I think I've done a bad thing…

Chapter 13

It was safe to say that I completely ignored Anders after the Keeper woke us up from the magical trance she put us in order to enter the Fade to save Feynriel. Anders had exactly zero ideas as to why I shot out of the cot in a cold sweat with a raging blush on my face that I conveniently blamed on a fever. Of course, I had forgotten that the man was a Healer and so that excuse was invalid. My sudden bout of shyness, which came upon me every time I looked at Anders's face and remembered our…steamy session, completely confused the ex-Grey Warden but I wasn't about to enlighten him.

So it was safe to say the only way to forget the most awkward conversation of my life was to go to a bar. And where was the best place for alcoholic beverages? Well, I was biased to the Brass Monkey on 12th street in New York, but since that wasn't convenient for me I settled for the Hanged Man. I didn't know how I managed to convey my need for beer at eleven in the morning to Anders with my tongue in knots, but I must have gotten it across when he nodded –albeit he was most likely indulging my crazy behavior- and said he had to get back to his clinic. Anders thanked me for helping, I might have said something coherent back, and we went our separate ways.

And it was definitely safe to say that is was necessary for my subconscious and I to have a long talk. It really needed to tell me if it was thinking about something that would turn my world upside-down, preferably before a demon found out and used it as a more than effective distraction. Anders? Really? Anders, subconscious? Fenris apparently wasn't a stupid enough choice to fall in lo-like with and Isabella or Merrill? Nope, not crazy enough for me. I had to go and pull the pigtails of the man who was possessed by a spirit and wanted to start a civil war between mages and Templars. I was so fucked.

It took more of Corff's version of ale to get me stumbling drunk than usual -he was either watering it down or I spilt more on the floor than into my mouth— but I proudly made it home through the front door without puking into the decorative hedges. What was the point of hedges? Sure they looked nice, but they didn't do anything practical. Now an apple tree, or an orange tree, or a steak tree! Now those were practical! Essential even!

"Bodahn! Bod'n! We…we neeeeed a steak tree!" I called from the entryway as I wrestled with the door that was trying to eat my key. It refused to release it from the lock even when I called the door's mother something incredibly impolite it wouldn't give it back. Damn, and it took four tries to get the little key into the lock correctly. I carefully lifted one leg to brace it against the door and pulled hard to dislodge it. My arm whipped back with my prize and I crowed triumphantly at the slightly bent key. Ha! Me: 1 and Door: 0!

"Ah, you're home Master Hawke. I say I was beginning to wonder if I would see you again. We seem to just be missing each other," the dwarf said with a chuckle.

I whipped around and smiled widely at our housekeeper to proudly salute him with my crooked prize in hand. "Howdy there, Bod'n! What're you doin' up so late?"

"Tis only five in the evening, messere."

Really? Huh, no wonder those Orlesians were turning their noses up at me in the street. Idly, I scratched my chin slightly cringing at the dark stubble on my face. Scraggly beards weren't sexy. The monotonous chore of shaving had escaped me these past couple of days and was beginning to itch.

"You didn't happen to see your mother while you were out and about, did you? She was supposed to meet with Gamlen –prickly sort of fellow, he is- for lunch but your uncle came by saying she never showed."

The room started to tip on its side so I grabbed onto the decorative pillars in the entryway with one hand to hold on. My stomach roiled. What the hell? I pounded my chest a couple of times and belched. Oh, it was just gas.

"Oh, it's probably nothing, just an old dwarf worrying over silly, little things. She's probably with that new suitor of hers."

A sharp pain struck my gut that made a sweat break out on my forehead. Did someone spike my drink back at the Hanged Man? "A suitor? Mother's been seeing someone?" Something about that stirred the alcohol fog in my head.

Bodahn continued. "I haven't met the man personally, but he's got Mistress Amell all aflutter so the chap can't be all bad. She wanted you to meet him, but you've been running about all over the place recently so she hasn't had the chance."

