"Ah, so we are going to talk about it then?" Elvira asked archly as Iliana stepped into the Cactus Cat, dressed for her evening's work in a glittering navy dress, peacock feathers woven into her hair, and black beads dripping from her neck. Iliana sighed and shut the door behind herself, locking it up tight. It was too early for the bar to open, but it was nearing that time.

"I woke up and you and the Barebone boy were both gone," Elvira explained. "Him I expected, but you? Not so much."

Iliana moved behind the bar, helping her sister restock what they were running low on with flicks of her wand in the direction of the storage room. "It's just a hard conversation to have, alright?"

"It's illegal," Elvira insisted. "He's a No-Maj, if you're caught-"

"He's not," Iliana cut her off, looking up at her sister. She caught a bottle of white wine and hid it under the counter before turning and hopping up on it, perching there lightly. "He's as magical as you or I, he's just never been trained. Ilvermorny doesn't even know he exists, it seems."

Elvira's eyes widened in shock. "The Barebone boy is magic? How's that possible?"

"You know they're all adopted," Iliana reminded her. "He told me stories of accidental magic that he performed as a kid and once, when we talked... I upset him, he reacted badly." She lowered her voice. "He pitched me into a fountain."

Elvira's voice rang with indignity and annoyance. "He pitched you-"

"He didn't mean to, it was a rough conversation, and I was fine anyway," Iliana was quick to assure her lest Elvira tear off on the warpath to avenge her sodden honor. "You know how accidental magic can be."

Elvira nodded slowly. She'd seen more than her fair share over the years, both things she'd done and things Iliana had done as a child. "I suppose. But what are the odds that a woman that hates magic like Mary Lou Barebone does would end up with a magical child?"

Iliana hummed, because this was something she'd been thinking about long into the night, after Credence left, and she had developed a sickening theory about it. "I think it might not be an accident. I think it might be on purpose. I think she... she finds kids with no one else who show signs of magic, and takes it on herself to beat it out of them."

Elvira sagged against the counter, eyes wide and face pale. "Shit," she breathed, her hand tightening on the top of her cane. "That sounds like a Barebone, thinking they can beat the magic out of a person. But why do you think that, Annie?" Elvira knew better than to think this was just some wild thought she'd had.

Iliana shrugged. "Things Credence had said. When he mentioned stories of doing magic in front of Mary Lou as a child, one would think she would have been shocked and horrified. But everything he said was about her being angry. Surely if she hadn't known she'd have been horrified, tried to get rid of or maybe even kill the kids. I think maybe... this is all part of some sick plan of hers to try and stomp out magic. Think of Modesty," Iliana urged. "If she's magical and she's raised her whole life to think magic is evil..."

Iliana was getting at psychological trauma and a girl whose magic withered and died, but Elvira was thinking of something far, far darker. Surely it wasn't possible, not so many of them surrounding her as an individual when the official party line was that they no longer existed at all... But it made sense - a magical child growing up in an aggressively non-magical home like the Crane boy had, like the Barebone children were, it was the perfect storm for an Obscurus to form.

And form one had. There had been another attack since she'd written Newt, the Daily Ghost talking about mass obliviations of No-Majs and wizards who reported seeing great gouts of black smoke. It sounded like a Obscurus to her, it had since the beginning, and knowing there was a family in Manhattan with the perfect conditions to form one made it all the more likely that she was right.

It couldn't be Credence, though, he was far too old. It had to be Modesty, the youngest. Elvira had never wished for Newt to be there more, because he had the completed version of the Ramirez ritual. She couldn't reach him though, didn't know where on the seas he was, and even if she sent an owl there was no guarantee he'd be able to send one back with any real information. He had no idea as to the situation here, maybe he'd be able to take one look at the Daily Ghost clippings she'd cut out and say something charmingly knowledgeable like, "Oh no, of course that's not an Obscurus, it's a Siberian Smokestack, you can tell by the color and shape of the plumes," or something like that.

"Shit," Elvira whispered again.

