Rialyn was predictable in that he almost always did exactly what you didn't want him to. It was like a gift. A very, very annoying gift.

"Why must you annoy mateships? Especially when we have a job to do? You'll never be allowed into that apothecary again you know." Djuran's red eyes flashed with the same annoyance his voice held.

Faintly, they could hear sounds of shouting and booted feet, but the noise didn't seem to be getting any closer.

"I was bored! It's not like any of these places are going to tell you they sold the ingredients to poisons. It's a total waste of time."

"You were the one who insisted on coming along! 'Stay home' I said. 'You will be bored' I said. And yet, here we are. We can't even go home as there are still a few places left I need to check out." His low voice, was even lower as he tried to get his temper back under a semblance of control. His dark, almost grey-black skin blending into the shadows, leaving only the red eyes as a point of reference.

Dust fell from the ceiling, barely visible in a shaft of light from a boarded-up window at ground level. The stone walls and dirt floor were cool to the touch. And everywhere was a layer of dust. The cellar the Djinn had whisked them into to get out of sight of the angry dominant mates, looked as though it had been forgotten for years.

As he prowled the small room, waiting for pursuit to give up, he muttered under his breath. He would get Rialyn back for this, somehow, someway, when he was least expecting it.

The red-haired Fae tossed his blood red braids and sniffed. Then immediately started sneezing from the dust. "Fine, fine! I May have miscalculated. A little!"

He poked at one of the dusty objects on one of the shelves near the boarded up window. Skipping back quickly when it collapsed, forming a dust cloud that gradually settled. He continued to poke around at things, not finding anything of interest until he reached the next to last shelf. On one side, was what looked like a bit of broken wood. But it was round on one side, and thin. Teasing it out from where it was wedged, he blew lightly to get the dust off and tilted it towards the window.

It had been carved before it was broken. The design was faint, like nothing he had seen before. And even under the dust it felt oily and WRONG.

"Djuran!"

"What Now?"

"Tch! Never mind your griping. Come look at this, it feels more like your area than mine."

There was a sigh, and then the Djinn appeared beside him. Plucking the broken wood from his palm, he suddenly cursed. A short word in the Djinn tongue, and a small ball of witch-light appeared hovering over what Djuran now held. Rubbing a grey-black thumb across the broken disc to remove more of the dust, he tilted it this way and that. Before flipping it over to look at the back which was blank. It wasn't a clean break, jagged edges softened with time and dust, but it looked as though there had been a hole in the middle once. Perhaps to thread for a necklace?

The back side was smooth, no trace of ink or carving. It was thin, thinner than a coin, and light. But the slick, oily feel, and dark magic that called to his own, shouted without words that it was no forgotten trinket. Gesturing, he sent the witch-light into each shelf in turn, bobbing it up and down, back and forth. But nothing else of interest was discovered. Not even the other half of what he currently held. Finally, he made a grabbing gesture, snapping his hand closed on air, and the witch-light winked out.

"I will need to study this further, in the mean time, you will need to look into who owns this cellar." Lips quirking up at one side as Rialyn huffed in annoyance.

"You did get us into this mess. I could make you walk home if you would rather..."

"Djuran! Fine, FINE. I'll dig through the Hall of Records. It's unlikely whomever owns this place is still alive though. Given the looks of it."

Djuran didn't bother to answer, just gave a dark chuckle and then grabbed the Fae as he turned into smoke-form. Wafting through the boarded up window, out into the street, and then quickly into the air. The dark pillar of smoke moved quickly, sometimes against the wind, sometimes with it. Until they reached home. Re-solidifying, the Djinn ignored Rialyn's squawk as he realized he was still covered in dust. Unlike Djuran's now-pristine form.

"Really? You really had to carry all the dust with us, just to prove some kind of point? Djuran! Get back here!"

Black hair whipping around a corner was his only answer. Huffing, he stomped towards his rooms to take a shower and get clean clothes before he had to go to the Hall of Records for tedious research.

Djuran closed the doors to his workroom behind him, engaging the wards that would keep magic in, as well as the ones to keep it out. Placing the broken wood down on the stone table in the middle of the room, he moved to grab a pen and paper. Sketching quickly, he made notes on size, weight, what he could make out of the designs on the front, as well as the broken edges.

Once that was complete, he gently wiped the surface with a damp cloth. The wood darkened, but the oily feel remained. The design seemed to sink into the wood, until it was barely noticeable at all. He started with the gentlest, least intrusive spells. Probing, trying to figure out what the dark magic was supposed to do. To brighten the designs for better examination, to guesstimate age.

The wood glowed and flashed with each spell. Some seeming to sink into it, others sliding away like they had never been. With each one, the wood heated up a little more, until finally it flared up with black fire that reached up, up. Crackling and hissing until all that was left was an ugly black streak on the stone.

Djuran had called the strongest containment wards he had at the first sight of the black flames. He slowly lowered them and looked at the char that was left. He had not learned much of use. Only that the wood was maple, and one of the marks was for binding. But binding what?