"Violet," greeted Satria with a smile. "How are you? It seems we see each other terribly infrequently, these days."

Violet rolled her eyes as she dismounted from her horse, a sleek mare with silver hair. She had just returned from a hunting expedition with Armen and several of the Knights, in celebration of her twelfth birthday. She had enjoyed herself, even if they did end up spending more time talking than actually hunting. "I drop by almost every week, you know. You're just never around."

"Alas," Satria said. "I would choose your company over that of the Court any day, but it seems that matters conspire to demand my attention. You remember Muriel, yes?"

Violet blinked at the non sequitur. "I believe so. The consort of Lady Elessandra, if I recall accurately."

"Correct, and far more pleasant company than her Lady ever was." Her sharp eyes took on a wistful look. "Oh, we had good times together…"

"Had?"

Satria sighed. "She, and her Lady, were murdered in their bed three nights ago while visiting Mab's Court. It's all in an uproar now, of course—they're actually pretending that it was an act of Summer."

"Oh," said Violet. She had only met Muriel once, but had found her quite enjoyable company. "You seem to doubt the official conclusion."

"Of course not. Summer agents, in the Court? Ridiculous." She idly caressed Violet's horse's mane as she spoke. "It is clearly a matter of internal Winter politics, but Mab's denial of events is intriguing. It would be simpler were she not such a fool, for I could be certain then that she was involved in the conspiracy. Unfortunately," she said with a grimace, "she could have simply been so inebriated at the time of learning of the murder that reason escaped her."

"You think it's a conspiracy, then? Not just an ambitious member of her court looking to advance?"

Satria shook her head. "Perhaps, if the murder had occurred in Elessandra's court. But in the high Court? No." She paused. "Besides, this is not the first murder, though it is the most high profile."

"Fae are being slain in the Court?" Violet asked, shocked. That would certainly explain Satria's frequent absences.

"Yes," she said softly. "It is a matter of some secrecy. You are the only one I have told."

"Not even Armen?"

"No. He can be trusted, but he need not be burdened with the knowledge." Her lips quirked. "He worries about me too much as it is."

"I assume you've taken measures to protect yourself," Violet said. It wasn't a question.

"As many as I can. Unfortunately, the situation is dire. The murders have been exclusively targeted toward fae who do not carry the Queen's favor, a group of which, as you know, I am a member. The perpetrators are ghosts in the wind; I have no concrete theories as to who may be responsible, so I must treat all with suspicion. Excepting you, thankfully."

Violet frowned. "That sounds like the Queen is cleaning house. But you said that you don't think she's directly responsible."

"No," Satria said. "Mab lacks the cunning to execute a plot of such complexity without letting something slip." She hesitated. "I believe that there is a possibility that the conspirators are actually working against her."

"Really? How would—ah, I see. If the Queen is associated with the murders of her political rivals, it would be easy to build support for a coup, wouldn't it?"

"Exactly," Satria said. She sighed. "But this matter can wait, for this should be a day of celebration. With each passing year, I am ever more thankful that your mother accepted my offer." She offered Violet her hand, and together they strolled along pearl-white streets. "I have a gift for you, of course, and we will feast tonight. But if I recall correctly, you mentioned when you last saw me that you would soon have something to show me?"

Violet grinned. "Oh yes, I do." She hummed thoughtfully. "But it would be best if we had a… subject for demonstration. I don't suppose we have any captive Summer fae, do we?"

Satria arched an eyebrow. "Oh? This is rather more interesting than I had expected. Fortunately, we happen to have a perfect subject. We caught him just last week, and he's already sung like a bird. Don't worry about keeping him alive."

The ground beneath the court was crisscrossed by countless tunnels, chambers, and structures, which fulfilled purposes as disparate as storage for essential resources to vast climate controlled caverns in which crops were grown. One of these underground structures were the dungeons. Violet would swing by each visit to permanently execute any captured fae, and the guards had come to know her quite well. They knelt to their Lady and greeted Violet.

"Will I finally get to see some real mortal magic, then?" Satria asked, sounding genuinely interested.