"It's too late for Credence, or for Chastity really," Iliana admitted, the last name drawing a severe amount of frostiness into her tone. "You saw the marks on his ankle - his sister did that, not his Ma. She's completely under Mary Lou's thumb. There's nothing to be done for her. I doubt she has a drop of magic left. Credence could leave too, except he has no job skills and no money, and he doesn't have the education to do anything in the magical world. It's only Modesty that still has a chance at a normal life, really."

"Sweet Sayre," Elvira breathed. "What she's done to those kids..."

Iliana took a deep breath, bracing herself, before saying firmly, "Which is why I'm going to teach Credence to use magic."

Just as she'd predicted, Elvira straightened up, cane clattering to the ground as she lost her grip and eyes blowing wide. "The hell you are!" she seethed. "If that's what that woman is willing to do with some helpless kids then think what she'd do to a real witch!"

Iliana scowled. She stripped one black glove off of her right hand, feeling a protective urge rising inside of her at the thought of Credence's injuries the night before. She'd sent him off with a quick glamour to make it look like he was still injured, but under it all he was whole and hearty. Or, he was as much so as he could be after so many years of abuse at the hands of Mary Lou. She may have accepted that she cared for Credence, and the looks he gave her left little doubt that he adored her as well, but starting anything felt like taking advantage, like she was somehow abusing whatever power she had over him.

Of course, that didn't change the fact that she'd happily kill his Ma for him if he asked.

With that thought in mind, Iliana raised her hand, flames gathering harmlessly in her palm. Fire like this had always come easily to her, one of the side-effects of her parentage. "She's welcome to try."

Elvira's face softened and she sighed, reaching up to scrub at her forehead wearily. "I know Mary Lou couldn't hurt you, not really, but she can hurt Credence. And if you tried to stop her from doing anything to either of you, you can bet your ass that MACUSA would execute you, forget being tossed in jail. You're a Blodgarmr and half-vela besides. They'd be only too happy to get rid of you."

"I don't care!" Iliana snapped, the flames on her hand blazing higher before she doused them. She waved a few threads of smoke away from her fingers and replaced her glove. "He's got just as much right to understand what he is as I did!"

"It's dangerous..."

"No more dangerous than any one of a hundred things you've done for people since we came to New York!" Iliana insisted. "How can you tell me I can't do the same to help someone I care about?"

Elvira blinked, mouth snapping shut with an audible click of teeth. She beckoned her fingers absently, her cane jumping back to her hand. She leaned against it heavily as she sighed and rubbed her forehead wearily. "I hate when you use logic and make good arguments. Makes it a lot harder to fight with you."

Iliana smiled softly. "I know. Look, Ellie, I know it's dangerous and I know it's probably not smart of me to get tangled up in all of this but you saw what she did to him, you saw what he's going through," she insisted. "How can I walk away from that?"

Elvira sighed, closing her eyes and shaking her head. "See, it's really frustrating how I can't get mad at you for doing what you're doing, because that's exactly what I'd be doing if I were in your shoes." She looked up at her sister, smiling weakly. "Just be careful. Bring him to the apartment if you have to find a safe place for lessons. But if not, make sure you're not spotted," she stressed, reaching out and placing one hand on Iliana's cheek fondly. "Last thing we need is me having to bust you out of jail. It'd be a whole mess and I haven't got the energy for something like that these days."

"Yes, I know." Iliana grinned up at her cheekily. "You're getting old."

"Hey!" Elvira barked, and tapped the tip of her can against the ground sharply. "Watch it, or I'll ground you, of age or not!"

Elvira,

I've arrived in Savannah and thus far there has been no trouble. I've booked passage on a ship heading for New York City. If you could please give me the address of the Cactus Cat Lounge, I'll make sure that it's my first stop once I arrive.

I must confess, your Howler meant so much to me, and again, I suspect that sentence has never been dreamed of before. I have spent so long unable to talk to anyone but the translator, whose grasp of English is tenuous. To actually hear your voice wishing me well, forgiving me, was exactly what I needed. I'll admit your version of a pep talk is not what I normally would have expected, and yet it was perfect because it came from you. We've been through this whole mess, first with Frank and now with the Obscurus, and having you there at the end of that seemed... poetic.

