Chapter 4. Everybody home

Today's guests -

The finest and best.

To them their graves -

Provide no rest.

(Black Obelisk – Ave, Caesar).

The lorry's engine slowly stopped stuttering. The door clapped, flakes of dirt falling off, and a tough-looking man jumped down onto moist, cold ground. He looked about forty years old; the freezing wind made him huddle himself up, turning to his coat for whatever meager protection it could provide. His pale face, partially covered with dirty, oily hair was by no means conspicuous, but his eyes… oh, those red eyes were bad news. The man would easily pass for a character from film noire, popular around ninety-forties, but those eyes would definitely fail him the casting. Fortunately, nobody could notice them because it was dead night.

He walked to the rear door of his lorry, feet slapping against the mud, whispering curses through his clenched teeth. At last, he managed to slowly pull a large iron coffin halfway out of the truck. The coffin was covered in countless paper charms, marked with strange symbols. Some of them were faintly flickering in the dark.

"Thought I'd have to wait here till the Second Coming," someone mocked him.

The truck driver turned around to see a man, standing at a respectful distance. His appearance fit the description his client gave him to the T: gray hair, a filthy face, a single eye…

"Freri Lann, I presume?" The red-eyed man asked sullenly.

"No, the Queen of bloody England," The half-blood answered, clearly irritated. "And you must be Epnord?"

"Riar will do," The red-eyes pulled the coffin from the truck. "So are you going to help me or what?"

"How about you ask nicely first?" Lann grumbled, approaching the vehicle. "Alright, careful now…"

The two companions heaved the coffin on their shoulders – Epnord looked like the burden on his shoulders was significantly less – and hauled it to a glum-looking two-storey building with nailed-up windows.

"Is this the filthiest dump he could find, or what?" Epnord shuddered with disgust. "What's with this pissantville?"

"The guy just wasted his parents," Freri snorted. "So he decided to lay low for a while. By the way, red-eyes, what's in the box? A kindred of yours?"

"Nah. Just dead meat from the Clock Tower. Lord Try-Pronounce-My-Fucking-Name."

"So why the hell does our client need him?"

"How should I know? Blach promised me a quarter of his family's wealth for this goner so here we are. You wouldn't believe the charades I had to go through to get him out of the special repository… Careful now! Here, put it down right here!"

The two companions placed the coffin on the floor near the door.

"So, shall we open it?" Epnord searched his pockets for cigarettes. "Damn. You got some fags?"

"Let's get this done first," Freri jingled his keys, and then gave the door a hearty kick. "Come on in, dear guest."

A big and spacious room. Bright fluorescent lamps, a large metal table in the center and tightly shuttered windows. Two smaller tables held a variety of instruments that would make any torturer or surgeon green with envy. Freri and Epnord carried the coffin inside and put it on the floor, panting with strain.

"Knife," Said Epnord, glancing at Lann.

After getting what he wanted, Riar started carefully shaving off the seals, whispering something under his nose.

"You sure it won't zap us?"

"Stand back if you want," Epnord finished with the paper charms and easily pierced the surprisingly soft metal.

Lann heard a soft hiss – the coffin was airtight.

"My, this one's packed alright. Who was this big cheese exactly?" Lann said lazily.

"One honorable lord Zaharia Silverstein," The answer came from Albert Blach.

Albert was wearing a gray robe, which was long enough to drag on the floor. Cold water was dripping off his face.

"That was fast, Riar," He politely nodded to Epnord. "Hah, I even had no time to wipe my head… Please, put the body on the table. Take off his upper clothes – I won't need his legs yet. Don't touch the seals on his face and if there are any needles in his head – don't take them out no matter what."

Albert carefully constructed an image of what he had to deal with, while his "minions" were carrying out his orders. He purified himself as much as possible – washed his body, rubbing it sore, didn't eat anything since he woke up and wore the clothes he found in his family's estate, plain and colorless. All this, just to make sure nothing distracts him from the task at hand…

The coffin was hiding a man. Average height, gray hair, a short beard, slightly protruding ears and big green eyes… A long, thick needle stuck in each eye and some smaller ones were in the forehead – one right in the center and two more at the edges of the black seal drawn there.

"The body is well-preserved," Noted Freri. "Surprisingly so."

"They ensured it would be that way," Said Albert, watching them take an expensive jade doublet off the cadaver. "Lord Silverstein happened to be born with a unique Circuit Pattern, so removing his Magic Crest turned out to be quite a chore – not even the specialists in the Clock Tower could come up with an extraction procedure that wouldn't damage it. That's why lord Silverstein was not sent "under the bridge" in an urn, but is still here with us, even almost intact."

