Author's Note: Holy Mothballs, It's BACK! In truth, I have never given up on this, but this year has been a whirlwind of responsibilities and energy drains. When I didn't have something important to do, I had a complete lack of energy to accomplish even minor chores. I never meant to take this long to update. But now my schedule is changing, and hopefully my willingness to write will change with it.

This chapter was also a difficult one to write, as I struggled with how to portray exorcism in the Wizard101 universe. My wife finally helped with her own idea, which became what we see here. I think it fits the known lore of the schools well enough, and it definitely fits into my expanded lore.

I have not given up on this, so don't give up on me folks! This story will be TOLD!

The Exorcism of Rowan

(2 weeks and 2 Days Post-Incident)

Rowan was perched cross-legged on the settee in her study, emerald eyes scanning the yellowed pages of a tome possibly older than Headmaster Ambrose. She was desperate for answers and those pages were as forthcoming as the Beefeaters that guarded Barkingham Palace, causing her to slam the book shut, the frustration getting to her. Inhaling deeply, Rowan waited a minute before she exhaled and calmly held the book out.

"Zeus," Rowan called, catching the black and red dragonling's attention. Zeus trilled softly and walked over to the table in front of the settee, head peaking over the edge. "Will you please add this to the stack of anecdotal mythos?" The dragonling trilled again and took off, snatching the book from Rowan and flying it to the top of a column of books across the room, just taller than Rowan.

Her eyes woefully surveyed the column, and its dozen or more cousins strewn about the study. Taking the form of various scrolls piled gingerly, or chaotically arranged book stacks, or even mixtures of the two, they were the fruits of Rowan's studies into her current predicament.

"Anything I haven't checked yet, Henry?" She had a mixture of hope and dread for the answer. The rat butler glanced around the room, then held up a finger with a look of 'ah-ha' and scurried out. Sometimes, Rowan felt bad for the little guy being a mute, but moments such as this just made him so adorable. Henry had lost his tongue to a cat thug after he was revealed to be an informant several years back, but he was definitely making the most of it.

The reformed rat returned with a sizable black leather book, handing it over to Rowan, who looked over the title with a raised brow. "Dante… how could I have ever forgotten that one?" Sighing, she set to work. She'd barely gotten through the introduction before there was a knock on her door and Shadow started barking. Rowan nodded towards Henry, who bowed and abruptly left.

Few people knocked on her door these days, so Rowan knew who it was and why they came. That very same reason prompted her to leave her study and head to the sitting room, where an elaborate rune circle formed from swirling spirals had been drawn in preparation for this moment. Rowan moved to its center and the rune flared to life, skull-like patterns glowing in succession. The power flowing from the rune erected a shielding dome around her, but not for her protection. It was to contain her during the exorcism to come.

Rowan stood calmly, her crutches cast aside and eyes leveled with the door. She inhaled deeply and then exhaled, purely to soothe herself and steel her nerves for what came next. She was startled nonetheless because the guest Henry invited into her sitting room was not who she expected at all. She was waiting for a short, hunchbacked man.

Henry was instead escorting a tall, slender woman in a black pencil skirt and red sport jacket that was a few shades darker than her hair, which was up in a tight bun. Her hazel eyes scanned the room with critical interest. Rowan was completely caught off guard and stammered briefly before getting out a proper word. "I… I wasn't expecting guests, please excuse the mess," she motioned for Henry to reposition a sofa and table, as the furniture had been moved to allow the confinement rune to take up the center of the room. "Henry, some tea for our guest."

"So, to whom am I opening my house unexpectedly?" Rowan inquired politely as she sat down in a chair close to her circle, trying to smooth out the wrinkles in the black robe she had worn for a few days now. It took several days, or a particularly dirty chore, to really muck up her clothes, but that didn't stop them from looking overused. I probably look like a streetwalker compared to her right now, Rowan imagined.

"My name is Anita Falmea Skullstar."

"Ok…" Rowan was trying to contain a rising annoyance with the woman's demeanor and the tone of her response. "So you're Professor Falmea's sister. Why come visit me?"