I'm going mad here on the boat. I have my animals to take care of, Frank to tend to, but as I'm travelling with Muggles and tend to put my foot in my mouth at every given opportunity, I'm afraid to mingle with the other passengers. I take meals in my rooms and only take a turn about the deck once or twice a day to keep myself from going entirely mad. I'm even more isolated then I was in Sudan and I'm starting to believe that might be the worst possible thing for me right now.

I can't get it out of my head, the sight of that poor girl's body. I've gone over it a thousand times in my head, trying to figure out what went wrong. I can't sleep for trying to find my mistake, which I know isn't healthy but it's the truth. I'd brew myself up a batch of Dreamless Sleep, but I'm low or entirely out of multiple ingredients and won't be able to resupply until New York.

I cannot wait to get off this infernal boat and into a new city where I have all sorts of things to distract me from reality. Knowing that it wasn't my fault and actually believing it are two different things, as I'm sure you understand. I know it, I just can't quite make myself believe it yet.

I'm sorry, this has been a very sad and self-pitying sort of letter, hasn't it? I feel as if I'm a terrible pen pal, writing you just to complain about how wretched I feel. I shouldn't be complaining at all, really. I have no right, and it's rather shameful, isn't it? I suppose I'm simply not up to much in terms of sparkling conversation these days. I feel I'm very out of practice. We shall have to talk until the wee hours when I finally get there, and hopefully I'll only put my foot in it a time or two and you'll be kind enough to forgive me when I inevitably do.

On my way,

Newt

Idiot,

Yes, you read that correctly. This letter is addressed to idiot, because that's what you're being, Newt. No one expects you to bounce back from this instantly. I'd be appalled if you did, frankly. It's also not terrible of you to tell me you feel terrible about it. It's not healthy to keep things bottled up inside of you for too long - trust me on this. And if this is some sort of masculine 'I can show the world my feelings' nonsense then I really will smack you when you finally do get here.

Things are a bit of a mess here as well, and I'm just as desperate for a distraction as you. As it happens, my sister has gone out and picked up a No-Maj boy off the streets. Except he's not a No-Maj, he's a wizard who somehow managed to miss an invitation to Ilvermorny. Iliana's decided to train him in magic, which wouldn't be a problem, except he's the ward of the woman who runs that anti-magic hate group I mentioned in previous letters. I'd call her a bitch, but that's an insult to dogs. That poor boy came looking for Iliana last night, turned up on our doorstep bleeding from all over and bruised from head to toe. It took me half an hour to get him entirely patched up, and the old, improperly-healed damage my diagnostic spells turned up are enough to make anyone sick to their stomach.

So if you turn up and I'm not at the Cactus Cat, know I'm in jail for murdering that offensive bit of slime who dares to call herself a human being.

I told Iliana she should stay out of it, that it was too dangerous for her to risk, both from the boy's guardian and from MACUSA, but she pointed out to me that I'd done the same sorts of things before, which is a really annoyingly effective bit of logic on her part. I'm torn between constantly worrying about you, about her, about the bar...

Hurry up and get here, so I can stop worrying about you being lost at sea or something equally ridiculous.

Counting the days,

Elvira

P.S. Enclosed you'll find something to hopefully help you sleep, and a potion to knock you out if that fails.

P.P.S. I don't actually think you're an idiot. In fact, I do believe you're one of the cleverest men I've ever had the pleasure of meeting.

Newt smiled down in his little shed, Iliana's letter in his hands. Counting the days, it sounded almost like... He'd seen that sort of thing scrawled at the bottoms of the letters that men he'd worked with the Ukraine had gotten from their sweethearts. Elvira couldn't mean it like though, though he had to admit that he half-hoped she did. He'd never even met the woman and he already felt the symptoms he got around women he'd fancied in the past - brain fog, sweaty palms, an unfortunate tendency to try and hide behind his floppy hair.

