Ranistaka drank her shot in the dark slowly, with great relish, as she watched the dreary, grey London street pass by. It wasn't raining, so she had pulled up a chair on the streetside patio, waiting to watch him walk by. He had never seen her in person, and she'd have to call out to him. But no worry. He'd walk this way, eventually.
The loan of power to Tom Riddle was an unfortunate thing, in the long run. But what was she expected to do? Summoning the most ancient of spells, he had summoned her, the Satan, from the very bowels of Hell. A mortal, speaking her tongue. He'd given up presuming to control her in the first few hours. He was not Arawn- he sniveled too well at the threat of death, or even pain- but he'd become helpful, distracting her sister just enough so that Ranistaka could create a rift between the realms and come back. Being exiled didn't mean she couldn't slip though, and Tom had been instrumental in her plans.
Not that she could ever admit that to him.
"She barked a harsh, rasping order at the street behind her, loud enough that time seemed to pause. The black-cloaked figure suddenly spun around, and stepped through the gate, sitting across from her while bowing. With a flick of her wrist, she dropped the hood from his face and raised her wards to include him. She had not acknowledged him yet, and he was too well trained to speak.
"If you regret his death so badly, leave," the English flowed from her like blood from a knife. "My way is the way of blood. You read the inscription yourself."
"Yes, I did," he replied, head bowed. "Though I understand the necessity."
"You underestimate those who follow you," she smirked. "Does this mean I must educate them myself?"
"I'd rather you didn't," he replied quietly, refusing to lift his head.
She let out a peel of laughter. "You will be undone by your own popularity complex, Riddle. While I am on your side, you cannot lose."
"But I never know," he finally lifted his head "whose side you are on."
"And that," she leaned forward, her expression burning with a malicious light, "is the general idea. How am I supposed to win when you're too weak to do anything?"
[A/N- thanks to all my marvelous reviewers, especially you, Jen, for pushing me through this. For those of you who don't know, a shot in the dark is a double shot of expresso with a cup of black coffee. It is typically the single most expensive (and strongest) cup of coffee a java shop has. And it's killer.]