ." Pyrrha rounded the room in measured steps, running a hand along the walls, over the rough caps of glowing mushroom sprouts, across the spines of leatherbound books and over the dry pages open upon the tables. Everything felt the way it should, appeared as it ought, and it was all wrong. "Perhaps they mean to observe me," she whispered to herself. "They want me to reveal something."
Where the Cabal was involved, the possible motives were too numerous to bother pondering. Aradia's reason was as obvious as Wasila's wasn't, and though they two were the only ones Pyrrha was sure desired some secret knowledge of hers, it could be any of them. If she could narrow down her suspects . . .
"You're trapped," the corpse said, its hollow gaze following Pyrrha's meandering progress. "The architecture of your prison will show you the way."
It came to Pyrrha as she rounded the common hall a third time; the room and everything within harbored no secrets from her. She knew, without looking down, that she had just nudged Byron's pocket watch with her boot. She looked down to confirm her intuition; it lay forgotten where Wasila had carelessly knocked it from the table as Pyrrha had last departed the Lodge. It was not some facsimile she'd been placed in, no elaborate illusory cage.
Everything felt the same, down to the most minute details, because it was the same. The common hall stood precisely as she remembered it, and that's where she was; trapped within her own memory.
Like a flipped switch, the realization wiped the world away with a wide stroke of black, and Pyrrha opened her eyes. Hati's blooded muzzle filled her vision.
The missing memory returned in a stream—bursting through the fire, falling heavily to the floor under unknown weight, the charm swathing her bones in warmth and drawing her to slumber. She shifted as Hati licked at her forehead, propping up the weight across her back and dragging herself from under it, finally turning over freely to see Daisy asleep beside her. The stubborn woman brought no end of consternation.
Pyrrha stood, and her eyes were immediately drawn to a form on the floor at the foot of the call mirror. Irving lay in a puddle of blood, tangled grey mane soaked in red seeping from his open throat, savage wounds ripped across his torso. His glassy gaze met the ceiling with an aspect of peace scarcely seen in life.
The sight elicited a twinge of disappointment; Irving was the least likely to have had the nerve to follow through with Aradia's commands, especially given Daisy's presence as a bystander. Overlooked by the spell, Hati had reacted in the natural way of a wolf whose pack was in peril. Irving would never relive his precious memories, his life's work unfinished.
"At least now you've truly joined her," Pyrrha murmured as Hati stalked around the room on bloody paws, sniffing suspiciously at all in reach.
Working quickly, Pyrrha revived Daisy with a spell and swept the Lodge for life once again. One spark twinkled up in the third floor's west wing—Eilith's menagerie—and two more approached from the eastern hall. They would reach the common hall's righthand entry in moments. Pyrrha laid a curse on the door—it shivered—then turned to help Daisy from the floor, not bothering to hide her distress at her friend's recklessness.
"We'll discuss this later," Pyrrha said over Daisy's dazed questions. "Prepare to fight for your life. You—hide," she added to Hati. "Under the table until I call you." She didn't want to risk a preemptive attack from either side.
With a grudging huff, Hati crept behind the legs of the chairs under the central round table. Pyrrha turned from Daisy's expression of alarmed determination to face the eastern door, wand raised, as two sets of footsteps paused on the other side.
The door shot silently from its frame toward Pyrrha, curse and all; she flicked her wand and it swirled in the air to vanish like water down a drain. Maven stepped through the entry with an ironclad expression fixed on Pyrrha, her wand ready at her side. Behind her, a grinning Wasila emerged from the hall, stopping to lean on her shoulder against the doorway. She wore well-tanned skin and rich brown hair pulled into a braided ponytail, equally brown eyes glittering with excitement as they studied Pyrrha's face.
Maven's expression tightened as her eyes flicked to Irving's body and back to Pyrrha. "You are a craven and a murderer," she spat, voice trembling with outrage. "You'll find no refuge here. Leave now, or you invite more bloodshed."