He untied the twine around the small package that was attached to the letter. From within the brown paper fell two things. One was easily-identifiable, a bottle of Dreamless Sleep. That must have been the potion she meant, but what confused him was the first bit of her post script. Something to hopefully help him sleep...

Newt picked up the paper and shook it, and what looked like a coin fell from within and clattered to the floor. He scrambled to pick it up, realizing it wasn't a coin, but a slim, round locket with no chain. It was badly scuffed and worn and there was a pawn broker's mark on the back of it. It was obviously something Elvira had run out and picked up cheaply, but it still didn't explain anything.

Curious, Newt wormed his fingernail into the small divot on the side and popped the catch. The locket fell open on his palm. Soft music began to play from within in and then he heard a voice singing, low and slightly horse and not at all like the high warble of his mother that he remembered from childhood. It was Elvira's voice, and she was singing gently.

"Hush-a-bye, don't you cry, go to sleep little baby. When you wake you shall have all the pretty little hippogriffs."

Newt laughed softly as he listened and closed his hand over the locket. It didn't dull the music one bit as it played on determinedly, a tinge of embarrassment audible in Elvira's voice, like she couldn't believe what she was doing but she was doing it anyway. It was so utterly perfect and somehow exactly what he would have expected from her, and it made his chest feel oddly full to know that she had heard he was having trouble sleeping and her immediate response had been to put something like this together. She couldn't hear a problem someone was having and let it lie, she had to try and fix it.

It was a quality he admired.

Credence sat on the edge of his bed, staring at his hands. He knew what they could do, and it felt like his whole world had changed. For so long he had felt... powerless. Trapped. But Iliana was so confident that that couldn't be further from the truth. He had power, the power to do the things she and her sister did - to heal injuries, to make himself pass unnoticed, to create slips of paper that could track his motions, could brew potions! It was a heady thought and one that both thrilled and terrified him.

For so many years he had listened to Ma shriek about the evils of magic. He had stomped out that part of himself years ago out of fear but he was now considering trying to develop it. The idea of what Ma would do to him if she knew, what would happen if he was caught, made his stomach turn. He felt physically ill recalling some of the beatings he'd gotten after something peculiar had happened and he could only imagine that now those beatings would be far worse. He was older now. He could handle more.

But why should he be afraid? Why did he need to be afraid of some stupid woman who was ignorant and hateful and blind and didn't have the power that God gave a flea. He had power, he had magic, he could make her pay. He could brush her aside like he was swatting a fly if she came at him again. He had thrown Iliana bodily, and he hadn't even had to think about it. If he wanted to, if he really wanted to, he could destroy her...

Credence moaned, reaching up and clutching his head, the thing in his stomach curling and knotting and starting to scent the air. It could feel his weakness, could feel the darkness in him, and wanted to use it to climb up and take control. It was getting stronger, gaining more of a foothold, starting to take him over, and that terrified him far more than Ma ever had, that he might lose himself...

There was a tapping sound, something rhythmically tapping against glass. Credence glanced to the side. There was a bird sitting on the ledge outside of his window. It was a pretty little thing, with blue-grey upper feathers and stark white underbelly. It's beak clacked repeatedly against the panes, insistent and impatient. Credence had never seen a bird behave that way. It was enough to make him stand and reach for the latch, fully expecting the bird would fly away the moment he tried to open the window.

It did the exact opposite. The moment the window was open, the bird darted inside, turning a circle around gas lantern hanging from the ceiling, and then landed on the small wood table that served as something resembling a desk. It perched on the seat of the upturned apple crate that was his chair and fluttered its wings as it settled itself in. Credence stared at in in amazement, rearing back in shock when it begant to grow and stretch.

A moment later Iliana was sitting on the apple crate, her legs crossed delicately at the ankle, reached up and sweeping a loose lock of hair behind her ear. Her other hand rested on her purse in her lap. She looked up at him and smiled, eyes glinting mischievously as she raised a finger to her lips. Iliana waved her hand and muttered something, then rose to her feet.