"And what about these needles and seals?" Asked Freri.

"A desperate attempt to prevent his soul from leaving the body," Albert sighed. "Those idiots have no idea of torture they've consigned it to. Twenty years in a meat slab, covered in alchemical muck, sealed in an airtight coffin. No sight, no smell, no touch… even final death was out of reach."

"I used to work for the Clock Tower," Lann continued to study the corpse. "But I've never heard about him. What's his story?"

"Oh, the news of him caused quite an uproar back in the Sea of Astray," Albert sat down on the lone stiff chair near the wall. "His project was quite an ambitious one, no doubt about that. Gentlemen, before your eyes lies a man, who was going to conquer the United Kingdom in a single night."

"How?" Lann exhaled.

"The Association often bestows lands, rich with spiritual energy upon the worthy magus dynasties. Places where prana is so abundant, any spell can be cast if the magus is proficient enough. Of course, everyone wants to have a workshop in such a place. Of course, everyone who can afford it, does so … Lord Zaharia developed a method of direct access to the ley-lines. He was going to take control over them by sending a certain "signal", so that he could blow to smithereens any bigshot "lucky" enough to have set up a shop on a goldmine like that. Just imagine the spectacle! Zaharia's plan amounted to a coup, basically: if he pulled it off, all the leaders of the Association would be dead now."

"Oh, now I remember," Epnord chuckled. "They say the enforcer squad took him down the day before his ritual – they dragged him right out of the bed. The one to make it possible was his wife: she dispelled all the protective charms of their mansion. She, being in her right mind, decided to sell out her husband for a promotion, which she deemed preferable to ruling over wastelands."

"And? Was she get promoted?" Asked Freri.

"Yep. Unfortunately, two months later a tragic accident claimed her life," Epnord's shrewd expression told the half-blood a lot. "And so the ancient family died out."

"Actually, this is where you are wrong," Albert noted. "They had a daughter, though she was very little at the time. I think the Tower even had mercy on her – she didn't understand shit about what had happened. Besides, after her father was arrested there was no way in hell she could get her hands on his Crest. She lives in a mundane family now. We'll have to find her if Zaharia won't be able to tell me what I want to know."

"Tell you? Are you resurrecting the dead now?" Epnord scoffed.

"Resurrections? Those are above my pay grade," Albert answered without a hint of humor in his voice. "The kind that would allow a proper interrogation, at any rate. But I can still ask him questions and get my answers. I'm going to start right now. You can watch of course, but I will ask you to stand back – that would be the least you could do. Have a seat over there, but don't distract me. Okay?"

"I'm not going anywhere until you pay me," Said Epnord. "Freri?"

"I've never seen a necromancer in action yet," Lann scratched his teeth with a claw. "I'm certainly not going to pass up on a free circus show."

Oh, I'll give you a show alright, you freaks…

Albert came up to the table, followed Freri and Epnord with his gaze and, after they both sat down, spoke again, this time loud and clear.

"My family was – above all else – the necromancers. From an outsider's perspective our approach may look like somewhat of a perversion, but still…" Albert put his right hand on the dead man's face and continued. "I see no reason to tell either of you my family secrets, but nonetheless it's necessary to tell you what I'm going to do here, if only to make sure you won't interrupt me in the middle of the ritual."

The Hollow took a couple deep breaths and spoke again, tapping on the corpse's forehead.

"Every existence leaves a mark on the world. Every item soaks up the information about its surroundings, holds it inside, remembering whoever used it, the centuries it lived through… The only problem is accessing this information. And if even soulless junk can tell you a story, imagine what you can learn from a living, sentient being! Well, almost living. This right here, for one, is a good example: it was alive just a little while ago."

"Can you work your magic only on the recently deceased?" Asked Epnord.

"Yes, you are right," Albert nodded. "Our family always aspired to pinpoint the moment when the mind leaves the body or, more precisely, the soul leaves the body. To grasp it. Follow its path. Follow it to the place where everything begins and ends. To touch the Root, while still being alive. And some secondary results of our search turned out to be pretty interesting…"

Albert took a twisted, sinister-looking metal rod in his right hand, still holding his left palm on the dead man's face.

"I shall begin. From this point on I ask you not to utter a single word, no matter what you see."

Albert left the rod near the corpse's head and closed his eyes. One of his hands continued to rest on the dead face, while the other one grabbed the needle that was sticking from the eye. Slowly, gradually, millimeter by millimeter he pulled it out.