"You would simply let me go?" Pyrrha asked, disbelieving. It would fly in the face of Aradia's instructions, not to mention her friend's death.
The old witch maintained her venomous stare without speaking, inviting Pyrrha to make a choice. Her jaw was set, posture stiff, as if braced for the inevitable.
"I suppose that must mean . . ." Pyrrha couldn't glean anything from the crone's mind, but she was nonetheless sure; Maven was holding herself in that way she'd always had when she knew something she shouldn't, and was about to watch it unfold. "You've forseen your death, in the event I choose to stay."
Maven's expression tightened further, but she didn't speak. It was as good as an affirmation.
"It doesn't have to come to that," Pyrrha said. She lowered her wand slowly, and could almost feel Daisy stiffen behind her. "I didn't return to hurt anyone. Irving . . ." Pyrrha restrained herself from glancing away to the body. "His death was an accident."
"You are a liar, as well," Maven said, voice brimming with disgust. "You will not leave, and I will not allow you to stay, to put our lives at risk to save your wretched hide from a fate well earned. I suppose it was an old fool's hope to think . . ." She trailed off, staring through Pyrrha with resignation. Something kindled in her, and she refocused on Pyrrha with seething intensity. "Yes, I've seen my death—that, and more. I've seen your downfall, Pyrrha, inevitable as the sunset." Speaking it aloud seemed to give her immeasurable satisfaction. "You are powerless to stop what comes for you."
"Is that so?" Pyrrha's tone was level, fit for a talk over tea. "Enlighten me."
"What else but your own arrogance could overtake you? You know what's to come, but not how," Maven said, eyes burning with vindictive pleasure. "The Nightmare Queen—"
Maven stiffened, her eyes opening wide as she was outlined in a brilliant burst of green light; she collapsed to the sound of a howling rush of air, her skull striking the wood with a dull thud. The sound seemed to reverberate along Pyrrha's bones to leave them hollow.
Wasila slipped her wand back into her robes with a curious look at Maven's corpse.
Pyrrha stood stunned a moment, shock mixing with ire. "Why? I might have talked her down."
Wasila shook her head with a knowing look as she stepped over Maven and ambled into the room. "Trust me, she wouldn't be swayed. This was the only way," she said heavily, casting the body a regretful glance. "She would've killed you at the first opportunity."
"Where does this certainty come from?" Pyrrha demanded, fingers tight around her wand.
Wasila glanced at Daisy, who returned her look warily. "You're supposed to send the guinea pig first, you know," Wasila said. "Fortunate you brought a wolf along."
"She's not Imperiused. She followed me," Pyrrha said. "Answer my question."
"My certainty comes from common sense," Wasila said brusquely. "You unleashed Morrigan and murdered Irving, as she saw it."
Pyrrha's temper was straining. "If you'd allowed me the chance to explain—"
"It would've been a waste of breath with the same end result." Wasila beckoned at the round table; a newspaper, wizarding Ireland's Polaris Tribune, fluttered from its surface into her hand, and she held it out. "None of us are thrilled about this, either."
Pyrrha snatched it with her free hand and glanced at the headline: FIENDFYRE RUNS RAMPANT ACROSS COUNTY LEITRIM, HUNDREDS KILLED.
Her stomach vanished. She forced herself not to look again in favor of keeping an eye on Wasila's wand hand. Daisy took in a sharp breath over her shoulder.
"Hati," Pyrrha called quietly. The wolf shoved his bulk between chairs to emerge from under the table and paced to her side with an irked look. "If this woman's hands move," she said, "please tear them off."
Hati's chest rumbled, gleaming eyes locked on Wasila, who merely raised an eyebrow. "That's gratitude for you," she said.
