They land hard.

At least, Susan lands hard, the breath jarred from her body as she collides with pavement. No—concrete. She could have cracked her kneecaps, and it'll be a while before her shoulder is up to carrying the weight she's used to while catering, but even through the throbbing in her head, she knows this isn't the pain of broken bone. Even as she stays there and slowly remembers how to breathe, she knows she's going to be lucky and get away with scrapes and bruises.

Her hands are empty, so she hopes she won't have need of the mask she no longer has, but she can see the satchel taunting her from where it has landed mere feet away. She's not sure which of its cargo is more precious to her: the crystal skull or the files that hold answers she won't otherwise get.

The Huntsmaster, who'd been prepared for the impact he'd known was coming, is swift enough to snatch the satchel up and away from her before she can gather her wits.

She doesn't know how long it takes her to recover; if seconds are hours, minutes may as well be eons. By the time Susan sits back, one hand brushing against her pocket as she does so, the Huntsmaster has managed to tie the broken satchel to him with his belt and mostly hidden it beneath his cape, and his Huntstaff is again pointed in her direction. This time, at least, she's in no danger of impaling herself if she makes the wrong move; it's a foot and a half from her face.

Wiggle room.

Barely.

She's not sure if it's enough.

It's certainly not enough for her to dare getting to her feet, not yet, but she risks glancing around to get her bearings.

They're on top of the Pantheon.

Haley isn't here, thankfully, but the Huntsmaster clearly assumes she will be, and Susan isn't sure that he's wrong.

Rose had said she'd given Haley a bag of skulls. They have one with them, and Marty—

Depending on how successful the Huntsclan's hunt for the skulls had been, Marty might very well have the last one.

She hopes he'll have the sense to stay away if he does, but—

But he might not.

Not if Haley, sure Rose has given her the remaining skulls, is indeed making her way here.

Not if Haley, well aware of Marty's own successful hunt, has asked him to meet her.

Not if Haley, protected as best she can be by Marty's own magic, walks into what has now become the Huntsmaster's trap.

Susan had intended to come here with all the skulls, but she'd hoped to do so once Haley was out of harm's way, perhaps fleeing with her father and brother and ally to Patchouli's until Lao Shi could make the proper arrangements. The bag of skulls would make their way here somehow—be it through her contacts, Fu's, or the Huntsmaster's own agents—and if that number tallied to twelve, she'd find a way to send a message to Marty, even if that message came at a cost she'd never otherwise consider.

Even if the Huntsmaster or one of his messengers were too skilled and too lucky to fall to her in a fight, she'd— She'd have done what she had to. She still would, if it came to it. To protect her family.

Marty could make that final wish himself.

He might find better words for it than she could.

"What did you hope to achieve?" asks the Huntsmaster. From this angle, his eyes almost seem to glow as they catch the light of the city below.

"I want what any mother wants," Susan answers quietly, holding his gaze as he looks down on her. "My family, safe and whole."

"And you sought to tear apart my family in the process?"

Her hands are already fists, but Susan clenches her jaw against the words that want to erupt at everything the Huntsmaster implies. Instead, she steadies herself as she rises to her feet—slowly, the Huntstaff tracking each movement. She squares her shoulders and lifts her chin, but it feels like a bluff, a paper-thin mask through which the Huntsmaster can surely already see. "You claim the title of master." The retort is ice. "You do not truly think of them as family."

She can't see his smirk, the cruel curl of his lips, but she's sure of his expression all the same.

"Everyone born with the Mark of the Huntsclan is part of my family. At this branch, I am its head."

"And you believe it is better to be feared than to be loved."

It's not a question.

He doesn't take it as one.

She barks out a laugh into the silence. It's sharp, unfamiliar even to her own ears, but she doesn't think it betrays her terror any more than her voice has. This man has hunted her family and her friends, has kept her son from her and taught him lies and hatred until he doubted that anyone could possibly love him simply for who he is, and would destroy her entire world for his cruel beliefs. "Your definition of family must be a mockery. I'm glad my son knows he is not part of it, regardless of what he was raised to believe."

"No one who bears the Mark of the Huntsclan leaves us until their death."

"So I've heard." It doesn't bear wondering how many were slaughtered for their defiance. "You don't like to give options to any except those in their first year of initiation. You want the freedom to weed out any who won't fall in line without it being so noticeable while presenting the illusion of impossibility to anyone else. But for all that many in your ranks have fled families no better than the one they joined with you, for all that those who've survived and chosen to stay are treated no differently than those with a dragon birthmark, there is a difference." She lifts her chin. "Just because you don't present them with the choice of being bound, that doesn't mean that choice doesn't exist. They can choose to cut ties with you as readily as any initiate. As any who once accepted your mark can, should they see you for what you are and no longer wish to be part of it."

"Pretty words for someone who lost both her children to a cause she cannot understand."

"They won't stay bound to you."

"No? Not even out of concern for their mother's safety?"

The threat hangs in the air between them.

Susan knows the Huntsmaster would have no qualms about carrying out that threat. She wouldn't even be particularly surprised to learn that he's done it before. The trouble is that she doesn't know how her children will react when they hear it. She wants to think neither would stand for it and that neither would truly give in whatever they pretended for her sake, but she hasn't any idea what balance between recklessness and planning might ultimately be struck.