I had been busy these past couple of days and I actually couldn't remember the last time I even talked with Mother. Orel needed a lot of training so I was in and out of the manor trying to find tomes on how to teach the young elf control without blatantly announcing to the Templars that I was purchasing basically manuals on how to train your mage. Then there was that thing with Fenris, then Varric asked a favor which ended up with me licking my wounds for three days in a cave, and then Anders decided to join the 'let's ask Hawke for help' club. The only good thing about that club was that I was president. I'd never been president of any club before.

"Oh, Master Hawke! Good evening," came the cheerful greeting from the living room.

I looked up from Bodahn's face to see a smiling Orana with an ornate –Orleasian- vase full of beautiful white lilies she was arranging on the small table next to the entryway.

Lilies.

Oh no. Oh no no no no no.

As if I had been drenched in cold water, the haze cleared from my mind and I recognized the signs of panic my body was warning me about. My mother-! The White Lily Killer-! Too early-! Too soon-! I wasn't ready for this! I wasn't prepared! She was in danger!

So many thoughts sent me to my knees and I collapsed heavily on the carpeted stone with my lungs heaving, starving for air.

"Master Hawke!"

I couldn't breathe. I thought I left these kinds of panic attacks back in my teenage years, but I guess this one snuck up on me or I hadn't been this scared in a long, long time.

I clawed at the light breastplate that I wore more for Garrett's image rather than my need for protection and tried vainly to get it off. Dainty, pale fingers flicked the latch on the side to loosen the armor that I recognized as Orana's. Thicker hands untied the scabbard for my broadsword and removed it so that the metal plate could easily fall to the floor. I gulped in lungful after lungful of air after my chest was free to expand but still felt as if the world was caving in on me. All I could think was that it was too soon for this to happen. I wasn't ready.

A squat hand patted the back of my tunic now soaked through with set. "Are you all right, serah?" Bodahn asked.

"I'm fine. Mother," I gasped out. "When…when did she leave?"

"I'm not quite sure. It might have been before noon, serah. Are you certain you're feeling well? Would you like to lie down for a spell?"

"I said I'm fine," I grated out harsher than I meant to. "When did the lilies arrive?"

"I'm not quite-."

"I need to know when the lilies arrived!" I suddenly yelled.

My anger echoed in the foyer, but Orana didn't even blink as she calmly swept up my breastplate to perch next to the table holding the flowers in question. The elf lightly swept her fingertips across the white petals.

"It was one bell after midday, Master Hawke. I remember for I immediately went to search for a vase. I had never seen such beautiful flowers before. Lilies won't grow in Tevinter. Too dry I believe," she answered calmly.

I never heard Orana speak so much, but now wasn't time to congratulate her on getting over her shyness. Slowly, I took in a deep breath and held it for a few counts before releasing it and speaking.

"Okay. Okay, then she couldn't have left too long after that," I reasoned. "I need…I need to find- Orel? Where's Orel? Orel!" I called without bothering to wait for an answer.

Hesitant footsteps sounded from the library. I looked up to see him shyly peek from around the corner, his blonde hair all in disarray and a streak of dust marked his cheek. He'd been studying the tomes again tucked away in a corner practicing his magic.

"Yes?" he asked cautiously.

I motioned him over with quick sweeps of my fingers. "C'mere kid, I need you to do something for me," I said with a calmer tone of voice. He was a little frightened from my anger, but he fearlessly walked over to me. The kid really was something else. I was proud of him. "Help me up."

Orel took my hand and almost effortlessly hauled me to my feet. Huh, it seemed three square meals a day were really helping. I was stunned at the building muscle on the pre-teen elf, but quickly shook it off as I rose to my feet.

"Orel, I need you find Athenril for me. Check around the Red Lantern district and remember what I said about that place?"

The boy nodded, his blonde hair flopping about in desperate need of a haircut. "Yes, I remember. Only for grown-ups."