Pyrrha opened the newspaper, a grim picture unfolding to dominate the front page: a desolate swath of land stretched far back as the eye could see, the rolling countryside reduced to charred black earth clear of even the smallest anomaly; nothing remained behind, not a single burned splinter nor even a dusting of ash. Smoke clung low to the air in oily coils, obscuring all in an undulating film of inky fog; it spiraled up and fed into the thick shroud of charcoal-grey smog that hung between sky and earth as a smothering membrane suppressing the questing sunlight. The righthand side of the frame showed a glimpse of what were once houses which sat at the edge of the devastation, melted and warped with blistering heat until they were nearly unrecognizable.
Below the picture was a caption: The fire's aftermath, western end of the muggle village of Kinlough.
Pyrrha was numb, buzzing with a detached sort of horror as she dragged her eyes from the scene to the article, a tremor in her hands as she tilted the page. Daisy stepped beside her to read along, placing a hand on Pyrrha's shoulder.
Ireland's Department of Magical Disasters calls on ICW aid for the worst emergency in over two decades.
Norman Bly, Polaris Tribune senior correspondent.
A raging inferno of dark magic ravaged an expanse of land sixty square miles across early this morning. Authorities on scene positively identified the magic at work as the Fiendfyre Curse, a spell infamous for its peerless destructive prowess and nigh-unstoppable drive to spread and consume. The blaze swept through County Leitrim's northern forests and spilled over the unsuspecting township of Kinlough before the combined efforts of the entirety of the Department of Magical Disasters, several dozen Ministry volunteers, and three ICW Magical Containment and Control task forces managed to rein in the flames.
Along with approximately thirty thousand acres of sparsely-inhabited hills and woodlands, the fire obliterated an estimated forty percent of Kinlough's infrastructure, claiming hundreds of lives in the process. DMD Department Head Evelyn O'Connell has neglected to comment on the status of her staff in the immediate aftermath. As yet, the final death toll is unknown, and, says one David Whitfield of the DMD, unknown is how it's likely to stay.
"It's pure annihilation, just [expletive] evil," Whitfield said. "Not nearly so tame as any old fire. This spell leaves absolutely nothing behind, not one damned thing. No remains to identify or bury. Nothing. Whoever did this," he adds, "if they're not dead already, the [expletive] DMJ best find them and make them wish they were!"
According to Department of Magical Justice Head Howard MacLeod, an investigation is already well underway. "We've ascertained the general location of the curse's epicenter," he confirmed, nearly four hours after the conflagration had been suppressed. "The nearest magical household by several miles was owned by a witch name of Pyrrha Clay, who lived there with her sixteen-year-old sister, Ashlin Clay. Neither of them have been seen since the fire. I encourage anyone with information as to their condition or whereabouts to come forward immediately."
Turn to page three for an exclusive interview with Cesaro Romo, Director of the ICW's Agency for Magical Containment and Control, European Division.
Pyrrha handed the paper to Daisy, her mouth gone dry. Her last, desperate attack had claimed innocent lives, lives she'd confronted Morrigan to protect. She longed to wake from this unending nightmare where everything she reached for turned to dust.
Wasila studied her with an even look, her arms held carefully still at her sides as Hati watched her in turn. "Eilith is all too eager to carry out your sentence," she said after a minute. "I'll just pause a moment to let that particular shock sink in."
"It wasn't Pyrrha's fault," Daisy said suddenly, tossing the paper away. "Morrigan cast that curse."
Wasila considered Daisy with the same placid expression that gave no hint to her belief. "It doesn't matter in the end," she said. "Pyrrha released her; Morrigan's actions are on her shoulders just the same as if she'd done the deed herself. Making the front page isn't exactly ideal for us, either."
Daisy peered around the common hall again, her eyes lingering on the meeting table. "Who is 'us'? What is this place?" She directed the questions at Pyrrha.
Pyrrha didn't have the words, and she couldn't use them if she did; the Unbreakable Vow saw to that. Aradia had entreated them all to swear never to reveal the Cabal's secrets. That Daisy had forced her way through the Floo rather than been invited, or even passively allowed, was the only reason Pyrrha wasn't dead. How would Daisy react, she wondered, if she could confess to her about their collective of like-minded criminals performing hazardous and highly illegal magical experiments?