Eyes shut, Albert dived into his memories…

He is sitting at the big oak table – he is just a child. There was a little bird there – pinned to the table with two nails, crucified. He swallowed his tears – they gave him this sparrow a week ago – he covers in fear, unable to look back. The giant figure of his father stands tall behind him, throwing orders in a monotonous voice.

"Now cut it open. Break its wings, tear its feathers, squash its brain…"

At last, Albert took out the first needle. A moment later, he yanked out the second one, this time without a slightest hesitation. He threw it away, without ever opening his eyes.

Blach continued to sit in his strange trance and then suddenly jumped to his feet, kicking the chair to the wall. He grabbed the twisted rod and thrust it into the dead man's belly with all his might. Freri had his share of macabre habits, including drinking human blood, but watching the insane mage lean over the body, which was still leaking corpse gas, disgusted even him.

"He's fucking sick," Lann whispered to Epnord.

When the pierced belly finally deflated, Albert jerked the rod out without opening his eyes. He reveled in the smell of death, whispered some unintelligible gibberish and tilted his head back from time to time.

Blach grabbed a large scalpel and started slicing chaotically at the deceased's chest. Opening the chest cavity somehow took just a few moments as Albert's blade dived back and forth across the body. The tension in the air was almost tangible: Albert roared like an animal, guiding the blade forwards, cutting through the tissue, severing the muscles in attempt to reach the innards. The moment scalpel was no longer needed, Blach threw it away and without a slightest hesitation plunged his arms inside, pulling at the wound's edges. He leaned in even lower: his hands were trembling as he was studying the corpse's insides, finally opening his eyes. Freri made a scoffing remark at the expression Albert wore on his face.

"He's a necrophile, not a necromancer," Half-blood slightly pushed Epnord with his shoulder.

"Hush," Riar's red eyes were glued to the ritual with his bloody eyes, showing their owner's determination not to miss any details.

Blach's face was already grayish pale, but it showed only exaltation. Albert smelled the intestines, rolling his eyes like a madman, mumbled something under his nose and every now and then tore pieces from the body, bringing them close to his face and then throwing them away in disappointment. Freri wasn't sure, but it seemed as though Blach's fingers started to glow. Five minutes later the floor was covered in gore, and some pieces of the body were hanging from the table.

"No, no, no," Blach whispered. "It's not what I need… wrong, wrong-"

Albert picked a small bone saw and began cutting the body anew. He grabbed pieces of the gore and smeared them over his face, howling louder and louder. Blood poured down the floor.

Then came the time to use a bigger saw. Albert slashed at the chest until the blade broke – and again, let out an inhumane howl, full of disappointment. Half a minute later he screamed again, this time overflowing with joy as he yanked out the heart. Blach thrashed as if in a seizure, his fingers clenched the dead heart of the honorable lord Zaharia Silverstein stronger and stronger. Tears of joy and relief poured from Albert's eyes.

"Yesss…" He moaned, squashing the heart with all his might.

A pop and spatter.

"But it's not enough."

Albert yanked the last three needles from the mutilated corpse's and grabbed a pair of strange instruments from his stand. When one of them pushed against Zaharia's forehead, Freri understood what was about to happen.

Strike. Crack. Brain fluid sprayed across Albert's face.

Again he howled, rolling his eyes.

"Where did you hide it!? Where?" Blach screamed. "Where is the true center?"

One more strike. A huge nail dives deeper and deeper into the skull.

"Where?! Where is the true center?" Freri has never heard such a bestial fury in Albert's voice before. "Where did you hide it, you filth?"

Another strike. More cracking sounds. The lord's head falls apart.

"Aha… so that's how it goes… Oh, I'm not letting you hide from me! You hear me? Hear? I'll hold you here until you tell me everything! You won't slip away! No escape for you, you old motherfucker!"

Albert dropped his tools and wobbled, stepping backwards. His arms hung lifelessly along his bloodied, shivering body. In a minute or so, all strength left him and his body dropped to the floor.

"Everything," Blach moaned. "He told me all of it. I had to… let him go-"

He barely remembered how his companions dragged him to the bathroom and then gave him a few gulps of liquor from Epnord's stash.

Albert Blach was walking down the abandoned building's corridors – slowly, cautiously. He has never been the bold one, but a bet is a bet… he wasn't going to lose it to his brother.

Albert didn't know what used to be here. Some offices, vacant for ten years, if not more…

There were rumors, surrounding this place.

They said it was "wrong".

Even worse than "wrong".

There were, of course, those, who fancied the danger of such places. They often broke their legs as the stairways gave beneath them, fell into the elevator shafts and broke their necks. Not to mention there was a rumor about something living here...