I nodded, ignoring the sudden urge to plant a hand on my hip and wag my finger at him. Good lord, was this what parents felt like?

"Right. Exactly. Tell her that Hawke needs her help and to meet me in Lowtown. She'll know where."

Dammit, why wasn't I told that the murdering bastard was crawling about? I specifically said that tags on Quentin were a priority. Nothing went in or out of his "hideout" without someone seeing it and reporting it back to me. Orders to the Coterie and Athenril included a wait-and-see approach as I didn't have any evidence –yet—of his involvement in the murders of young woman in Kirkwall. I tried playing by the good guy rules, but now this required more of a…personal touch.

"Yes. What she look?" Orel asked while circling his face with a finger miming his question of what Athenril looked like as he couldn't find the right words.

I waved off his question already beginning to pace from the anxiety that previously stole my breath and needed to be worked out of my system. Usually I just set something on fire if I got nervous about something, but right now didn't seem like the appropriate time.

"She'll find you. Now go, Orel. Quickly!"

He nodded so fast I was afraid his head was going to come off his neck and he dashed out of the still open door. In bare feet. I sighed. Elves.

"Is Mistress Amell in danger?"

Suddenly overcome by tiredness, I ran a hand over my face. "Yes, Orana, but I'm going to find her and bring her back," I said firmly believing whole-heartedly that I would find the woman I had come to greatly care about. She'd only been gone four hours and I knew blood magic rituals were notoriously overcomplicated so she would be fine. She had to be. "You two stay here in case she comes back."

Bodahn and Orana both slightly bowed their agreement.

"Be safe," Orana softly said to my back as I walked quickly to the front door without sword or armor. I didn't need either. I had a different weapon in mind.

Two leather gloves landed haphazardly on the bench next to the doorway. I clenched and unclenched my fingers as I felt my mana rush out from beneath the veil of containment glyphs. A lick of flame bounced in the palm of my hand. I stared at its mimicry of dance before I curled my hand into a fist to extinguish it. I was ready. I turned to the door and smacked my head right into the frame.

"Son. Of. A. Bitch," I snarled between clenched teeth and angrily rubbed the tender spot right in the middle of my forehead.

It was safe to say that I wasn't completely sober yet.

The cool air of the early evening did a lot to chase the alcohol fog from my brain and after an unwilling, literal trip into the hedges –fucking hedges—I was in Lowtown arguing with Athenril who, as I guessed, knew exactly where to find me.

"You've got a smart boy there, Hawke. Found me before I found him."

I smirked proudly at Athenril's compliment towards Orel.

"But like I told you, Hawke, no one has been in or out of there in weeks," she continued. "There's been no sign of any bewildered virgins being lured into this abandoned hovel or animal sacrifices or whatever blood mages do in their spare time. I'm telling you, it's dead."

I shivered at the unintentional poor choice of words.

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I anxiously asked her if she was sure and she checked all the entrances. Of which I only knew of one, the front entrance, but I asked anyway.

Athenril glowered. "Hawke, you're talking to a professional here."

"Fuck," I spat. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!" I cursed louder and louder until I lashed out and punched the crumbling wall.

This was impossible. Garrett Hawke clearly remembered the place where Quentin took his mother. It was burned so severely into his memory that it was one of the first things I saw when Flemeth sent me into his body. Fat load of help that was. I meddled enough in this time that previously set events were beginning to unravel and my knowledge of the future that I considered one of my only advantages was dwindling down into nothing. The one time that I really needed everything to work, to fall neatly into place…it was all worthless.

"I need to see," I mumbled and staggered up the stairs to the entrance.

A slim hand on my shoulder stopped me.

"What's the matter, Hawke? What's happened?" The thief gently asked me. I mentally chuckled. I must really have looked like hell if Athenril, the cold-hearted smuggler of Kirkwall's underbelly, wanted to know if I was okay.

"My mother," I admitted. "My mother's gone missing."

