"The attack was vicious, that's all I know," said the thin man. "Vicious. You'll need the huntress for more than that. Teaspoons to buckets, that's what I know compared to her." There was blood streaked across his face in narrow stripes, like he'd run through a thorn bush. It looked almost black in the candlelight that lit the room.

"You don't know how many?" asked the woman, her face pinching. There was a slight pause between 'don't' and 'know,' as if she'd wanted to put an 'even' in there and had just barely refrained. She leaned forward, elbows on her desk. "You were there when it happened, weren't you?"

"How would I be able to tell? They can be in more than one place at once, can't they?"

The woman sighed. "Yes, but, with few exceptions, they all look different, right? So, the ones you saw, how many different ones were there?"

The man shrugged. "They hit hard and fast and from at least two sides. We had to retreat through the gardens. Some of the early plants are starting to bloom, so that put them off." He raised his hand to touch one of the scratches on his face and winced.

"And the huntress?"

"Sent me ahead while she and the rest held them off. Told me to raise the reserves and the mages for aid. Said there would be more, even if they finished off this batch."

"Did she say when to expect her?"

"No," said the man.

"Well," said the woman, leaning back. "Consider me informed. I would offer you a place to stay, but…"

"I am used to sleeping outside, among the hunters," said the man, "and I'm familiar with the needs of mages." He smiled, something that was probably supposed to be charming. "You aren't the last person I need to talk to, regardless."

"Thank you," said the woman. "I hope you find your way there in good time." She flicked her fingers, and the door opened.

"Thank you, ma'am," said the man.

As soon as the man was gone, she stood up and started pacing. A minute later, she snapped her fingers. At once, a transparent figure appeared in the middle of the room. It was shaped like a boy.

"What do you think?" asked the woman.

The transparent boy wrinkled his nose. "I couldn't smell any other spirits on him," he said. "If he was near so many that the huntress had to run, he'd reek of it, flowers or not."

"That's what I thought," the woman said, nodding. "But then, what's his plan? A messenger to the Lodge would expose his lie quick enough."

"Unless the messenger was killed," said the boy, bouncing on his heels. "That's easy, too."

"Still. Motivation?"

"Maybe he wants to kill a messenger?"

"Seems unlikely. Can you follow him?"

"From a distance," said the spirit. "He did run into some blood blossoms sometime recent, so at least there's that to his story." He stuck out his tongue.

The woman nodded. "Do it."

The boy faded from view.

.

Danny was not a particularly strong spirit, all things considered, nor an old one. Still, he was proud to say that he was good at what he did and reliable. The first and best weapon in Mage Jasmine's arsenal, the scourge of her enemies, her protector.

Most humans were blind and deaf to spirits, this one was no exception, given that he didn't notice Danny in the room while he was talking to Jazz. Another point against him being one of the huntress's trainees. Either that, or he was a really good actor.

Even so, Danny decided to be prudent (that was a word Jazz liked to throw at him a lot) and make himself even more invisible than usual, enough so that even trained mages and hunters would be hard-pressed to spot him.

Interestingly, the man did not go to the other mage towers, another point for him being a fraud. Instead, he wove away, towards the edges of the city.

Danny flitted between shadows, using them to conserve energy. Thunder rumbled overhead, but there was no rain yet. Danny hummed with it. Perhaps if he found out what this man was up to quickly, he could get permission from Jazz to go play with the storm spirits.

The man slipped into a doorway and Danny, not wanting to lose him, followed quickly, pushing past the discomfort the man's lingering perfume of blood blossoms gave him.

Abruptly, the scent of blood blossoms was no longer a lingering perfume, but something present and overwhelming.

Danny existence screamed, high-pitched and inaudible to human ears.

"I did everything you asked," said the thin man, quiet and nervous.

"So you did," said a smoother, deeper voice. "Sir Kay will provide your payment. Sir Oh, the runes."

"Yes, my lord."

Danny could feel them being written, outside the ring of flowers. He could feel them, he could feel them, he could feel them.

This was wrong, he didn't want this. Only three people had ever bound him with magic like this before and he'd let them. Jazz was the only mage he'd made contract with, and that wasn't going to change, no, no, no, no, no. No matter how much the circle pulled on him. He wouldn't.

"Lord Alfa," said one of the mage-knights, sounding frightened.

Good. Good. He should be frightened. Danny might not be a strong spirit, but he'd been born of bottled lightning, cursed ice, one of the most horrific magic accidents of the decade, and a human death. He was not something to be taken lightly. He was not something to be bound with petty tricks. He was not something that could be made to obey without sacrifice.

The flowers kept back his ice, kept back the fury of his voice, but they were still there, and he would let these fools know that even the very blood of spring could not hold him back forever. Those flowers would wither and fade and die and then all that was between them and him were a few lines of enchanted chalk.

Danny could deal with magic circles.

But then there was a very different pull, and Danny found himself in Jazz's office again. The tapestry of his summoning circle was spread out on the floor, the silver thread burning in the dark. The blood soaking the fabric gradually disappeared as the magic took its price.

"Jazz!" said Danny, worried. He came up short against the barrier of the summoning circle.

"Oh," said Jazz. "Thank goodness." She looked faint. Her closed fist was still bleeding copiously.

"Jazz," said Danny, looking at all the blood, "why?"

Jazz swallowed. "I heard you screaming, little brother. Gentle gods, I know I shouldn't have, but I did."

Danny stayed silent. They both knew he wasn't really her little brother, no matter how much they both pretended. But he had been born from her real younger brother's painful death, and he'd been given his name by someone who didn't know any better. There was a connection there, and power.

"You need a healer," said Danny, instead.

Jazz breathed in through her nose. "Yes, I suppose I do. Will you fetch one?"

"As soon as you let me out," said Danny, poking the barrier.

"As out contract still stands," said Jazz, "I release you to do my bidding." She snapped the fingers of her uninjured hand.

Danny flicked over to her, examining her briefly. "I'll be back soon," he promised. He reached out, and his hand passed through hers. "Thank you for saving me."

"Careful about thanking people. Someone might think you aren't a real spirit."

Danny arranged his features in a smile. The words struck a little too close to a fantasy he'd often had. "Wouldn't be wise of them."

He reached into the distance and vanished.