Violet twirled her wand in her hand. "Yes. I've finally managed some really good curses. Really, really good ones. They were pretty easy once I figured out the trick."

"Which is?"

"You have to mean them."

The captive fae was a disturbing sight, but Violet took him in impassively. He was chained to the wall, dressed in the rags of once fine garments. Blackened patches of flesh and peeled back flaps of skin spoke of the torture that had been inflicted on him. She looked curiously at a familiar pattern of frostbitten skin around his neck, as if he had been choked. Satria's handiwork, she noted. Her lips twitched at what Satria's reaction would be if Violet mentioned that her methods of torture were so predictable.

"He doesn't seem to have much to say anymore," Violet mused. Indeed, the fae glared at them with burning hatred but said nothing.

"That would be because he is missing his tongue." Satria tutted. "Those of Summer so rarely know their manners, and it was more trouble than it was worth to educate him."

"I see," said Violet. She grinned. "Watch this: Imperio!"

A white flash lit the stone cell, and Violet felt the peculiar yet satisfying sensation of casting the Imperius Curse on a sapient being. She had practiced on animals, of course, but it seemed that the experience was much more intense this way. She could feel weak flutters of resistance, but the Summer fae had been so comprehensively broken by torture that his will was unable to pose even a minor obstacle.

Stand, she instructed him. Satria watched with utter fascination.

"What do you say we have him demonstrate the price of impudence?" Violet drawled. Open your mouth.

The fae did as he was bid, revealing the stump of his tongue and bloody, shattered teeth.

Put out your eye.

There was a stronger resistance this time, but Violet crushed it. The fae slowly began to press a finger into his own eye, unflinching as it sank into the socket.

"Astounding," Satria breathed. "Such control. Can it be maintained over distance?"

"Yes. Apparently it was a real problem for the Ministry of Magic in the last Wizarding war."

"Incredible. What happens when you lift it?"

Violet smirked and lifted the curse. Immediately, the fae collapsed into a ball, clutching his ruined eye. "It would seem that he doesn't enjoy the experience," she said.

"Very, very good, Violet," Satria said. "I knew mortal magic was powerful, but this was unexpected. I'll have to think on the possible applications, for they are truly myriad."

Violet bounced on her feet, pleased with Satria's approval. "That's not the only one, either."

"Really? Very well, why not demonstrate another? I think our subject has recovered."

The captive moaned.

"All right," said Violet. She waited a moment, and a dark expression settled on her face. She stood utterly still, her eyes cold.

"Crucio!"

The captive's howls were loud enough to attract attention from the guards standing outside the room. One of them poked their head in, staring between Violet and the writhing Summer fae.

If the Imperius had felt satisfying, it had nothing on the Cruciatus. Violet had picked up some of the predilection for sadism common among the fae, but this was something else entirely. It was exhilarating, a fierce, cruel pleasure filling her from head to toe.

She had intended to hold the spell for only a few seconds, but as the minutes crept by, she showed no signs of stopping. Finally, Satria cleared her throat audibly, and Violet lifted the curse, flushed and panting heavily.

"Well," she said dryly. "It looks like you enjoyed that, didn't you?"

"Um, y-yeah. I guess so," said Violet, feeling rather embarrassed. "It didn't… do that… when I cast it on an animal, or I would have been expecting it."

"There is no need to apologize," Satria said, amused. "I only wish I were capable of casting it. The experience looked positively… ravishing." She caressed the last word in a way that sent a shiver up Violet's spine.

The Summer fae was quivering, insensate. The only sign of his thinly maintained sanity were the manic, terrified glances he sent between Violet and the Lady.

"If you have anything else to show me, you should probably hurry," said Satria. "I'm not sure how much longer he's going to last."

"Right," said Violet, getting her breathing under control. Pleasant tingles still sparked across her body, a mirror to her victim's continued convulsions. "There's one more."

Satria smiled and gestured for her to demonstrate.

This time, she did not hesitate. "Avada Kedavra!"

