Chapter 3: Ysabelle

Horvath entered the stylish townhouse cautiously, making sure his magical wards were intact. Registered as property of the late magician superstar Drake Stone, it was Horvath's favorite of the dozen or so safe houses he had set up. That was why he came here the least.

Placing his hat on the hat stand before hanging up his coat, Horvath sniffed the air. Though his tricks and traps had not been disturbed, he sensed something was wrong, something out of the ordinary.

Perhaps it was simply the museum incident plaguing him. He was far away, but still as tense as he'd been during the struggle. Sometimes it paid to have an apprentice to take out your anger on, he was beginning to truly see the appeal.

Take pleasure in small victories, Horvath reminded himself. Balthazar Blake was gone. Gone where, he couldn't confirm, but whenever the period it couldn't be far away enough. The Prime Merlinian had power, to be sure, even a bit of natural talent, but there was little possibility he could have tracked Horvath here and set a trap, not in so little time.

Unless it was Veronica…

Horvath successfully banished her face from his minds eye, but he still took the last of his kitchen knives from his suit coat, and held it ready in his right hand, as he moved into the house.

Horvath found nothing unexpected as he crept through the sitting room beyond the front hall.

Horvath pushed the door into the kitchen with his cane, letting the door swing open. He entered after a second's pause.

"Your health," Toasted the woman behind the table, raising her hand.

Horvath spun and threw the knife. It flew true.

Almost instantly, a sharp length of steel appeared at his neck. Its edge grazed his flesh. The message was clear; Horvath dropped his cane. It clattered against the tile. The blade retreated a centimeter, but did not waver. Horvath could tell its owner was standing right behind him, but he couldn't hear any breathing.

The woman looked down at handle protruding from her chest, and coughed once. She gently put her glass on the table. She seized the knife by the hilt with one hand, and slowly pulled it out. It came free with a sound like a steak knife cutting through rare meat.

The woman looked at the hole in her chest, which sealed itself instantly, the skin regenerating and shaping, leaving nothing but a pinkish bruise. That two faded quickly.

She twirled the knife in her hand, and stabbed it into the table so pointed up, the tip buried in the wood against the grain.

"Now that we've got that over with," said the woman, "Won't you have a seat? The wine is terrible, but the company should at least be palatable."

Horvath's mystery attacker allowed him to take a seat. The sorcerer looked back to see a slim figure in dark garb. The blade was replaced in a harness of the man's back.

"Give him back his little cane," said the woman, "It isn't like he'll be able to hurt me."

The swordsmen picked up the cane and twirled it in his hand before giving it to Horvath. What was it with these people and playing with weapons?

"You'll have to excuse him," the woman said. "I bound the spirit of a demon into the body of an oriental assassin centuries ago. I call him Fred. He's effective and obedient, but lacking in conversational skills. Had to sew his mouth up you see, couldn't have the poor devil howling out the counter-curse amid his profanities. Dear me, that was a lot of twine."

Horvath scrutinized the woman before him as she titled the wine bottle, filling another glass. She was definitely not Veronica. Veronica's hair was dark and straight, while this woman's was silvery-blonde and waving, capping around her shoulders. She looked about five years younger than Merlin's third apprentice, and where Veronica had more of a limber, athletic body type, this woman was shorter and fuller, enticingly so. It had been sometime since he'd been at all interested in a woman beyond Veronica for anything more than the pleasure of snapping her neck. It was a good feeling. It didn't hurt that she dressed all in black.

"Maxim Horvath," she handed him the glass. "I know so much about you. It's pleasing to finally meet you…officially."

"You have me at a disadvantage," Horvath sipped the wine. It was indeed dreadful. "I know nothing about you."

"You may call me Ysabelle," she said.

Horvath choked on his wine. "Ysabelle? The Ysabelle? Morganna's lost apprentice?"

"The same," she smiled. "See, you have heard of me."

"You're a myth. Merlin mentioned you once or twice, but I don't think even he was sure you existed. Surely he never met you."

"One of my regrets, Merlin was a great sorcerer," she cut him off before he could protest. "A great sorcerer, not necessarily a great man."

"You were trained in the arts by Morganna herself?"

"The same," Ysabelle took a long deliberate sip. The red wine looked bloody on her lips. "I now have the honor of being the sole apprentice she took before her death. We parted ways not long before Merlin and she began their little war."

"What happened?" she seemed to like hearing herself talk, and Horvath wanted to keep her happy, for the time being at least.

"I almost succeeded in killing her."

"I knew Morganna," Horvath pointed out, "I know she would have destroyed you without a second thought."

"Very true," said Ysabelle. "That's why I fled. Luckily for me, Merlin's bitch sealed Morganna in the Grimhold before she could track me down. She was imprisoned, but not vanquished. I was weak then and I still feared her.

"I also knew that Merlin's last loyal apprentice was hunting dark sorcerers, among other phenomena, and I wanted to stay out of his way. I waited. I lived, I loved, I learned. Most of all I grew more powerful."

"Power to be sure," said Horvath. "What you did with that knife. I've seen sorcerer's stop a throw like that before, but never take one full in the chest and heal without a scratch."

"I enjoy my talents," she said.

"An impressive tale," said Horvath, "And a reasonable explanation. But what brings you here now."

"You might have noticed that Morganna is dead," Ysabelle leaned foreward in her seat, more intensity and just a hint of madness about her. "My mentor, my friend, my rival, my enemy. She's left this world behind."

"I did notice," Horvath took another sip. "Do you intend to succeed where she failed?"

"To an extent," said Ysabelle. "I, for one, do not desire an army of the undead. One undead is just enough for me." She nodded at Fred, who remained entirely still. "Nevertheless, there is yet one opponent who now is any threat to me: the boy Prime Merlinian. I've found the means to dispose of him."

"Do tell," said Horvath.

"You failed to retrieve it just tonight."

"The hourglass," Horvath raised an eyebrow. "So it was what I believed it to be."

"All that and more," said Ysabelle. "With a tool like that there is nothing I cannot do once the boy is out of the way, and with a tool like that I can place him out of the way, permanently. And you're going to help me. Or serve me, if the word appeals"

"I was not informed."

"You need a strong woman in your life, Maxim," said Ysabelle. "Let's face it, without one you lose your purpose. You become boring. I'm here to change that."

"If I accept," Horvath swirled the wine in his glass, looking away from her, "Where would we start."

"You lost the hourglass?"

"Well…yes."

"The boy and his friends have the hourglass?"

"Yes." Horvath drained his glass. "That means we should get it back."

Ysabelle smiled sincerely. "Exactly my thoughts."

"Excellent."

"Excellent, mistress." She stressed.

"Don't push it," said Horvath.

She laughed. It was a good sound. "Maxim, I have a feeling you and I are going to get along just fine."