Comfortingly, Athenril squeezed my shoulder. "Well that's what you've paid us for; quite handsomely I have to say. We'll find her," she promised and vanished into the encroaching shadows the setting sun cast over the buildings. It set an ominous mood; one I wasn't prepared to deal with, so I ignored the poet's foreshadowing scenery and wrenched open the decrepit door to the warehouse. Just one clue, just one. That's all I needed. I had to find Leandra because what good were the powers of a seer if I couldn't use them to save innocent lives?

Nothing. There was nothing here!

Angrily, I threw the book on the dirt floor where it laid with all the other useless yellowed papers I tore through. I snatched the next book in line on one of the four bookshelves that were strewn across the room and quickly flipped through it. I didn't need to know how to preserve a liver fifty different ways so I tossed the thing behind me to grab another creepy 'How To' on necromancy.

Papers littered a path of my destruction of the room that I thought would help point me in the right direction. The blood mage's hideout was empty just like Athenril said it was and from the dust and lack of the taste of ash in my mouth Quentin hadn't been here in quite a while. The room literally made my flesh crawl. Demons made their homes in this place as I could feel the tears in the Fade where the dark spirits emerged to make deals with ignorant mortals or to inhabit the corpses of the women that the necromancer took. It was really a cesspool for blood magic and with me being incredibly sensitive to magic (carving sigils into one's flesh and binding my mana to them really hyped up the 'spidey' senses) I was feeling incredibly nauseous. Or that might have been the alcohol coming back up to say hello. Taking Justice's advice on cutting down the drinking might be a wise thing to do.

"Your Undead Corpse and You, how lovely," I sneered and carelessly pitched the volume over my shoulder. "The hell?" I asked the chillingly empty room as I felt something touch my head. I pleaded mentally for it to not be a spider. Ghosts were fine; I could handle that, but not a spider.

My hand quickly swiped across my hair and I was thankful for my fingers to touch paper and not creepy crawlies. I pinched the parchment and brought it to my face to read. Squinting finally brought the chicken-scratch handwriting into focus.

Used quicklime to preserve her feet. Unsure whether texture of the skin is to my liking. Will try other methods.

"Oh that's just gross," I complained with a scrunched up look of disgust on my face. The note must have fallen out from between the pages of the book I dumped to the floor and I let it join the other scraps.

Like a hurricane, I tore through the remaining textbooks ranging from topics on arcane magic to cookbooks. The man was more of a hoarder than I was and I picked up pebbles from the street and put them in my pocket. Well, my mastery in earth magic came from identifying and extracting minerals and my large mana pool let me draw those elements from deep within the earth, so picking up shiny rocks was practically required of me.

"Still nothing," I cried loudly, throwing my hands up into the air as I yanked the last book from its shelf.

A single piece of paper, of a higher quality than the other pieces lying about, fluttered down from the manhandled book in my hands. I dropped the tome and scrambled to catch the falling scrap. The first thing I noticed was the handwriting: elegant cursive, the hand of a scholar. My eyes rapidly scanned the penned missive.

My dear friend,

I have obtained the books you requested. I'll leave them at our usual hiding spot. Please collect them as soon as possible. I would hate to see them in the wrong hands!

Your last letter was fascinating! You have proven me wrong, once again, by doing the impossible. I shouldn't have doubted your resolve, and I hope you will keep me apprised of further progress.

Your friend and colleague,
O

O. That single letter struck a deep chord within me that vibrated such an intense anger I was shaking with it. This…I never saw this before. Garrett never found this single piece of paper that unraveled a whole new murderous plot within the story of Leandra's death. The corruption within Kirkwall ran deeper than I thought.

O, huh?

I was going to kill him.

"Hawke! There you are! What're you doing running around here?"

I barely heard Varric from the ferocious pounding in my ears and I barely stopped myself from barreling into the smiling dwarf who opened his arms wide in greeting although I only saw him just a few hours ago clanking our tankards together cheerfully.