There was a great roar, like rushing wind, and the room was bathed in green. When it faded, the brutalized form of the Summer fae lay still. Dark magic lingered in their air, heady and intoxicating.

"What was that?" Satria exclaimed. "Oh, I have never before been so envious of mortals."

"That," Violet said, staring in wonder at the dead fae, "was the Killing Curse. Its function is self explanatory."

"Incredible. Death, pure and simple. Elegance above all else." Satria shook her head in wonder. "Oh, Violet. I can picture fields of corpses lying upon a bed of lilies, unmarred and never to rise again." She smiled widely, and embraced Violet, caressing her long hair.

Violet smiled against Satria's warm chest. It had taken her over a year of trying, but she had managed each of the Unforgivable Curses, and they were every bit as impressive as she had expected.

The rest of her birthday was deeply enjoyable. Aside from a magnificent feast, Satria presented to her her gift, a silver mirror set with emeralds that she had apparently enchanted herself. It was linked to a similar mirror in her own possession, and so strong was the enchantment that it would function even between the Wyld and Earth. Violet spent several more weeks in the court, though she couldn't shake a slight sense of worry for Satria, who was still absent more often than not.

~#~

"How's business, Jon?" Violet asked as she slid into a seat at the bar. The Old Oak looked strange during the day, with bright natural light streaming in through the windows. Jon Whitby looked up from some sort of ledger as she entered.

"Booming as always," he said, gesturing to the empty room. Violet smirked. "I wasn't sure you'd be coming back, this time. It's been, what, a month?"

"Can't get rid of me that easily. Or my gold."

"Yours is rather more plentiful than most. You looking to get your hands on any other unconventional items?" he asked rather hopefully.

"Not today, I'm afraid, though I wouldn't mind a bite to eat." She smirked. "I do hope you aren't having any fiscal trouble, what with your booming business."

Jon chuckled warmly. "Cecy won't be in for another two hours, and I don't think you want me cooking for you, but I think there's some leftover roast, if you're interested. It was quite good."

"Sounds good," said Violet. "Besides, this way I can help keep the doors open."

Jon disappeared into the kitchen for a few minutes and returned with a plate of food. It smelled good; Cecy was a much better cook than the scruffy man who she had replaced. "Come now, Valentina, you know as well as I that the pub isn't the real business." He winked. "Good thing, too, seeing as tonight's liable to be desolate as well." He paused, showing nearly no reaction, but Violet recognized it as the equivalent of the average person slamming their palm to their face.

She gave him a teasing smile. "Oh? And why might that be?"

He shrugged. "Just a hunch. Don't worry about it."

Violet pouted, fluttering her eyelashes. Jon, of course, simply smiled serenely. Delicately, gently, Violet reached out with the faintest touch of Legilimency.

He was happy to see her back in the pub. Despite his claims of detachment, he always worried when she vanished for weeks on end. There was something off about the girl, though he was in no position to cast judgment, considering his past.

Interesting, thought Violet, but not what I'm looking for. She nudged his thoughts, inserting the image of an empty bar.

It'll be a fun night. Ivan never fails to put on a good show, and—

Violet frowned as she was suddenly expelled from his mind. That he had noticed her subtle probe was quite impressive, and spoke to substantial experience with Occlumency, though he was likely out of practice considering he had not noticed her intrusion immediately.

Jon sighed. "Really, Valentina? I suppose I shouldn't be surprised."

She shrugged innocently. "I haven't the faintest idea what you mean. By the way, who's Ivan?"

He groaned. "There's no way you're going to drop this, is there?"

"Snowflake's chance in Summer, Jon."

"I really, really, shouldn't," he grumbled. "Even if you weren't, what, ten?"

"Twelve," she said. "I had a very pleasant birthday, too, thank you for asking. And I really think you should tell me. I have ways of making people talk, you know. Tried out a few new ones while I was gone, actually." She laughed, and it might have even been funny if she hadn't just demonstrated a skill with Legilimency that would make an Unspeakable envious.

"Fuck it," he muttered. "This doesn't get back to me, yeah?"