That thing appeared almost as soon as the building was closed.

Normal people avoided this place. Sane people didn't try to get inside…

But that only concerned those who were both "normal" and "people".

And as we know, Albert wasn't a human – even as a child, he already knew what set him apart from mundane people. And he took pride in his birthright.

He was a magus. To fear such things was beneath him…

Besides, there was that annoying bet...

Albert was on the third floor out of eight, when he heard that.

A monotonous recitation, coming from everywhere and nowhere, clear, terrifying… spelling word after word in an unknown language. That voice made the walls tremble.

His first thought was to run; his second one was to hide. When Albert heard heavy footsteps coming from below – somebody walked upstairs – he had no choice but to try and do both.

He cowered in a dirty, dusty corner – the torn and dirty shirt was bound to get him in trouble back home. – Albert hid behind a pile of rubble and watched through the large hole as a group of people in black robes entered the floor. The strangers slowly uncovered their faces.

An unbelievably tall woman, simply huge. A glum dark-haired man with a cigarette in his mouth – one would be hard-pressed to imagine him with a smile. A tall pale guy with one hand covered in white cloth. Then, there was a slightly dwarfish man, the only one to wear a dark gas mask and a military uniform, albeit with no marks of distinction. He had a machine gun in his hands. Another one, a lean man with sallow face and short beard, played with his blade… all of them had large crosses hanging from their necks, contrasting against the dark blue color of their uniform.

Pressing his body against the pile of trash, Albert held his breath. Yes, he was but a child, but any child would know who those people were. Provided, of course, that they were raised in a magus family.

Executors.

Machines that killed those such as him.

"Whisper, Renier – upstairs," The smoker uttered a few words through the clenched teeth. "Take him alive. Whip, we'll bring down the barriers, Torch – you will cover us. If we lose him again, the brass will flay me alive. And I'll do the same to all of you."

The voice, coming from everywhere in the building became louder by the minute.

"Whip?" The smoker hissed, coming forward.

"He noticed us right at the entrance. Covered the whole complex."

"Can we break through?"

"I need time. And if we manage to kill him it will all come apart by itself."

"If?" More like "when" The woman laughed. "Are you coming?"

"Sure," Something gleamed in the smoker's hand as he dropped the stub.

Albert watched the weird group walk away. They turned around the corner – the gunner walked last, keeping watch on his surroundings. Blach heard their steps – they were going upstairs.

Run.

Run for it.

After waiting for another half a minute just to be sure, Albert jumped out of his cover and dashed downstairs, blind with fear. He rushed, skipping stairs, ran into the corridor and reached for the doors…

…only to smack his face into an invisible wall – pain from the impact was laced with even worse electric tingling which made his whole body hurt. Albert doubled over and fell to the cold dirty floor.

There were quite a few barriers back at home, and they were up almost all the time, but Albert was comfortable walking through them – because they weren't working at full power and also because he his father explained how to bypass them easily.

Now Blach felt, for the first time in his life, what it was like to deal with a real shield, attuned against interlopers. He'd never want to feel something like that again. Pain assaulted his every circuit, every bone. Thankfully, it quickly subsided and Blach managed to stand up and brush himself off. He was close to panicking, but got a hold of himself… at least for a little while. Now he was locked inside. Brute forcing the barrier was out of question – it was clearly set up by a powerful and experienced magus…

The one those executors came for.

There were no doubts they would kill Albert too, if they find him here. He turned around, slowly studying the surroundings. The windows on the first floor were grilled. Maybe he should try jumping out from the second floor window? He might get some nasty bruises and even break his neck if unlucky, but still, the chances of getting out of here in one piece would be much better than if he were to stay here…

Albert Blach gathered all his courage and carefully sneaked back across the piles of rubble. He walked slowly, hugging the wall. Albert was sure nobody could hear him.

So when the scary man in a gas mask rushed in from behind the corner, reached him in mere moments and struck him in the face with the gun butt before Blach could even scream, Albert was all the more surprised.

Then, darkness came.

"Who did you drag here?"

First thing he felt was pain. Pain in the swollen, beaten face, pain in the hands, bound behind his back… pain so strong he felt like his head was going to explode any minute now.

"He was watching us. I let him go downstairs and then intercepted."

"So what are we gonna do now?"

"Like you don't know what we do with the witnesses."

"Erik. We don't kill unless there's a reason to."

The reality in front of him finally came into focus.