"Anyway, I was surprised to see Chicky wandering around the Red Lantern district since you hate having those adopted chicks of yours too far from the nest so I sent him back home. I was tempted to have the old 'birds and the bees' talk with him, but I decided to leave that mental scarring up for you to do. "

In the corner of my mind, not covered in a red haze, I groaned at Varric's insistence on giving nicknames to the elves I took under my wing. He insisted on calling Orel 'Chicky' due to my mother henning over the wide-eyed boy and Orana 'Dove' for her quiet, grey demeanor. Naturally, once Varric opened his mouth stories flowed over how my rescuing two slaves from an evil Tevinter magister was a noble deed. Also naturally, my good luck ran out and Fenris found out about it. He didn't openly confront me about it, but those icy glares of his did more to make me feel unreasonably guilty than yelling. Women had passive-aggressive cornered, my ass.

Varric's cheer morphed into a concerned frown. "Hawke, you okay, buddy? You're lookin'…a little pale. Hey, what're you holding on to?" He asked while pointing to my right hand.

I blinked stupidly, not even noticing my tense grip on the parchment from Quentin's private library of death. I brought up my arm and glanced at the scrap and back to Varric a few times. Still slightly shaking, although now thinking a little clearer, I held out the note to him.

Giving me a pondering look, Varric plucked the paper from my hand and scanned over it. He raised a blonde eyebrow in confusion.

"You're worrying me a bit, buddy, but I'll bite. What's this?"

That feeling of nausea was returning and I anxiously hopped from foot to foot while gazing up at the darkening sky. It would be risky because of the poor night vision, but I would have to take that chance. There was no other way to sneak in without being noticed.

"Hold onto it. Don't lose it. Please," I finally said and turned away from the confused crossbowman.

I closed my eyes and took in a deep breath to fill my lungs completely with air. In my mind I saw russet colored wings spread wide to lazily catch thermals that allowed me to glide effortlessly across the sky. I saw a curved beak as sharp as my eyesight and talons. My heart beat faster and faster and I released my held breath. All at once a shimmer of light coated my figure and without opening my eyes I saw the transformation. Feathers sprouted along my arms and through my tunic that slowly integrated itself into my mass. I could feel my body shrink, instincts change, and a power-an awareness-so unlike being human.

"A hawk. Hawke, you're a hawk. That's a little too cliché even for my tastes."

I snapped my beak at him in bird-speak for 'fuck-off' and took off for the Gallows uplifted by a strong breeze and Varric's amused chuckles.

The room was dark; lit only by a single candle that illuminated strewn papers across an ancient wooden desk and a quill that dipped methodically into an ink pot. A delicate hand, marred only by age, traversed through a scribbled note and tapped a staccato of notes in thought at the end of the sentence. It was a quiet evening, peaceful, a night one spent in contemplation.

I tapped relentlessly at the glass window.

Tap-tap-taptap.

A wrinkled brow lifted in question towards the sound, but turned his attention back down at the half-written letter on his desk. It was pretty dark outside, the moon only a sliver in the night sky, so I probably wasn't seen. I would make myself heard though.

Taptap-tap-taptaptaptap.

This time the glance towards the window was more of annoyance rather than curiosity, but he still didn't rise from behind his desk and was content to ignore me.

TAP! TAP! TAPtaptaptaptaptap.

The quill was thrown down in disgust next to the letter, almost upsetting the well of ink, and angry stomps towards where I was made me swell in arrogant satisfaction. I hopped from foot to foot anxiously, but not once took my eyes from the mage who forcefully unlatched the window. Before he could shoo me away from his windowsill with a sweeping hand I flew into the room in a flurry of feathers. Arms crossed instinctively over his head to prevent my wings from buffeting his face, but it wasn't the talons of my hawk form that caused him injury. Shimmers of gold flecked my skin as wings stretched into arms. My newly reformed fingers clenched the lapels of his robe and threw the dumbfounded man against the office wall as soon as my leather boots touched the floor.