"Who do you take me for, Jon? You keep my secrets, and I'll keep yours."

He leaned over the bar. Her plate of food sat forgotten. "There's going to be an event, tonight. Not the kind of thing just anyone gets invited to, y'know? I'm lucky enough to be one of those few, so the pub'll be closed tonight. It's not something for you to worry about."

Violet tapped her fingers against the bar. When he failed to elaborate, she reached out with Legilimency again, snickering when it was immediately repelled.

"Oi, what'll it take to get you to keep out of my mind?" he hissed. "I was just gathering my thoughts! Look, it's just a chance for some old buddies to get together and maybe gamble a bit."

"All this secrecy for a game of cards?" Violet marveled. "One would almost think something else was going on."

"Not cards," said Jon. "Competition. Of the finest sort."

"Dueling?" Violet asked softly.

"No," he whispered reverently. "This isn't some formal affair where two pompous fools take turns casting spells at each other from an approved list so short that each has it memorized. Tonight, one contestant will walk off the stage. The other will be carried."

"And you weren't going to tell me about this?" Violet asked, incredulous. "That sounds amazing. I've been wanting to see some proper wizard's duels. Theory's one thing, but there's nothing like watching the real thing. Well, almost the real thing."

Jon shrugged. "It's not like you could go anyway. You're not on the admittance list, and I didn't want to disappoint you." He sighed at the look in her eye. "You're going to sneak in, aren't you?"

"Don't worry," Violet said with a wink. "You won't see me. Incidentally, if I didn't want to stumble upon an underground fighting ring tonight, which building should I make sure to avoid?"

"You're going to be the death of me, kid." But Jon was essentially broadcasting an address in his mind, such that Violet could hardly miss it. Fourth of Aberdon, on the West Side.

"Thanks!" she said brightly, grabbing her plate of food and setting off to her room. "See you there! You won't see me, but I'll see you."

Jon sighed, watching her go. "Just be careful, kid," he murmured too softly for her to hear.

~#~

Fourth of Aberdon, on the West Side was a squat stone building that a battered wooden sign that designated as an apothecary shop by day. Tonight, it was something far more interesting.

A tall, broad shouldered man stood by the door. He did a good job of looking inconspicuous, but Violet could tell by his posture and unspoken confidence that he was a cut above the average thug for hire. Luckily, his sharp gaze failed to detect her, wrapped as she was in the silky embrace of her invisibility cloak.

So far, about fifteen people had approached the door. Each had lowered their hood, exchanged a few words with the guard, then handed him a sack of coins and were, in turn, granted entrance. The question, of course, was how Violet would get in. She'd already checked the windows, and they were sealed tightly and heavily warded. She could break them, but not without being detected. No, the situation called for a subtler approach.

You'll do, she thought, eyes fixed on an old woman doddering along the street. She ghosted toward her, careful to avoid making a sound.

"Imperio!" she whispered as softly as she could. Her nonverbal magic was quickly improving, but the Unforgivables were notoriously difficult to cast silently, and she had to be certain that the spell would function. The curse landed, and she stifled a hiss at the ecstatic sensation of crushing the old witch's feeble resistance.

Demand entrance. Make a scene, she commanded the witch.

The Imperiused witch strode arrogantly up to the door, shouldering it open. The guard grabbed her shoulder, and Violet noticed the tip of his wand barely visible in his sleeve. The witch shouted vulgarities, drawing her own wand with a flourish. While the guard easily subdued her, Violet slipped through the cracked door. She grinned, breathing heavily. Damn, that was a useful curse.

The interior of the shop was filled with aisles of potions, herbs, and various other remedies. There was a faint herbal, dusty scent to the air. It was dimly lit, but a trail of floating blue lights clearly laid out a clear path. She followed them, eventually coming to a propped open trapdoor, which led to a set of wooden stairs. She could hear the muffled sound of boisterous exclamations and laughter coming from the base of the stairs.

She crept down, eventually finding herself in a basement far more expansive than could have possibly fit beneath the modest shop. She paused and closed her eyes, trying to isolate the subtle buzz of magic in the back of her mind. She eventually tentatively identified it as very well cast Extension Charm, which would explain the basement's impressive size.