"There, the room is sealed. We can speak freely," she said in satisfaction, and again Credence boggled at her abilities.

But on the heels of that thought came a kind of shame. He'd seen her home. It was not lavish by any means, but it was well-apportioned and she had her sister obviously lived quite comfortably. It was a far cry from his attic room where most of the furniture was worn wood and some of it wasn't even technically furniture, the apple crate being the most obvious example. There were cracks in the wall through which winter winds blew and sometimes, if they blew just right, he woke up to a light dusting of snow on his floor in the winter.

More than that there was the fact that it was Iliana, always Iliana, who had to protect him. From his Ma, from Chastity, from everything. Credence loathed the weakness that had been beaten into his bones at that moment, the weakness that kept him from feeling like he could take care of her for once, like he could the protector... like he could be a man for her.

The only way that would change, though, would be if he listened to her lessons and took them to heart. She had explained to him that her education was nontraditional - there was a school for this sort of thing in Massachusetts, apparently, but she had never gone - and so his education would be nontraditional as well. He was fine with that. He was fine with anything that gave him more time with her and more ability with this magic that supposedly lived under his skin, the thing he had to protect himself against the world.

"Normally you'd be taking classes in various subjects and building from a base knowledge in all of them at once," Iliana explained, "but we haven't the time and frankly I haven't the patience for that. I'll be throwing a lot of different things at you and seeing what sticks. When we figure out what you've a knack for, then we can progress accordingly."

Credence eyed her nervously. "What if I don't have a knack for anything?" he asked softly. He felt strange, standing over her as she sat perfectly at ease on his crate-cum-chair, but the only other place to sit was his bed and... no. There were implications to beds, implications of things that made his blood hum and his ears go red.

"Everyone is good at something," Iliana chuckled, seeming utterly unconcerned by his fears that maybe it was too late, maybe he'd missed his window, maybe those random bursts of magic were all he'd ever be able to manage.

"What are you good at?" Credence as curiously, eager to get to know more of her through this new, witchy lens.

Iliana paused thoughtfully, biting her lip. "Hm... I suppose you could say I'm good at the finnicky things. The heavy theories and the research. That's where I'm most at home."

"Can you teach me to make that p-potion you had me drink the other night?" Credence asked, because that stuff had been wonderful.

Iliana shook her head mournfully. "Sadly, no. I can muffle sounds and lights from this room but potions, when your learning, can be tricky. Explosions, boiling over, eating through the floor... It would be too risky."

"Do I... need a wand?" Credence asked uncertainly. He felt even more uncomfortable and awkward than he normally did, like a foal trying to figure out how to take its first steps into this new world.

Again, Iliana shook her head. "No. There's only three wandmakers in the country right now and they won't sell unless you have some kind of documentation from Ilvermorny. I could potentially make you one, but that would take a lot of time that we don't have. You'll be learning the old way." She raised her hands and wiggled her fingers, smiling slightly.

"So I just... point at something?" Credence could feel his face going redder as he tried to guess his way into his first proper, intentional spell. Thankfully, Iliana seemed to understand, because she smiled at his as she stood.

"Sort of. Since you've been suppressing your magic for so long, though, it may be a bit tricky to overcome that mental block," Iliana explained. "I'm going to try something to help kick-start the process." She held out her hands, palms up. The meaning was clear, but Credence still stared at her, dumbfounded for a moment, before slowly lifting up his hands and laying them gently on top of hers. He was scared to touch her, in a way, flesh-on-flesh feeling too intimate. She had no such reservations, curling her fingers around his wrists.

"What I'm going to do is feed a bit of my magic into you." She was explaining everything to him like she would with a child but Credence appreciated it. He felt adrift and knowing every step of the process helped ground him, helped him understand what was happening to and around him. "Obviously, my magic is not supposed to be in your body, so yours should rise up defensively. Once you access that and get a feel for how it flows inside you, that will make it easier to drawn on. Eventually it will become as easy as breathing."

"That sounds very..." Credence could quite say how that sounded.