"I'm also Talon's mother," Anita's stare in that instant made the declaration chilling. Rowan froze, her mouth forming a whispered 'oh'. Neither of them spoke, allowing the sound of the kettle heating to permeate the room. Rowan wasn't sure what she should say, if she should even speak at all right now. Anita seemed to be enjoying Rowan's discomfort. Where's the damned tea?

"I apologize for hurting Talon," Rowan finally blurted when Henry had brought out the drinks. "Sugar or cream?"

"Neither, and apology rejected," Anita declared as she took the tea from Henry. "I am not here to accept excuses or false sincerities," her pause to sip her drink allowed Rowan to fume. "I am here to see what kind of woman has harmed my son so thoroughly and soundly, and make sure it doesn't happen again."

"Well, here I am," Rowan threw out her arms and rose out of the chair. "Take a good look and then leave; I have a low tolerance for impetuous rudeness and general bitchery today." Anita smirked malevolently, a look that really didn't seem out of place at all on her angular face.

"A fine retort from one such as yourself," Anita sharply admonished as she stood up, "Now that I see what kind of woman you are, I am warning you." Anita's hands crackled with heat, beginning to glow faint amber. They hadn't ignited as Rowan had seen Talon's do, but she could tell they were very hot by the heat waves they emitted. "Stay away from my son."

"Or what, Momma bear?" Rowan jeered. "You'll roast me like the pig you think I am? You don't even know me, woman! You don't even know what happened! Don't assume you can just walk into my house, and tell me what to do, just because your son went off the deep end and needed his ass beat to bring him back to sanity!"

The heat was tremendous and caused Rowan's vision to cloud. She was on her stomach, head jarred by impacting her wood floor and because of a vicious, searing backhand from Anita. She touched her cheek and winced; it was blistering already and extremely tender. She gave me a second degree burn!

"If it wasn't for your harlotry, my son wouldn't have had his heart and mind broken. He would have continued to live without a single psychotic break." Anita's voice was solid, unwavering, unlike Rowan's which was fluctuating with anger and ethereal magic. "He would be far better off from this day forth if you never saw him again."

"That is for him to decide, not you," Rowan spat. "I still love Talon, and nothing will change that. If he wants to stay platonic with me, I will not refuse because of your empty threats."

"I'll show you how empty they are," Anita let her hands ignite, bringing them back to throw fire at Rowan. Those flames extinguished when Rowan morphed. She had become engulfed in shadow and the Angel of Death unleashed; and they were outside of the rune circle. The Angel charged a paralyzed Anita, grabbing her by the throat and slamming her against the wall.

Anita felt the cold bones around her throat and fear filled her mind, throwing her back into the traumatic memories of her infancy. She saw it again, as she had when she was four years old; the mighty Dragon Titan roared above the throne of Dragonspyre, spewing lava from its massive jaws. Friends, neighbors, and family members ran through the streets. Her mother stopped and looked behind, and Anita mimicked her, looking for her father in the militia of soldiers defending them. They saw him, just as a Draconian soldier ran him through with a tremendous claymore.

Yes… show me your greatest fears, the Angel within Rowan goaded Anita, digging deeper into the memory. It was an adrenaline rush, a surge of energy that invigorated Rowan like no rest or food ever could. She held out her right hand, beckoning Terminus to her. When they contacted, the staff became a scythe, point held to Anita's chest.

"I can kill you, just like they did your father, and you'd be powerless to stop me," Her eyes were spheres of emerald burning into Anita, their glow reflecting in her terrified gaze. Her well-manicured hands clawed at the skeletal wrist holding her against the wall, pure white fire coruscating around her fingers in a desperate bid to fend off the assault. The fires died the moment the shadows of the Angel touched them.

"Wha-wha-what are-are ya-ya-you!" she struggled to ask the question, her throat becoming numb from cold and the air flowing through her trachea stinging as it passed her freezing tissue. Rowan's skull inched closer to her face at a tilt, and in a disquieting motion appeared to inhale deeply then chatter teeth in delight. Her skull flicked upright before moving to touch the nasal spine to the tip of Anita's pointed nose.