She was in a small antechamber, with an open door leading to the cavernous expanse of the expanded basement. More sounds of merriment reached her, along with the scent of food and alcohol. A bookish man sat behind a desk in the antechamber, scrawling on parchment with quill and ink. Behind him, a large sheet of parchment was pinned to the wall.

House Odds (A 10% charge is reserved from all bets):

First event:

"Tooth and Claw" victory: 1 : 1.5

"Alabaster" victory: 1 : 1.5

No victor: 1 : 3

Fatal injury to either party: 1 : 3

Contest lasting under 3 minutes: 1 : 2

Contest lasting over 5 minutes: 1 : 3

Second event:

"Heavyhand" victory: 1 : 1

"Mooneye" victory: 1 : 3

No victor: 1 : 4

Contest lasting under 5 minutes: 1 : 4

Contest lasting over 15 minutes: 1 : 2

Main event:

Wallace "Deadeye" victory: 3 : 1

"Red" victory: 1 : 4

No victor: 1 : 10

Contest lasting under 3 minutes: 1 : 1

Contest lasting over 10 minutes: 1 : 2

Additional odds available on request.

ALL BETS ARRANGED BETWEEN INDIVIDUALS MUST GO THROUGH THE HOUSE!

Interesting, thought Violet, though she wondered why there was only an option to bet on lethal injury for the first fight. She slipped through the door to the main room, which was rapidly filling with people. She could recognize a few regulars from the Old Oak, though she didn't see Jon yet. Attendants dressed in black moved silently through the crowd, proffering food and drinks.

Most of the people had taken seats along padded benches set to face a large raised platform, which separated from the onlookers by the faint glimmer of protective magic. Violet took position in a corner of the room, though not before pilfering a glass of wine from an oblivious attendant.

About fifteen minutes later, the room was nearly full to capacity, with what she estimated as somewhere between fifty and seventy-five people. She noted Jon enter and take a seat near the stage. A minute or two later, a tall man with a scar running from cheek to chin stepped onto the stage. At the sight of him, the crowd broke into good-natured jibes. He chuckled and raised his hands, eventually silencing the room.

"Welcome back, ladies, gentlemen, and bloodthirsty hounds!" he said with a slight Eastern European accent, his voice carrying easily without need for an amplification charm. "It has been some time, has it not?" He gave a moment for the crowd to die down again as they erupted once more in shouts and boos. "I know, I know," he conceded. "Things have been rather tumultuous, but we're back in business now!"

The crowd cheered. The man grinned and spread his arms. "My name is Ivan, and I have some truly excellent entertainment planned for you. First, a no-holds-barred fight between two vicious beasts! The only restriction? A maximum of three hundred pounds. Other than that, anything goes!"

Violet quirked an eyebrow. That promised to be interesting and explained why they accepted a risk of death in the fight.

"After that," the man continued, "we'll have a clash between half-men, half-beasts—yes, werewolves!" He laughed warmly, and Violet realized he was genuinely looking forward to the bloody spectacle as much as any in the crowd. "Between you and me, I have my money on Heavyhand. And after that, we'll have the fight you're all waiting for. But there will be time enough for that later."

He bowed deeply to the crowd, then swept off the stage. A hushed silence fell over the crowd. Finally, there was a whisper, like words on the wind, and the curtains on each side of the stage blew open. A moment later, a monstrous creature entered from the left of the arena.

Violet was no expert in magical creatures of the mortal world, but she was utterly certain that whatever this was, it wasn't natural. It appeared to be a strange cross between a scorpion and a tarantula, with thick, coarse hair growing between glittering black armor plates. Long fangs, sharp claws and a prehensile tail culminating in a stinger presented an imposing picture. On top of that, drops of burning liquid dripped from the stinger, which splattered against the beast's armor without daunting it.