It wasn't pretty. There was a beaten and bloodied body in the room, pinned to the wall with a few sharp blades like a dead butterfly. It belonged to a man in ripped clothing, who was twitching and (most likely) would be screaming in pain, if not for a piece of curtain in his mouth.

Albert himself quickly made up for the lack of screaming, as soon as he had a good look at the people who were crowding the room.

"Somebody shut him up already!" The gunman had the mask off and one could clearly see his bald, sweaty skull and tired face. He took a solid swing at Albert again.

"Stop it," The smoker waved him off. "Whisper, are we done here?"

"Yes, sir," The tall woman shakes a bag.

"Then finish him."

The crucified body wriggled and mumbled louder, shaking its head and trying to do anything in its power to escape the horrid fate.

The woman swiftly stepped in and slit his throat. The body arched forward, twitching and splattering blood everywhere. Then it stopped and hung lifelessly, supported only by the blades.

"Contact the mission control, tell them we have-"

Albert yelled again, eyes wide with sheer terror.

"Don't do it! No! Don't kill me!" He shouted with all the remaining strength. "Please don't! I'm a mage! The Blachs! My family! They will pay! Don't! Please!"

"A mage?" The "smoker" looked surprised. "This is getting interesting…Whisper, free him."

The woman, whose hands were still covered in blood, approached him. She didn't look angry, like the bald man with the gun, but her indifference frightened Albert even more. Crying, he crawled back to the wall. Nobody cared to stop him since they all knew he couldn't get away.

"Calm down, kid, don't struggle," The "smoker" said, slowly raising his hand. "We'll take care of everything-"

When Albert heard about them "taking care" of him, he lost it completely. Howling, he dashed to the doors – surprisingly enough, nobody tried to stop him.

"What are you waiting for?"

"But the barrier-"

"The barrier is gone already, you dolt."

"Whisper, get him back. But gently."

Albert Blach ran for his life. His heart was pounding so hard in his chest, it felt like it was going to burst out and escape on its own. The boy stumbled and wheezed, he tried his best not to fall and make it to the stairway.

But it wasn't his lucky day after all.

Some empty snack wrap got under his foot and Albert slid a few meters forward before falling down on his face, breaking his nose. Red droplets sprayed.

"Where the hell do you think you are going? Nobody is-"

Why? Why me? Why here? Why did it have to bet LIKE THIS?

I don't like it. Don't like. Don't want to…

Why?

What have I ever done to them?

I'm not even a magus yet. I have no Crest.

And then Albert Blach remembered. Indeed, he had a long way to go before becoming a full-fledged magus. Indeed, he had no Crest and he wasn't going to get any time soon. He had years upon years of study ahead of him. And he had no way of besting those cutthroats, not even one of them… But he could try and protect himself.

After all, he was so well-read…

His was beaten, his nose broken and hands bound behind his back, but that… that stunt, the one he read about, he only needed to move a few fingers to pull it off…

And the words he needed to say have been ingrained in his memory for a long time.

The female executor was already close. The gunman followed her; probably ready to put a bullet in his head after she cuts him open. Just to make sure…

"Stay back!" Albert bawled. "Stand back! I'm a mage! You won't lay a finger on me! I'm a mage! A mage!"

A mage.

I can do it.

I've read all about it…

The spell was called "108 seals" or something like that. Albert always skipped the colorful names and pseudo-philosophical muck of all kind; he only wanted cold, precise formulae that worked as he needed them to.

His bound hands desperately twitched, the bloodied lips whispered the words. Power began flowing from his fingertips up towards the head – and with it came the pain…

"Hey, what are you d-"

The last word was still ringing in the air when Albert Blach was embraced by the fiery agony. The anguish was so strong he lost his voice entirely.

"Whisper, get away from him!"

"No! Hold fire!"

Everything melted away. Only blinding, searing pain remained.

Is this… hell?

Darkness.

He screamed in the darkness for so long… it seemed like an eternity…

His silent screams pleaded for death – if only he knew whom to ask…

"I can't believe it," His father's ragged voice felt strange somehow, he never heard him speak quite like this.

"We did everything we could. He can breathe now, at least."

"Breathe? Yes. But not channel magic. I've sent a pulse through him more than a dozen times now. He didn't even twitch."

"I regret to say, but he tried to cast something way beyond his ability. I've never seen a case such as this-"

"Your regrets aren't going to save him. What do I even do with him now?"

"It's your problem, not ours," A third voice entered the conversation. "Be thankful that he's alive."

"Nothing to be thankful for. Do you understand what he is now?

"He is burned out. He's hollow now."

What…

They…

Are they talking about me?

Hollow. Hollow. Hollow.