"Death," The words came out of her mouth in a frosty cloud. Anita's nose dropped several degrees in temperature. "My dear… I am death." Rowan drew back her face and her scythe, giving all appearances of being prepared to strike. But an outside force, foreign to the two combatants, separated her bones from Anita's throat, pushing her hand back just an inch. It was all Anita needed to regain her breathing, air rushing into her. When it burned in her throat she closed her eyes and tried to focus, to warm the chilled tissues of her neck.

But she couldn't. She couldn't focus her magic to any specific area of her body, not while she felt the presence of that monster so close. But when she opened her eyes again the Angel was backing away from her, closer and closer to the rune circle in the center of the room.

"We have got to move the sofa and table, they can't interfere with the rune circle," Anita heard a grating, familiar voice nearby declare as she sank to a sitting position. She watched the beast crumple underneath a force she could not ascertain until a platinum-blonde girl in a flowery red picnic dress came into view, her hands outstretched and arms held out as if pressing down on the creature. She could make out a shimmer of silver light emitting from the girl and enveloping the cowering Angel. The rune circle…

Without much thought or concentration she lashed out, hurling bolts of fire at the offending furniture. They exploded on impact, not a massive blast, but a good and hearty one that sent them flying from the runes.

"Anita? What are you doing here?" The familiar voice finally had a familiar face; Dworgyn. The hunchback leaned over her collapsing form, examining her with his larger eye. "Take deep, slow breaths. Don't rush it."

"She…" Anita wheezed, her eyes sharply glaring at the quivering angelic woman on the floor nearby. "She tried to kill me," her eyes slowly rolled to Dworgyn, who looked bemused.

"And she nearly succeeded, which I think puts her on a very exclusive list," the necromancer remarked before addressing the girl. "Miss Silverheart, now that she is within the circle she will remain contained. Save your energy for later. Focus on arranging the candles for the ritual."

"Yes Professor," Miss Silverheart replied, her voice smooth and steady, devoid of concern. She left Rowan in the circle, on her side and feeling drained, and went to set candles upon the floor around the room, lighting each with a snap of her fingers. She pulled each candle out of a picnic basket and arranged them as though she were arranging flowers. The cold eyes of the fallen angel watched her, skull scrapping against the floor to shift her back into view whenever the child moved to far.

In her mental library, Rowan was watching the black Seraph who controlled her now, observing him. She felt tremendous confusion from the being, and shared it. No doubt he was sensing the same aura from the girl as Rowan; or more specifically not sensing, since there wasn't one. Rowan could sense no fear from the youth, and it made her presence devoid of substance for the necromancer and her possessor. Usually she could detect even small traces of fear in everyone she met due to her necromancer training. But with this girl she could sense nothing, as if she was a golem or a statue. There was of course magic; the girl had a lot of magical potential. How is this possible? Rowan and the Seraph wondered simultaneously. No one that young could be so well trained, and even with training I should feel traces.

"Who are you?" Rowan inquired, and the girl turned back to face her, revealing metallic eyes that glimmered silver in the candlelight. Her expression was aggravatingly cheerful. The girl curtsied to Rowan.

"I am Emmaline Silverheart," she sounded almost like a wind chime, "it is a pleasure to meet you. I love your butler; he is adorable." The shadows around Rowan briefly parted from her face, returning her flesh to her skull and displaying puzzlement.

"Focus on your task, Miss Silverheart," Dworgyn chided the girl, receiving a sweet 'yes professor' in response. The silver-haired anomaly continued to place the circles of candles. Dworgyn helped lift Anita onto the chair Rowan had sat upon previously, handing her the cup of tea again. He had to take it back when it became clear Anita's hands were too shaky for tea. "Tell me, Anita, what happened before we arrived?"

"We were arguing… about Talon," she began, her throat returning to a comfortable temperature naturally, "and I slapped her, and she became that… creature. She said she was death!"