"Where is he?" I snapped and pushed the mage harder up the wall until he dangled. "Where is he, Orsino? I know you know!"

Wrinkled fingers clawed at my hands and left red trenches down the pale skin; the dull pain was numbed in the coldness of my anger and I merely squeezed harder in response. I held onto the neck of his robes so tightly that the fabric cut into his windpipe making the First Enchanter of Kirkwall's Circle wheeze.

"I-I don't-!" Orsino gasped.

I growled darkly and shook the wildly struggling mage. "The blood mage, Orsino! Tell me where he is!" I shouted into the aging elf's face, spittle flecking his cheek.

"You-you're a mage?"

My lip curled angrily at the choked response of astonishment instead of telling me what I wanted to know. I hurled Orsino from the wall to the floor, my hands releasing him to bounce a fireball intimidatingly in my palm. The light from the fire cast hardened shadows on his frightened face, but the sole focus of his eyes was not on the burning flame but on the burning red light of the rune. I smirked cruelly. The lightning rune radiated brightly from my fingertip and a curl of its pure energy snaked around the circle of flame. I was showing off—controlling two elements simultaneously was notoriously difficult and usually mastered by only the most powerful mages—and I wanted the First Enchanter to know that he was outclassed. I could utterly destroy him with just a flick of my fingers before he even reached for the staff that was propped on his desk.

I glanced at the ornate staff and a bubble of anger rose within me. It was an exact copy of what my father carried around with him; the three dragons sprouting from the tip, fangs dripping from open mouths. The thin lightning lazily curling around my fireball sparked wildly for an instant as my anger overrode my control for a second. I took a deep breath to calm myself down, but I couldn't stop the wildfire of rage from burning the edges of common sense. In my mind, I knew that a rogue mage assassinating the First Enchanter didn't spell good news for the Circle. With Orsino dead, chaos would ensue. The mages would have no one to lead them. Knight-Commander Meredith would take control, most likely call for the Right of Annulment which was like an extermination order for the entire Circle of Magi, and the reason for Flemeth pushing me into this time would be meaningless because inadvertently killing all the mages obviously didn't save them.

But, damn it, I really, really wanted to kill him.

Thankfully, for Orsino or me I didn't really know, I heard the clang of armor and heavy footsteps from down the hall.

"First Enchanter?" A voice called from behind the door after a polite knock. Orsino and I both froze, his eyes skittering to the potential rescue. The Templar continued. "You know that it is past curfew. Practicing magic at this late hour is forbidden by order of the Knight-Commander."

Orsino glanced warily from me, or rather the licking flames between my fingers, to the patrolling swordsman who was polite enough to wait to be invited in. Damn, the mana summoned to form my spells must have caught the attention of a passing Templar.

"First Enchanter? Ser?" The young Templar, from what I could tell from his voice, asked and I heard him jiggle the door-handle.

Time was running out. Acting quickly, I swung my hand behind me and pushed the fire from my hand with a quick jerk of my wrist. A slight bit of wind magic, courtesy of my green illuminated rune, directed the fireball to the handle and lock of the door. The metal melted almost instantly into unidentifiable slag and I heard the Templar yelp and jump back in surprise from the white-hot handle. That would buy me a precious few minutes until someone broke down the now permanently locked door.

I turned, smirking, from the Templar banging forcefully on the door to Orsino who had inched towards his staff while my back was turned. The lightning that still played amongst my fingers cracked centimeters from the First Enchanter's searching hand and he snapped it back to cradle his singed fingers. Oops, my aim was a little off.

Green eyes narrowed at me in confused frustration. "What do you want? You will get no coin if you hold me hostage, although, by the Maker the Knight-Commander would name you Champion of Kirkwall were you to get rid of the main source of her problems," the mage mused calmly.

