III.
Another crack tore Isabel's eyes away from Kayleb and she let a cry escape her lips when she recognized who it was. Tripping over herself, she ran to her husband, but Kayleb grabbed her by the wrist, twisting it up sharply so that she cried out in pain and dropped her wand from her hand. It clambered to the ground and she was forced to slowly follow, from the strain on her wrist that Kayleb twisted, threatening to snap under his weight if she did not comply.
She looked to her husband, draped in the same robes he had left in, but he did not meet her gaze. He only stood, still as beast catching whiff of its prey, closer to the wall than to his wife. His face was covered by his hood and bent he bent it forward, casting a long shadow against his features.
"Finally!" Kayleb gleefully shouted, spinning around as though he were addressing a large crowd, "The man of the hour! The one we have all been so desperately anticipating."
Finding that her wrist had been released, Isabel began to crawl forward, on hands and knees, only to let out a great wail when Kayleb grabbed her long tendrils, pulling her head back.
"Marcus!" She called, reaching a hand out for her husband, "Help me!"
"He won't answer you. He can't." Kayleb taunted, releasing her hair and bending down to retrieve her wand from the floor. Waving his own, he pointed it toward Kayleb, who compliantly began moving toward them.
But something was not right about this man. He did not walk, but shuffled forward to where Thomas was crouched, his gait unsteady, as though on a broken ankle.
"The Imperius curse?" Isabel shouted acrimoniously, "YOU DARE TO USE AN UNFORGIVABLE CURSE ON MY HUSBAND?"
Another wail pierced through the high ceiling of the room. Kayleb had pulled her head back once more. "No, not the Imperius curse, sweet sister," he said, bending his head over her own, "Nothing so sanguine would befit the act of treason!"
"What have you done to him?" She moaned as her hands found her temples, pressing against them.
"My gift to you, sweet sister! From the Dark Lord himself! I am to be the one who ends this blatant disrespect! To give those who would besmerge our family name their just rewards!"
"What is this magic!" She screamed from the floor, hair freed from Kayleb's grasp, though she dared not try to run again. Thomas had begun crying once more, trapped between the wall and the looming figure of his father. "Come with me, please!" she called to him, "My husband, my love! He is dead, killed by a baby! We can go – we can start anew!"
"I have told you, on innumerable occasions, what would be the repercussions of defying the Dark Lord… Behold dear sister! Your loving husband, who chose a common whore over his blood oath!" he laughed, waving his wand around like a conducting baton, leading the figure towards the small child, as a maestro does its orchestra. "Finally useful! Finally a true puppet of the Dark Lord! You will see what happens to those who betray their oaths!"
"Marcus! Speak to me! What has he done to you!" Running to meet him, her hands found his chest, and then she pulled back, her hand pressed against her mouth, stifling a retching noise caused from the pungent smell her nose had just inhaled.
"Necromancy?" she croaked and feeling behind her, though finding nothing for support, collapsed to the floor.
"He thought he would desert his cause! Without retaliation! He was a fool," and with a twisted smile Kayleb continued, "and you are now his fool widow, but do not fear him just yet." He withdrew Isabel's wand from the pocket of his robes, examining it in the soft moonlight, "He is quite obedient – he won't attack unless… ordered to do so." The weight of his sneer pushed Isabel even further to the ground and then he knelt down in front of her, waving the piece of wood across her face. Slowly, he bent the wand, which accommodated for the pressure, at first, until the popping sound of Larch being pushed too far signaled the threshold with which it would comply and it snapped in two, splintering off at the middle to reveal a silver thread of unicorn hair.
Isabel barely notice, though, the impact of the two clattering halves lost on her tear stained face as they hit the floor.
"You will have your precious family," Kayleb assured, "And they will lie in wait at the bottom of great lake. And when the Dark Lord rises again, the world will know his true power. Your names shall be forgotten, but your bodies will stay, awaiting his return – and you will bend to his hand until time immemorial!"
Having heard enough, she scooped Thomas into her arms, charging out of the room and back down the long hallway.
"You cannot run from him!" Kayleb called through his laughter, "He will never stop!"
She heard a distant crack – the sound of Kayleb disapparating? – but did not pause to validate her assumption, instead she continued down the corridor, only coming to a halt when she had thrown the door to Thomas' room closed. She turned around, cupping the small boy's face in her hand, as if his touch would soothe her shaking body.
Standing on his bed, she felt along the small window that had begun to soak the room in the first light of the morning. It was sealed shut, useless to open without a wand. So she stepped down, nodding her head and then staring back at her son.
"One final game, Thomas. A game of concealment," her voice was calm when she kissed him on the forehead and her lips lingered for a long while, taking in his scent.
She led him to the side of the room, in front of the same small cupboard and, as quietly as she could, hid both her son and self behind a row of clothes. Trying to keep her voice down, she cooed to Thomas, "It's all right, love. Everything shall be all right." She pulled him under her chin as she sat against the back of the closet and desperately trying to keep her voice even, she asked, "Lumos… what does Lumos do?"
Only a thin stream of light, which came from a space beneath the door, spared them from complete darkness. Thomas sobbed under her throat and the reverberation was felt in her chest, which pounded as though a dozen hands were trying to beat it into her stomach.
The door burst open, and in a second of blinding light, Thomas let out a yelp, burrowing his face beneath Isabel's bosom. Unable to stop herself, she cried out as well. Marcus stood in front of them, emaciated under his filthy robes, arms tensed at his side and lips pulled down to show dirty teeth. He had no sense of recognition on his face, no compassion – only rancor.
And then the darkness was complete.