After a few beats of silence, Wasila said, "So, what's the plan? Why did you come back?"
"Where are Aradia and Byron?" Pyrrha said. "Are they likely to return soon?"
"Doubtful. You just missed them, actually; they left perhaps half an hour ago, gone to the residence of that historian of yours. Furnival?"
Pyrrha's heart lurched. "Why?"
Wasila's familiar wide smile slid back into place. "Why else? Aradia wants to know what makes the mad witch tick, find a way to get rid of her. She dragged Byron along—something about 'defensive preparations'. They're sure to have a rousing welcome prepared for you."
Urgency and frustration bubbled in Pyrrha's brain, and she let out a sharp breath. Eilith had to be dealt with before she could chase after Aradia and Furnival; that the Lodge remained an accessible refuge was of paramount importance. She couldn't fathom the enigmatic shifter's part in events unfolding; Wasila looked back with a sharp-eyed gaze that gave away nothing but lively anticipation.
Wasila liked to refer to herself as the Cabal's 'requisition specialist'. It was essentially true; she had, time and again, proven herself more than capable of acquiring anything the Cabal might need, from the rarest of Class A Non-Tradeable Materials to highly sensitive Ministry documents to vast sums of ill-gotten gold, and everything in between. Her unwavering skill as a thief and confidence artist continued to astound Europe's magical authorities and the Cabal alike.
It had been she who'd brought Pyrrha to Aradia's attention and secured her place in the Cabal two years ago, shortly after her parents' deaths. Since the beginning she'd endeavored to ingratiate herself with Pyrrha, exceedingly friendly and helpful despite Pyrrha's pronounced lack of interest. Her demeanor had made it clear she dearly desired something in return for her attentions—dearly enough to set off mental alarm bells.
Pyrrha had consistently refused to accrue any sort of debt with Wasila—debts among the Cabal were always honored—but she suspected the situation was about to change, at last.
"Why are you helping me?" Pyrrha asked finally. It was a question that reached all the way back to their first meeting, and the tone made it clear.
Wasila's grin stretched a little, sharklike, though her eyes glittered with life. "It's not enough you're our best chance to put an end to that undead monstrosity?"
"We need to get to the historian," Daisy broke in, wringing her hands. "What if they hurt him?"
Wasila shook her head. "They need him. He knows about Morrigan, and he serves as bait for this one," she said with a nod at Pyrrha.
"You're certain Aradia still wants me killed?" Pyrrha said.
"Dead."
"Why wasn't it more difficult to get here, then?"
"I managed to talk Irving and Maven into dismantling their traps in favor of capturing you for information," Wasila said with a self-satisfied smile. "Eilith went to pout in her room."
"Getting in here wasn't exactly a cakewalk," Daisy said with a worried, reproachful look at Pyrrha. "What would you have done without Hati? We were knocked right out."
Pyrrha gave her an irked look, and she wilted a little. "I would've countered the charm, were I not preoccupied being tackled to the floor. Give us a moment," she added to Wasila at the witch's light laugh.
Hati's gleaming eyes followed Wasila's every move as she winked and stepped past them without a sound, disappearing beyond the door to the western hall.
Daisy let her hands drop to her sides with a resolute expression as Pyrrha considered her. There were two roads before them, and Pyrrha hated them both. She could force Daisy back through the Floo and seal it behind her, ensuring her safety and dissolving their friendship. The idea made Pyrrha faintly sick; Daisy was the only person she had left in the world whom she cared for, and cared for her in turn.
In the other direction, Daisy could join in containing the disaster Pyrrha had catalyzed. Their bond would endure at the risk of Daisy's life and sanity. It was a choice soaked in selfishness.
"Will you consider going back willingly?" Pyrrha asked quietly.
Eyes bright and hard as diamond, Daisy pressed her lips into a thin line. "I won't."
The chasm in Pyrrha's chest ached as she raised her wand.