I want to thank all the people for reviewing this fiction,

I'm sorry for not updating this sooner but i had my exams and revision to do as well as more to look forward to.

I''ll try and make sure you wont have to wait ages for the next chapter to be updated

thanx again and please kepp R&

Like a moth to a flame Azazeal was drawn to the sudden burst of magic. It captured his very being and he felt that he had no choice but to follow it.

A burst of magic like that wouldn't of come from any person it had to have been from very powerful and unique person, a powerful and unique witch.

When he stepped out of the club the magic still lingered around him engulfing him in the very essence of that person's power.

Gathering his bearings Azazeal set off to find the cause of that magic and to capture it as his own.

Taking the mortal way Azazeal strided down the streets towards the power, looking around him he decided that even after his long time on earth things never changed.

There were still those women that laid on offer their body for money they desperately needed instead of finding of a dignified way of earning i.

still the parts of town that no-one dared to venture into for not wanting to encounter the dark things that were lurking there ready to attack.

Even though something's remained the same Azazeal was in awe of the actual increase in technical and modern advances these mortals had come up with, not once in his mind thought that these mortals come up with anything useful, but as usual they had proved him wrong.

Focussing his mind back on to the new magic he had encountered he opened his senses and began to follow the trail the magic had left in it's wake, the powerful potency of the magic enriched his senses and sent electrical signals through his body.

From what he can gather from this was that although that this person was powerful, very powerful, was that this witch had only come into her powers and was still untrained.

This to Azazeal was the most precious gift he could ask for, not only could this witch become the most powerful and known witch around but he could most likely be able to bend the witch to his will.

Dark thoughts already forming in his cold and milieus mind he sped up his movements drawing curious glances from onlookers.

Turning around a corner Azazeal disappeared into the alley, the shadows cloaking his figure as he set out to find the witch.

It was night, and the grounds were quiet, the ominous building stood out, shadows hugging the surrounded area, a few lightened windows were on and signifying that people were actually living there.

This building was located on a huge amount of open land, with gardens carefully maintained, the structure giving off over a hundred years of history with statues and worn stone work.

Not once would you look at this building and think this is a school, no you'd probably look at it and think this probably is owned by a first rate rich snob who has only bought it for the value and status.

Taking a careful look at the front of the building you can see a slightly worn plaque with Medenham Hall inscribed Bording School.

All lights switched off and the dark corridors nearly impossible to find your way without a some sort of light, old paintings and tapestry's adorned the walls the old fashioned furniture and curtains giving off the sense even though these are modern times this building is still old fashioned.

Cold breezes whips through the corridor the tapestry's ruffling from the disturbance, whispers follow the breezes, whisperings of death and past, flowing through the corridors as if searching for something urgently looking for that something that would give them peace even for a moment.

It stops, a dark mahogany door stands in front it, the only obstacle left between them and their moment, blasting through the door rattles and the whispers are now in the room.

The moon light shinning through the windows the rays landing on a young woman sleeping in her bed.

The moon emitting a glow the emphasizes the woman's blonde hair and pale skin, her eyes scrunched up as if in some nightmare.

The young woman tosses in her sleep mummers slipping from her mouth

"A…"

"Az…"

"Azazeal"

She finally breathes, then falling back into a deep slumber.

Outside the window you can barely make out a figure, resting against a large tree there is Azazeal, eyes fixated on the window and cigarette firmly placed between his lips the end glowing, lighting up his face and as he takes in a drag with a smirk placed on his features.

Dropping the end and crushing it into the dirt he takes one final look at the window

"found you" he whispers.

And with a final sweep of his coat does back, disappearing into the night, until he plans to meet the witch.