Iliana nodded sympathetically. "It will not be entirely comfortable, but it should be quick and will help in the long run. We don't have to if you don't want to," she assured him, loosening her fingers to show it was his choice. "It's entirely up to you how we proceed, I just think this might help a bit."

In response, Credence curled his fingers around her wrists. Her bones felt small and delicate under his fingers. She beamed at him.

"Close your eyes."

He didn't want to, not when Iliana was in front of him and smiling, but he did.

"I'm beginning now."

It was an odd sensation. Uncomfortable, she'd said, but it wasn't quite that. Simply... different. It was as if something pleasantly warm was slipping through his veins alongside his blood, something that tingled and hummed like the air after a lightning strike. It was a kind of energy and he could feel it as it snaked up his arms. It felt like Iliana was trailing her fingers along his muscles, his veins, his bones, his soul, and Credence shook.

The movement stopped, but he could feel it there, coiled, waiting to proceed as Iliana asked gently, "Do you want me to stop?"

"No," he said hoarsely, because that was the very last thing he wanted. He wanted to stay like this forever, where he could almost feel her inside of him, the same mixture of peace and energy he felt whenever he was around her. "Keep going."

Iliana seemed wary, progressing slower as her magic crept up his shoulders and dipped into his chest. That was when Credence felt the beast in his stomach stir, lifting its head and looking around like it sensed a threat. Credence tensed for a moment as he felt it start within him and seemingly realize what was happening. He opened his mouth to warn her, to tell Iliana she needed to get out, but it was too late. The beast lunged, grabbing onto her magic with its fangs and sinking them deep. Iliana cried out and Credence ripped his hands from her, staggering back, breaking the connection.

They stood, staring at each other. Credence felt the thing inside him, his magic, pacing circles, ready and waiting to jump on the next attack. It was there, and now he understood what Iliana had meant when she said it would help him understand the feel of his magic. He'd been feeling it - been terrified of it - for months, he simply hadn't known what it was. His mouth hung open, eyes wide, as he realized his magic had been stirring for quite a while now.

Iliana, for her part, was shaken. She could feel a trickle of cold sweat run down her spine and her throat felt void of moisture. What she had felt inside of Credence was something she had never before experienced. She'd done similar exercises before with her father, with Elvira, both of whom were powerful people. But they had paled in comparison to Credence. his magic was like looking into a well, still and untapped, but impossibly deep. He was perhaps the most powerful individual she had ever encountered and he was completely ignorant of that fact.

What terrified her beyond belief was that fact that the well was dark. It was not filled with water but with something thick and black and almost oily. It made her stomach twist and her spine stiffen in some kind of prey instinct-driven fear. She knew that what was in front of her could hurt her and would do so happily. As pleasantly surprised as she had been to discover that Credence had that level of power, she was also absolutely horrified to discover how completely and utterly Dark that power was.

"I-Iliana?" Credence asked softly. He was terrified he'd somehow hurt her. She was just standing there, arms still outstretched, looking at him like she'd never seen him before.

"Dark and Light - bah, those are European concepts." Her father's voice rang in her ears. "Nothing is inherently Evil or inherently Good. It's all in the intent, just like everything in magic. You see?" He had made a black sort of fire bloom from his fingertips, a heat so strong she could feel it on her face from where she sat three feet away. "Scary, right?" From within the flames grew a perfect red rose, petals totally unaffected by the sinister flames. When its petals had fully bloomed, the flames roared higher, and Iliana had to cover her eyes. When she opened them again, the rose was encased in crystal, perfectly preserved and indestructible. Her father handed it to her. "See? Not evil at all." He tapped her nose.

Iliana thought of that rose, lying on her vanity back home, a small souvenir of her father's lessons and a touchstone of memories of him now that he was gone. The boy who was looking at her like he was scared she would shatter if he touched her would never try to hurt her. It simply wasn't in him.

"I'm fine, Credence," Iliana said, and smiled gently. She curled her fingers into loose fists as she lowered her hands. "Now that we've got you started, let's begin with the basics - making objects float."