If the beast on the left was impressive, the being that now entered from the right side was downright disturbing, and Violet did not consider herself easily unsettled. It was bipedal, humanoid even, but its limbs were too long and strangely angular. Its arms ended in fingerless points, while its feet flared out into large, flat, pads. Its flesh resembled marble, white as bleached bone and clearly as hard. Yet, its limbs bent and moved with sinuous grace. In the place of a face, it had only a flat plane. A curious haze surrounded it, and Violet felt a foreign presence scratching at her mind. It felt like utterly uncontained hatred and malevolence toward all things.

What the fuck is that thing?

Forcefully expelling the presence, Violet's eyes narrowed as the fight began without warning. The scorpion hybrid scuttled forward, carapace scraping noisily against the stage. Alabaster, on the other hand, was completely silent.

Tooth and Claw, the hybrid, jutted its tail forward, and a stream of liquid flame washed over Alabaster. The white abomination didn't flinch, and its pearly flesh was undamaged. Violet watched, entranced, as the pointed tips of its hands split apart. From the openings, black tendrils spilled outward, dangling almost to the floor. Alabaster dashed forward and lashed at the hybrid with the tendrils. Where they struck, the armored carapace of the hybrid melted and hissed.

The hybrid retaliated with its heavy claws, but they clattered shut on air as Alabaster leapt upward, vaulting over Tooth and Claw. Its tendrils reached outward, lengthening and splitting apart again and again until hundreds of inky black threads surrounded the hybrid, sinking into the chinks in its armor.

Tooth and Claw let out a high pitched shrieking sound that could have only been in agony, and lashed out wildly, swinging its tail in a wide arc. The barbed stinger struck Alabaster's torso, finally ripping a gaping hole in its "skin." The crowd cheered, supporting the clear underdog, but fell silent at what happened next. Rather than blood, the same inky darkness spread from the wound, resolving itself into more tendrils, which sought out the hybrid. Darkness spread over the beast, obscuring it from view. Eventually, its screaming stopped.

Alabaster turned to face the crowd, its blackness receding and its hands sealing shut. A small gouge in its chest was the only sign of injury, and a moment later, the haze surrounding it intensified. When it faded, the wound was absent. The only remainder of its opponent was a hollowed out carapace. Not even a drop of blood remained.

The featureless face scanned the crowd. Violet swore it even lingered on her invisible form. Finally, it bowed, and she got the impression that it was somehow mocking the spectators. It stalked off the stage, returning whence it came.

There was a pregnant silence before the room erupted into deafening applause. Violet found herself wanting to join in. That white entity had been more than a little creepy, but it had been one hell of a show, and that was coming from someone who was only really interested in the wand duel.

Ivan returned to the stage, looking a little unsteady. Violet wondered whether he'd had an uncomfortably close brush with Alabaster. "Well, I hope you enjoyed that!" he said. "Don't go, for there's more to come soon. For now, place your bets and drink your fill. Before you know it, the next fight will be underway!"

The room dissolved into hushed conversation. Occasionally, someone would go to the antechamber, to place new bets or collect winnings. Violet noticed that Jon wasn't talking to anyone, so she crept behind him and tapped his shoulder.

He shouted an exclamation and whirled about, casting a jinx that she barely ducked in time. "You all right there, Whitby?" a brown haired man shouted. "Seen a ghost?"

"Hardly, Jenson. Just a little jumpy, I guess. That Alabaster was really something."

The man muttered his heartfelt agreement and clapped Jon on the back before heading off to the gambling antechamber.

"That had better not be you, Valentina," Jon hissed under his breath.

"I told you wouldn't see me," she whispered back.

"How the hell did you even get in? Is that a bloody invisibility cloak?" He sounded rather disgruntled. Maybe her little surprise had annoyed him more than she expected.

"Ask me no questions and I'll tell you no lies," she said. "If the first fight was like that, it bodes well for the later ones."

Jon shook his head slightly. "It's not normally like that. I've been to a few of these, and they've never had anything like that thing. I'm not convinced that it was a creature at all. Ivan must have really wanted to come back with a bang."

"Come back?"