The word sliced through him mind, tearing it apart.

"Albert, what have you done?"

No. No. I did not want that to happen.

I do not believe it.

Let me go. Why? Why can't I move? Why can't I open my eyes?

Let me go. Let me go away. I do not want any of this. Any of this…

I am not hollow.

Not a hollow…

I AM NOT HOLLOW!

"I'm not hollow!" Albert Blach cried, falling from his bed down to the carpet.

Again… this again…

"Hey! Everything alright there?" A few minutes later somebody moved behind the door and then again, that somebody said:

"Albert! Talk to me!"

"Everything… is fine," Blach exhaled, still lying on the carpet. "Is Epnord there?"

"And where would that fucker go?" Somebody sighed from behind the door. "Listen, how much longer are we gonna stay in this cesspool?"

"Not long. Not anymore," Albert glanced at the clock and slowly raised to his feet. "Tell Epnord to go get some food."

"Anything else, your Majesty?" The half-blood sneered.

"Not for me. It's nearly midnight."

"So what?"

"We are having guests."

As the rain seemed increasingly less likely to stop any time soon, Epnord felt more and more glum with any passing second. He sat by the window and watched as his truck's wheels gradually sunk into a huge dirty puddle. By the morning the stuff would probably turn into a sticky bog and getting the truck out of there was gonna take an unholy amount of effort. What's worse, that damned psycho, Blach, was wrong about the guy with the money showing up at midnight. Then again, it wouldn't be surprising if Blach didn't get it right. After all, he got bent in the head after the accident that defined his life. Or maybe the guest was smart enough to wait out the rain…

But damn if it wasn't 01:30 a.m. already!

Riar decided he had enough and went off to wash his face. He sadly noticed flakes of skin peel off his hands. The body reminded him that he had to continue killing. It couldn't happen at a worse time, really. Anyway, once he gets his money and comes back…

Murphy's law manifested in its full glory, when somebody began knocking at the door right when Riar was going to finally relax and get another bottle.

So the tosser did come…

"What took you so goddamn long?!" Epnord angrily mumbled, getting his keys. "Why in hell are you this late? What-"

When the door opened, somebody threw a drenched raincoat in his face.

"Where's Albert?" Stunned, Epnord heard the guest's soft voice. |I'm talking to you, coat-hanger."

"What the fuck are you-"

Epnord dropped the raincoat and was taken aback by the sight of the guest, his rage immediately cooled down.

It was a woman.

Thanks to his remarkably long lifespan, Riar met his fair share of people and this particular lady struck him as both incredibly attractive and incredibly unpleasant. The first point was supported by her tall slim figure, lush dark hair, her rather pale, aristocratic yet by no means sickly face. She also had two another features Riar himself would definitely call outstanding. And boy, they sure stood out. However, those were counterbalanced by her sharp, thorny gaze, filled with disdain and weariness worthy of somebody a couple of centuries old. But what scared him the most was a peculiar tattoo – three towers in a ragged circle.

Bloody hell! She's one of them!

Swallowing the words that almost slipped his tongue, Epnord rasped:

"A pleasure to meet you."

"I asked you a question. Where is Albert?"

"Second floor, the room near the stairs. And you are-"

"Hang the coat by the fire. And male me something to eat, we will have a supper later."

Epnord felt his blood boiling with rage. If she wasn't from that cursed bunch, he would probably already cover the walls with her intestines.

The guest swiftly walked upstairs and stopped, seeing the half-blood near the doors.

"Freri Lann," She muttered. "I'm glad to see you in one piece."

"Somebody told you about me?" Freri startled. "Did Albert phone you?"

"I was the one to give you the job. Mind, I only chose you because of your initials – I appreciate such lucky coincidences."

"So it was you? Albert told me-"

"Albert's still boastful as ever," The lady laughed. "He may be a smart boy, but he has no connections. Except me."

"And who you might be?"

"Someone who pays you," She dropped a weighty pouch on Freri's knees. "Forgive me for not paying in the modern currency. I never found time to go and exchange all that stupid gold."

"Gold?" Lann opened the pouch. "Wait… there's-"

The visitor passed by the half-blood, who was desperately struggling to keep his jaw from dropping down, and entered Albert's room.

"Where is she?" Epnord stormed upstairs, extremely alarmed. "Hey, I'm taking to you!"

"She's with Blach," The half-blood waved him off. "Better take a look at what she's paying us with!"

"I wouldn't be so happy in your shoes," – Epnord grimaced. "Not even because you won't be able to buy anything with that."

"Then what are-"

"Did you see the mark on her neck?"