"I do doubt that claim," Dworgyn commented with a smirk. "She appears possessed by a powerful, malevolent spirit, and they're well-known for boasting." The scrapping of bone on the wood floor prompted them both to look up; the demonic angel had risen to its knees.

"I do not boast! I am DEATH!" Rowan's face was still flesh, but the eyes were solid green. She was holding herself upright with her scythe.

"I've never read of Death inhabiting a mortal form," Dworgyn jabbed back, hand on his crooked hip, "and I am pretty well read. Reapers exist for a reason; Death prefers arbiters in the realm of the living." Dworgyn moved in front of the Angel, standing within a small ring of lit candles. It was part of a concentric trio of candle rings, the larger of the two encompassing them both. The smaller third was surrounding Emmaline, positioned opposite Professor Dworgyn. "And after today, he will find his roster is short one emissary."

"You know nothing of Death and his ways, necromancer," Rowan cackled back softly. "And for your insolence, I will damn your soul."

"I should go," Anita spoke out, heading for the door. "I am sorry for the trouble I have caused, Professor Dworgyn." She was desperate to get as far from that abomination as she could.

"Nonsense, Anita," Dworgyn piped in that unwavering cheerful tone of his, "I feel quite fortunate you're here, in fact. While I have every confidence in Miss Silverheart's capabilities, it would be nothing but wise to keep a pyromancer of your skill present. Should Miss Silverheart's containment fail, we may need your brute force as additional… security." Anita stared at him for a prolonged period, hazel eyes sharp with fear and sullied pride. She inhaled sharply, smoothed her skirt and jacket, and positioned herself just outside the candle circle in the most dignified stance she could muster.

"Very well," she declared, forcing sharpness back into her voice. "It would be irresponsible of me to allow harm to befall either of you. Proceed."

"Delightful!" Dworgyn cooed, his grin far too wide for the circumstances in Anita's opinion. "Let's begin then, shall we? Miss Silverheart," Dworgyn beckoned. The white-haired child raised her hands, fingers out-stretched, and closed her eyes. Her breathing slowed and an eerie serenity came over her face, coinciding with the pulsing of silvery wisps of magic from her hands. The runic ward flared as particles of magic cascaded like a flurry within a snow globe around Rowan. She cried out, pained by the strengthened ward.

From outside the ritual, Anita could not tell what was transpiring. She watched as Dworgyn closed his eyes and folded his hands, prompting iron-grey smoke to rise up around him. The candles went dark, their flames morphing from brilliant orange to vivid violet. He mumbled words Anita could not make out before the smoke cloud condensed and lunged at Rowan, filling the air within the globe.

Anita would not have known, in her limited studies, that the true actions of an exorcism took place within the possessed mind. Necromancy was an art of emotional manipulation and projection; both the caster's and their opponents. This basic truth could be built upon, allowing the stronger practitioners to enter the minds of others and manipulate them. Total control of the host mind was impossible for a necromancer, but in the right circumstances, with a willing subject, spiritual surgery could be performed.

Dworgyn stood within the illusory endless library of Rowan's mind with that goal of spiritual surgery. He walked with a brisk confidence, his back straight and gait without limp. In this realm, his form was a manifestation of his mental prowess, free of physical deformity. He began to pull from cases various tomes whose covers were tattered and decayed; they were likely the manifestations of the invading spirit plaguing Rowan. He opened one upon a table that appeared for his convenience, setting the others aside. After a few page turns he placed his hand flat upon the tome, focused his energies, and in a flash of silver light, dissolved the book. Dworgyn grabbed the top book from the stack and proceeded with the exorcism.

"Is he hurting her? What's happening?" Anita inquired over Rowan's screams, looking to Emmaline with a mixture of hope and concern, though neither was for Rowan.

"This is normal. Spirits never appreciate being excised," Emmaline answered without opening her eyes, or losing that calmness upon her face. Her stoicism –for her age- impressed the future Queen of Dargonspyre.