"You heard him in the beginning, didn't you? It's been years since the last event. Not a word to anyone, and he drops off the face of the Earth. First thing we hear when he comes back is that he's got an event lined up." Jon shrugged. "But that's Ivan for you. All about the show with him."

Violet pursed her lips. "Interesting. You know anything about the competitors for the wizard's duel?"

"Well, I know Wallace. You've met him too, he comes around the Old Oak sometimes. Red's completely new to me, but that's no surprise. I've been out of the game for a while now, so to speak. Hopefully they'll be able to put up a good fight. Wallace is damn good."

"You said that the duels are pretty unrestricted earlier. Exactly how interesting are we talking?"

"Hard to say, exactly," said Jon. "There aren't exactly any hard and fast rules, yeah? But if you kill your opponent you won't be invited back, and you might want to leave the country for good measure. Other than that, it's up to Ivan's discretion."

Violet's eyes flicked back to the stage, where Ivan had emerged again, grinning once more. It seemed he had shaken whatever mood the eerie Alabaster had put him in. Two scarred, dangerous looking figures followed him, presumably the werewolves. One of them, clearly Heavyhand, was a shirtless, massively build man with coarse, unkempt hair and rippling muscles. The other werewolf was younger and wiry, but there was a feral glint in his eyes that suggested an unusually deep affinity with the moon.

The fight soon began, and while the crowd cheered and winced appreciatively, it couldn't compare to the shocking spectacle that had preceded it. The unnatural strength of the werewolves was impressive, each striking the other with blows that would shatter the bones of a typical human, but as they were fighting entirely unarmed, it wasn't especially interesting to Violet.

Eventually, Heavyhand got the better of his opponent, using his bulk to pin him to the floor, where the repeatedly slammed the smaller head's man against the ground. Eventually, with the side of his head caked in blood, he went limp, and Heavyhand rose to his feet, exulting in the crowd's roar of approval. Ivan lead him off, levitating the unconscious form of Mooneye with him.

There was a slight tension in the crowd leading up to the third and final fight. While the first two had been quality entertainment, the real interest—and the real money—was in the third fight, a duel between wizards. Eventually, Ivan returned to the stage for a third time.

"Well, well, I do hope you have enjoyed yourselves, dignified members of the audience," he began. "And that you haven't wagered more than you can afford!" he added with a wink. "Now, I have for you the moment I know you've been waiting for. Allow me to welcome back the notorious Wallace 'Deadeye!'"

A wizard dressed in rich purple robes strode in through the left curtain. His gray hair gave him a dignified appearance, but the grace of his movements assured Violet that he was still well within his prime. "It's good to be back, Ivan," he said softly.

"Indeed it is, my friend," said Ivan exuberantly. "And opposing the old dog will be a newcomer! Lovely and fierce, I give you: 'Red!'"

And lovely she was, though her face was partially obscured by an ornate mask, as red as her robes. While Wallace had exuded an aura of cheerful anticipation at the coming duel, her expression was as cold as any Winter fae. She strode into position and stood, ramrod straight, eyes fixed intently on her opponent. He met her gaze and pulled his wand from his robes.

Ivan spread his arms widely, gesturing to the two duelists. "Well, it certainly seems that our contestants are eager. Let's not keep them waiting, shall we?" The crowd roared in approval, and he stepped into a runic circle, which shimmered with the same protections separating the crowd from the combatants. He raised his wand into the air and, when the crowd's fervor reached its peak, issued a loud bang from its tip. "Begin!"

Red acted first, tracing an arc with the tip of her wand and sending a burst of bright purple sparks towards Wallace, who raised a matte black shield. The sparks swelled, then crashed against the shield in a succession of dazzling flashes, punctuated by the ringing of a field of bells.

Wallace seemed undaunted by the barrage and retaliated with a flick and twist that set the wood stage around Red twisting and rolling like a stormy sea. The floor rose up in a great wave, reaching toward the witch, but she dispelled his magic, freezing the floor in place, twisted and churned. Taking advantage of the terrain, she took cover behind the frozen wave while she hurled more spells.