"Nope, what's that about?" Lann preferred not to say that his eyes were mostly preoccupied with her other features.

"Well, I did. It told me who she pals around with."

"And you think we should be scared of them?"

"It's the Trio," Said Epnord dully.

"Bullshit," Blurted Lann, visibly pale. "They were all slaughtered long ago."

"Looks like someone made it out," Riar was almost whispering. "What do we know about them, except for rumors and gossip?"

"Well, now that you've said it, we don't exactly know anything."

"I'm done," Said Epnord. "Split the booty and I'm bailing out."

"Are you serious?" Freri laughed. "To think that you, a Dead Apostle, would be frightened by-"

"If the Trio is behind Blach's recent shenanigans, the only reasonable thing to do is to get the hell out of here. She'll have to offer three times more than that if she wants me to even consider working with her."

"So the things are looking that sour?"

"Let's go downstairs, I'll tell you what I know. Don't want to talk under her nose."

The room was shrouded in twilight, allowing Albert's weary eyes to rest. It also made it harder to take a good look at his companion, who took a seat in a black leather armchair, just as black as her dress.

"I see you're quite well accommodated here," She stretched words lazily. "How did your family meeting go?"

"Like a funeral," Blach bared his teeth. "Nevertheless, I've got almost everything I need, thanks to you, people."

"I hope you didn't forget what I need?"

"Of course not," Hastily added Albert. "I remember the deal."

"So where is my treasure? I'm longing to have it in my hands."

"As you wish, Fras," Blach opened the cabinet and carefully took out a weighty cardboard box.

"Just what I needed," She smiled. "I hope you didn't touch anything?"

"No. His ciphers are way beyond me and regardless, it looks like it could fall apart at the slightest touch," Blach left the box on the table and returned to his bed, sitting down cross legged.

Fras opened the package and slowly pulled out a patch of old yellow paper sheets, patched together with a rope. She touched it, stroking slightly and let out a quiet soft sigh.

"Was it all for this? All for some papers of some old-"

"Show some respect to my ancestor, Albert," Her features immediately hardened. "And to me as well."

"Forgive me. I thought that now that I-"

"Our business is done," Fras put the papers back into the box, closed it and left it by the armchair. "I've got his diaries and you've got your weapon, your revenge and moreover, you now have a chance to turn the Association into dust."

"But there's something else I'd like to have," Blach said with a grin.

"Oh, I'm sure of it," Fras chuckled. "Your eyes are just as hungry as when we met a few years back, but you don't interest me in the slightest. Everything is as it was back then."

Albert's face stretched in a hideous grimace, but a few seconds later he regained some of his composure and started fervently speaking, making wild gestures:

"I have changed! You…you said you weren't into cripples… but look at me! I'm different now, Fras! I can walk, can channel magic, I'm now among the most powerful magi in the whole world, damn it! What else could you desire?"

"All your power is borrowed and we both know it. In my eyes you are the same old-"

"Don't you say it!"

"-the same old Hollow Blach."

"Don't call me that!" Albert cried, hopping up from his bed. "Don't you call me by that name!"

He jumped towards Fras and hung over her, last traces of civilized demeanor melted from his face, red with fury and embarrassment. His lips were shaking, and his wide-open eyes…

Those eyes already had radiant embers flickering in them.

"I don't have to ask nicely."

"Don't make me laugh," Fras calmly replied, looking him in the eye. "I made those Mystic Eyes for you. Or have you forgotten already? Do you honestly believe I'd give you something that could seriously harm me?"

"You gave me the Sphere!" Albert roared. "You deciphered those manuscripts for me! You found that book! With your help I could find the way to embrace the Mark of Cain!"

"And it won't help you against me," Fras smiled. "You are, indeed, overflowing with power and yes, the walls you hide behind are more than secure. But I know your every secret, Albert. I know just as well that with all the power at your disposal you still won't be able to kill me. At least, not completely. And I won't lay a finger on you, so your monstrous seal will not awaken. Now do me a favor, pull yourself together and get back to your bed. Or you'll fall in my eyes even further."

The fire in Blach's eyes died. He stood like that for a minute, then, wobbled back, slouched his back and slowly walked to the opposite wall.

"Good boy," Fras clapped her hands. "I'll buy you a balloon if you behave yourself."

"What… what did he ever have that I don't?" Albert groaned, grabbing his head. "What? Tell me!"

"Shusan had my respect. And he respected me back. He showed me that some of you lot aren't fucked from birth. But you'll never be anything like him."

"He's dead! You said so yourself! Why do you keep clinging to him?"

"I didn't expect you to understand."