Fire burned its hottest at its center: calm and non-moving. So when I crouched to the ground, my elbows braced on my inner thighs as if I hadn't a care in the world, my face wiped clean of all emotion, I had never been more angry in all my life. I could tell Orsino saw through my façade of peacefulness if his widened eyes told me anything.

"Make no mistake, Orsino. I will kill you." Orsino jerked back reflexively from the deadly promise in my emotionless tone.

"But why?" He asked desperately. "I don't even know who you are and you're a mage just like I am! Why would you want to kill me?"

"First Enchanter! Ser, is there someone in there with you! Are you in danger?" The Templar yelled. "Hurry! Help me break down this door!" More footsteps told me of approaching Templars and the door began to shake in its frame from the force exerted on it. The wood was thick though, it would hold through a few more hits.

"I am nothing like you," I snarled over the pounding the Templars were giving the ancient door. "I don't preach about the dangers of blood magic and then turn right around and shake the hands of demons."

"I have made no pact with demons!" Orsino instantly defended.

I shrugged casually. "Not the Fade kind," I admitted thinking of how similar some humans and demons were. "Not yet, but in the corner of your mind you think about it, don't you? That tiny, little voice that whispers seductive ideas of an easier life if you just gave in?" Orsino's mouth dropped open in shock.

"How? How-?"

"How do I know? I hear it all the time. No mage is completely removed from temptation, but some are stronger than others. And you, Orsino, are the weakest of them. You will give in. I know it."

And he would. Garrett's memories proved it.

"So you would murder me for something I might do? You are no better than the Templars," he accused angrily with a scowl.

I shook my head. "No. I'm going to kill you because you've hurt my family."

The pounding of the door increased and the wood creaked ominously.

Orsino was positively shaking. A dark glee rose inside of me to see that. I needed to hurry this up.

"You-your family? But I have done nothing!"

"You've started everything. Did you ever stop to think of why corruption runs so deep in Kirkwall? Why blood magic is used so casually among apprentice and enchanter alike?" I bombarded him with questions as I rapidly tried to pull him into a confession.

"I have never taught my students blood magic. Don't you dare accuse me of such blasphemy!" Orsino's chest heaved with anger instead of fear as he protested my accusation.

"But you support it. I know about Quentin and your correspondence with him." The First Enchanter froze as I caught him in my trap. "If I were to search the Gallows' Library would I find a certain amount of missing books? Perhaps checked out under your name?"

He said nothing, so I continued.

"I'm going to ask you one last time, Orsino. Where. Is. Quentin?"

"You're going to kill me no matter if I tell you anything or not."

I nodded. "True, but the difference is if you don't tell me where Quentin is I'm going to let everyone know you conspired with blood mages. Your name will be ruined, First Enchanter," I mocked his title.

"No," he gasped. "All my students-! They'll be considered blood mages no matter if they're innocent or not because…because of their association with me. The Grand Cleric will have no choice but to approve the Right of Annulment," Orsino slowly realized as all the consequences of his decisions came crashing down on top of him. He had doomed the Circle the moment he helped the blood mage with his research.

I didn't bother to respond to the mage's roiling thoughts that paralyzed him into stillness. He deserved no pity. Orsino opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to swallow or breathe past his guilt, but finally he spoke.

"Darktown," he whispered. "He moved to Darktown in an abandoned Coterie cache when he realized that his previous base was being watched. You'll find it where Deathroot grows."

With a mighty crash, the carved oak doors finally gave under the constant onslaught of a slew of Templars banging their armor-clad shoulders against the wooden surface.

"First Enchanter!" One of them cried when they saw the older elf sprawled motionless on the ground.

"There he is! Get him!"

I leapt from the open window; my arms outstretched with the wind screaming in my ears as I fell towards the ground. Golden light streamed upwards as I burst into my hawk shape and pulled up into a gentle glide before I clipped the parapets of the Gallows. I had to hurry. The sun had almost completely set and this form was only famous for its eyesight during the day.

And there we go...please don't hurt me. Next chapter comin' up! Don't forget to review!