"Do you really think you can suck me out of her as one sucks puss from a putrid wound?" The question rang through the library with the force of a gong, knocking hundreds of books from the shelves in a tidal wave of parchment. Dworgyn watched the wave approach him unflinchingly, shoulders square and death shields primed around his fists. The wave of books stopped several feet in front of him, a figure stepping out from the parchment cloud. The being looked just as Rowan described in her letter, confirming Dworgyn's suspicions.

"You really are a Dark Seraph, one of the highest orders of Reaper," Dworgyn murmured, though in this environment even the softest whisper carried great distances. The Seraphim chuckled.

"You could classify me as such, if you choose," its mirthful response was disquieting, but Dworgyn forbid himself of fear. "Though I am certain you have never encountered one such as I!" The decaying Seraph threw his arm forward, black energy slashing the air ahead of him in a rush to eviscerate the necromancer. Dworgyn extended his left arm and opened his fingers, a flash of silver meeting the black energy and dispersing it to one side. Thrusting his right arm forward, Dworgyn ejected his own wave of darkness at his foe.

They crossed blows like this for a short time, both of them blocking one another. Dworgyn broke the chain when he suddenly grabbed a particularly dirty tome and, without reading it, dissolved it to sparkling dust. The Seraph screeched, eyes flashing jade in rage.

"Sorry, was that important?" Dworgyn jeered.

"I am impressed, you are more powerful than I expected," the Seraph crooned.

"I was the teaching assistant for Malistaire himself, before he went mad, so that shouldn't come as a surprise," Dworgyn responded.

"So… you're that wretched hunchback, Dworgyn?"

"Indeed," Dworgyn nodded, "And since you know my name now, how about telling me yours? I would like to know who I have the honor of dueling."

"Nice try, mortal," the Seraph chortled heartily, "but I know too well the importance of a name in the banishment of spirits." They traded a few more blows, and Dworgyn began to sense his opponent weakening. "But I will grant you this knowledge; I am no ordinary Reaper. I am the Grim Reaper!"

In that moment of prideful declaration, the Grim Reaper had let his guard drop, and Dworgyn sensed his lapse in concentration. He struck out, a brutal slash of black magic amputating the Seraph's right arm, the lost limb dissipating. An ear piercing screech filled the library.

Anita held her ears in pain as the demonic thing within Rowan screeched its agony, the grey smog thinning to reveal Rowan on her knees, leaning back with her arms spread back and face to the ceiling. Emmaline did nothing, beyond tightening her eyes and lips.

Dworgyn lashed out again when the scream died down, another vicious strike removing the Serpah's other arm. He screeched again, but Dworgyn refused to back down, grabbing the Seraph by the collar and surrounding his hand with silver light, preparing to end this being's existence within his assistant.

"Dworgyn, STOP! Something's wrong!" It was Miss Silverheart's voice, dancing through the library. Dworgyn paused, and as he looked around concern etched his face. The library was decaying around him; all of it. The books were moth-eaten and yellowed. The bookshelves were warping and cracking. Cobwebs filled every unattended nook, and a musty order hung in the air. Normally Dworgyn wouldn't mind such a decrepit environment, but in Rowan's mind…

"No… No no no."

"Oh yes, foolish necromancer," the Grim Reaper sneered. "You banish me, you KILL her!"

"You… you are the reason she is undead!" Dworgyn let go of the Dark Seraph, stepping back from him. The arm-less angel rose to his feet, his arms already beginning to regrow, though very slowly.

"I am her, and she is me. We are one, bound together since her stillbirth." The Angel of Death strode towards Dworgyn, wings outstretched. "She grew because of me, she is unalive because of me, she exists because of me! You cannot separate us, because I am her true self! WE! ARE! ONE!" The creature roared this declaration till the decaying library shook with his rage, and he lunged forward to slam himself into Dworgyn. The necromancy professor denied him the chance at a strike by withdrawing himself from the mind entirely.

Back in the sitting room, Dworgyn returned to his body with a corpse-like groan. The candles simultaneously snuffed out, casting the room into darkness. Night had fallen over the course of the ceremony. Henry helpfully began to light the gas lamps in the room with a long match-pole, though his job was made easier when Anita snapped her fingers and ignited the remainder instantly. The new light displayed Emmaline kneeling near the edge of the rune circle, concern for Rowan plain upon her porcelain features. Anita had her arms folded, tutting at Dworgyn.