Violet watched, transfixed. The way wizards fought was distinctly different than the fae. Mortal magic was much more flexible and esoteric, which reduced the need to rely on supplementary weapons. What's more, while fae magic worked solely off intent and force of will, mortal magic provided numerous opportunities to eke out an advantage. A subtle twist of the wand that smoothly transitioned into an arc, a well timed spoken incantation—It was as though the two duelists were conducting symphonies of their own design, and Violet found herself eager to experience this new form of violence.

For as graceful as it might be, violence it still was. After dodging a bright pink curse, Wallace stabbed his wand in a short, vicious motion, and there was a series of flashes of white around Red, who, seemingly unaware how to counter the spell, conjured a shield around herself, weathering the storm. When the flashes finally ceased, blood ran from numerous gashes in her exposed skin, the same vibrant shade as her robe.

She counterattacked, still showing no emotion, but Violet recognized far more of her spells, now. She had abandoned the elegant esoteric magics from earlier in favor of crushing volleys of dark magic. Violet recognized an Organ Rupturer, an Eyebite curse, and several others from Curses of Hatred and Fyre.

Wallace defended stoically, shielding the spells he could neither dispel nor deflect. But, inevitably, a spell got through, a dull gray streak that struck him in the ribs. He grunted in pain, doubling over, but his wand did not miss a single graceful movement, and Violet realized that amidst his defense, he had prepared an attack.

The distorted floor, already saturated in his magic from earlier, came alive once more, breaking apart into beasts of polished wood. Demented creatures with far too mouths full of gnashing teeth to evolve naturally set upon Red, who shrieked in shock as a reptilian creature sank its claws into her back.

She whirled about, wild streams of black and red flames issuing from her wand. Where they struck, the wooden creatures burnt in seconds, but there were ever more to come, rising up from the floor of the stage. Soon, Red was fully obscured by a storm of flame, apparent only by the occasional curse she still hurled in Wallace's direction.

Wallace, in turn, held his wand in front of him, deep in concentration. Finally, he jerked it to the side, and Violet gasped as the witch's magic turned against her, the protective dome of fire collapsing in on her. There was a tortured scream as the flames born of dark magic burned Red, and Violet was uncomfortably reminded of her encounters with Summer flame.

Once it was clear that she would not rise again, Wallace began to dispel the flames, though he seemed to have some difficulty with it, the fire flaring back up repeatedly. Finally, they were extinguished, revealing the moaning witch. Her red robes were blackened, and her skin was barely distinguishable from them. She would live, of that Violet was sure given the effectiveness of magical healing, but the dark magic of the flames would ensure a long, painful recovery and a lifetime of disfiguring scars.

Wallace, holding his injured side, gave his opponent one last concerned look as black robed attendants levitated her away. For all that he had clearly enjoyed the fight, Violet didn't think he took pride in maiming Red. Still, she had been the one to summon the flames, so she doubted Wallace felt too bad about his victory.

The audience applauded enthusiastically, Violet even awkwardly joining in from under the invisibility cloak. She was already committing the duel to memory for later analysis. With her skill in Occlumency, it was possibly to, albeit with some difficulty, store short memories for perfect recall. She was sure she could learn a great deal from the fight and even more if she could find a way to watch more of them. It really was the next best thing to getting into wizards duels herself, and unless she wanted to start attacking passersby in the street, it was the best she was going to get for now.

As she slipped back out into the night, amid the throng of the departing audience, she tapped Jon on the back once more. He jumped again, but didn't curse her this time. "You again?" he growled.

"Yeah," she said. "Just wanted to thank you for 'inviting' me. Let me know the next time you hear about one of these things, will you?"

He snorted. "Sure. Just stay out of my mind, okay?"

Violet snickered. "It's not my fault you can't keep your mind clear, is it? Just be glad you weren't thinking of anything embarrassing."

The throng separated them, then, and Violet let it carry her along dim streets. Eventually finding a desolate alley, she allowed Winter to suffuse through her, the cool magic carrying her back to her flat with only a small scattering of snowflakes to mark her disappearance.