"Fras, listen-"

"No, no, no. Whatever you say, I don't care," She crossed her legs and reached for the papers again. "Those diaries, on the other hand-"

"I'm no longer hollow!" Albert groaned.

"Quiet, please. I can't concentrate on reading."

"Fras… you know I got everything you asked for from the Tomb… I thought now we-"

Albert's companion said nothing, turning the first worn page in a slow, deliberate gesture.

"Come over here."

Blach limped to her chair, choking on his tears and powerless rage.

"The weather is awful. My boots are all dirty," Fras swayed her foot a little. "Clean them for me."

Making a suffocated sniffle, Blach fell to his knees.

"I have more use for your tongue than your usual blabber, and this will take long enough for me to check what we and my teacher got wrong in our recipes," Hiding her smile behind a paper sheet, Fras focused on the calligraphic symbols. "My, who would guess! He did manage to leave Constantinople before April… now that was a far-sighted move on his part, wasn't it?"

Albert was understandably silent.

Epnord's tale was finished before Freri could finish the bottle, but Candle wasn't keen on getting himself wasted. There are times for both business and leisure, but right now he clearly had to concentrate on the former. Besides, after hearing the story of the Trio, Lann felt that losing the edge now might cost him dearly – at least while their mansion was occupied by that gorgeous, yet disturbing visitor. If Riar was to be believed, his former employers were very respectable people in comparison to her.

Lann left the sullen apostle to his drinks and loitered around the house, checking doors and windows for the last time. It was three past midnight and he couldn't close his eyes… not that rest during the day was out of question: his companion's peculiar properties made him unfit for travelling during the day.

"Oh, I was looking for you!"

Freri turned around and once again, his gaze stuck to the dangerous visitor. She was standing on the stairs, holding some kind of a box under her arm. Her face glowed with delight.

"I didn't introduce myself earlier," She said, anticipating Candle's question. "I was weary after the journey, but it doesn't excuse lack of basic decency. Fras Lutt, the Magenta."

"Magenta?" Asked the half-blood, who was actually interested in something completely different. "Is it your-"

"The Association's color rank. The color itself may not be the noblest one, according to their tables, but I still like it so you will not offend me by mentioning it. But you look like you want to ask me something, am I right?"

Yeah, about your tattoo, for example. About whether or not what they say about mages, who wore one like this, is true…

"I-" Freri tried to break the eye contact, but couldn't quite bring himself to do it. "They called me Candle."

Why did you tell her that?

"How inventive," Fras came downstairs. "Albert won't partake in our supper, he is a little unwell. He'll be fine by the morning, so let's leave him alone for now."

"I wasn't going to bother him anyway."

"Wonderful. I take it, you have already examined the building?"

"Yes. Everything is fine."

"Wonderful," Fras repeated. "I shall leave your funny little crew tomorrow morning, as there is a certain matter in Norway I have to attend to. It cannot wait and I am afraid they will not manage without me."

"Anything serious?"

"That's a long story… but I can tell it if you are interested. In your room."

"My room?" The half-blood was taken aback.

"Is something wrong? Don't be afraid, I won't eat you," Fras came closer and continued with the same carefree tone. "When I feel like eating you, you'll be the first one to know."

"I… I'll go grab a bottle," Candle quickly understood what she expected of him.

"Of course, Freri," She changed her tone to a more intimate one in the most natural way possible. "Of course."

And I almost believe you, bloody freak…

"Here I come," Lann exhaled, returning with another bottle from Riar's stash and a couple of wineglasses. Here, just a moment-"

"You are still nervous," Noted Fras, letting him lead her down the hallway. "You have no reason to be. Make yourself at home."

"Right, at home. In all honesty, I thought you'd stay with Blach."

"I saw his medical reports back in the Wandering Tomb."

"So what did they say?"

"It's not just his circuits that don't work".

Candle's rasped laughter drowned out the other sounds.

Albert Blach watched the pair walk away from him, clenching his fists so tightly his nails drew blood from his palms.

Filth, what putrid filth you are…

Stinking hybrid, one-eyed bastard, you just wait, just give me some time…

You will burn. Burn and scream. It won't be quick, that I can promise.

I'll use you to the fullest.

And then I'll rip you apart. Tear you like a rag.

Thoughts of violence and pictures of slaughtered Candle raced through Albert's mind, bringing him comfort. Superficial comfort, but comfort nonetheless.

Wait, Freri, just you wait…

Oh, Albert had a lot to think about. And as long as the thoughts were pleasant, his pain subsided. He sighed and went to brush his teeth.