"Sounds like this one didn't want to get out," she commented.

"More like can't," Dworgyn corrected.

"We heard it all, Professor," Emmaline reported nonchalantly. "The Grim Reaper's words emitted from her lips when he spoke with you. We should tend to her."

"Yes, let's do so. For now she will not be a threat, as both of them are too weak," Dworgyn decided. "Please take her to her room. I must think." Together, Anita and Emmaline lifted Rowan off the floor and proceeded out of the hall. As they carried her, Rowan's skin flanked off in coin-sized chunks. She was decaying the entire way to her bedroom.

"Professor, how is she going to recover if she is rotting in her bed?" Emmaline inquired when they got back to the sitting room, washing her hands in the basin Henry thoughtfully provided. "She looks dead."

"That's because she is dead, Miss Silverheart," Dworgyn declared, providing a brief –and revised- summary of Rowan's condition to both women.

"So if I understand this correctly, my son had a romantic relationship with a dead woman?!"

"He was aware of this when he dated her," Dworgyn assured the furious mother.

"And that improves things how, exactly?" She held her hands on her hips. Dworgyn shrugged. "My son's a necrophiliac," she waved her arms in disbelief and sat down on the settee.

"She's not normally so… deathly in her visage. She's quite an appealing lady, normally," Dworgyn admitted.

"She's DEAD!"

"Undead, to be precise. There is nothing wrong with that either. It's just another form of existence," Dworgyn consoled her, though it seemed rather ineffective. Emmaline, on the other hand, was being ever the attentive student. She was completely unaltered by this news.

"So… She bleeds ectoplasm?"

"Yes."

"And she doesn't need to eat?"

"No."

"Can she drown?" Her head tilted inquisitively to one side, her childishness taking over.

"Can't say it's come up, but I imagine not," Dworgyn answered with a smirk.

"Can we focus on how to keep her from murdering people as an Angel of Death, and not on her basic biology?" Anita interjected with the sharpness of a Dragonspyrian commander.

"Right, yes, of course," Emmaline agreed furiously, smoothing out her picnic dress. "So, what are we going to do, Professor?"

"Well, Miss Silverheart, I think this is where you will become most helpful. Anita," Dworgyn turned to the pyromancer, "I am confident we are no longer in need of your services. Doubtless you have many duties to attend to back home," Dworgyn held out a hand, which Anita took as she rose from the settee. He walked her to the front door. Dworgyn kissed her hand and cupped it in both of his. "I thank you for staying with us. We were fortunate to have you near should things have gone worse."

"It is I who was the fortunate one," Anita admitted, her voice softening slightly. "Had you arrived any later you would surely have found my corpse."

"A great tragedy that would have been, Anita." Dworgyn smiled.

"Thank you," Anita bent one knee, and still had to stoop to reach Dworgyn's forehead, where she left a lipstick print, "for saving my life. Please, be careful in there." Anita looked Dworgyn hard in the eyes. "Victor and I would be devastated if she got to you."

"You know me, Anita," Dworgyn grinned wide. "I don't go down easy. Never have, never will."

"That's the Dworgyn I know and love." Anita embraced him before stepping out onto the porch, which groaned angrily. "Do not hesitate to call if you need assistance."

Dworgyn watched her leave with a soft smile, before turning to limp down the foyer to the sitting room. He found Emmaline sitting on the armchair by the fire, igniting her own finger, briefly watching it burn, and snuffing it out magically a moment later before serious damage could be done, only to repeat the process. Dworgyn's shuffling entrance broke her from her entrancement.

"Professor, if you don't mind me asking, is Miss Anita special to you?" She slightly tilted her head again with that awkward inquisitive look. She gestured at her own forehead. Dworgyn hastily wiped away the mark.

"It's Misses Anita, Miss Silverheart," Dworgyn corrected, "And none of your concern. Let's focus on the task at hand, shall we?"