If Susan plays her cards right, she won't have to find out, but she only has one card she can play that might help right now. "You'd rather dangle me as bait for your trap than learn what else I know about the magical world?"

The Huntsmaster doesn't blink an eye at the admission. He doesn't react at all, as far as she can tell. No tensing, no swift lunge accompanied with another threat that might give her a chance to snatch back that satchel….

He hadn't simply suspected she knew about the magical world beyond the Aztec Skulls; he'd already known she did. Their conversation would be very different if he knew her family's secret, but if Jake is right about the Huntsclan watching the families—

There are so many things he could know about her already, even if he miraculously doesn't know the truth about Haley or anyone else.

"As long as you're breathing, you'd be effective enough for that purpose. Your condition will ultimately depend upon your choices."

Choices. As if there is a choice. She doubts there's much difference between the Huntsclan torturing someone for information or torturing them for more information, once they've a taste of what they can uncover. Even if she wanted to sing about her secrets, nothing she ever said would be enough.

Well.

They might give her the illusion that it would be, that tantalizing possibility of a freedom that would never come, at least not if they could prevent it.

Susan pointedly turns her head to look at the gargoyles guarding the rooftop's edge, though she doesn't turn her back to see those behind her. When she meets the Huntsmaster's gaze again, all she says is, "As long as I'm breathing."

She expects some repercussion for the threat of taking away that bargaining chip from him—she wouldn't have been at all surprised if he accused her of bluffing—but though she can see his grip on his Huntstaff initially tighten, she sees him loose a breath and stand down.

He doesn't put the weapon away, but he lets his arm drop so that the tips of the smaller blades at its base barely graze the rooftop beside him instead of levelling either of its blades at her, and she's almost more ill at ease for the show of nonchalance.

"How do you think you walk away from this?" he asks. "Does it involve besting me in a fight? Tricking me, whether our combat is physical or verbal? Waiting for your friends to arrive? For your daughter to arrive?"

She doesn't answer. She doesn't know the answer, but she'd hardly give it to him if she did.

He leans forward slightly. "Do you believe your daughter has found the remaining Aztec Skulls? That you'll be able to use their power against me?"

If she's honest with herself, that is part of her answer, but it isn't enough on its own.

Even with the slight weight of the glass clutched in her hand, it isn't enough. They aren't enough. They're merely two pieces of an incomplete plan.

The Huntsmaster straightens again. "If 98 had given me the final skull earlier tonight, we wouldn't be having this conversation, as I doubt you have been so bold as to act now without it."

Susan bares her teeth at him. "Don't refer to my daughter by a mere number. She is not one of yours." Her anger is genuine enough, for all that she seeks it to be a distraction from the skulls. If Haley truly does receive the final one from Marty and then comes here….

"Do you admit that 99 is?"

"I stand by what I said before. My son is no longer one of yours, and the name he chooses will not be decided by you."

"But it will be by you?"

"No," she says firmly, but there's too much satisfaction in the Huntsmaster's eyes for her to ignore the dread trickling down her spine and freezing her insides.

He knows.

He knows that Jake's name is his own.

She doesn't know what he can do with that information, nor what she can do with it, but—

"No," he agrees. "I suppose not. Because he doesn't need to choose his name, does he? Not unless he wishes to tear away the only tie he has to you."

It's not his only tie.

Or, at least, it wasn't.

But the one who'd granted him such a gift wouldn't have known that.

"The compromised agent was dealt with accordingly," he says, correctly guessing her thoughts. "That discovery provided apt incentive to watch over the affected agents."

The affected children, he means.

Jake isn't the only one.

If she could see the files, she'd know if Rose is so lucky.

"We learned such interesting things."

He doesn't know about Jake. He doesn't know about Haley. He doesn't know about her father. He can't. He's trying to bait her into giving it all away.

She fights to keep her expression neutral. "Oh?"

He lets out a huff of amusement at the invitation in her words. "For now, let's just say that these recent truths have been most illuminating. I know more than I've told the others."

A lie? Maybe. Maybe not. She wouldn't be surprised to have confirmation that he keeps secrets from the other elders.

That still doesn't mean whatever he's uncovered is the most important secret they hold.

"What is it worth to you to know more?"

Susan blinks. "I beg your pardon?"

"You think you'll walk away from this without consequence. It's written on your face, in your posture. You think you'll win. But is it really winning if you don't gain anything to use later?"

"I don't understand," she says, but she does. She might.

He knows her connection to the magical world goes so much deeper than the skulls.

"You may believe you won't be my guest for the foreseeable future, but this will not be our last conversation either way."

He'll seek her out.

Jake is so certain that the Huntsclan will never stop looking for him, that he'll never be able to run far enough to leave them behind, that renouncing them won't do a speck of good even though it will. She had been determined to stay by his side to prove him wrong, had only separated from him when necessity had demanded it, and now—

If she's back by his side now and it's not because they're thrown into some cell deep within the Huntsclan, it might very well be because they're running—together—and leaving the others to sort out this mess without them.

No.

She cannot allow the Huntsclan to continue their pursuit of her children, and she won't allow them to hunt her.

At least, she won't if she can escape this trap—or hold out long enough for help to arrive.

"We might as well enjoy our time in each other's company."

"I'm sure I'd enjoy my time here far better if you weren't my company."

The response wins her a chuckle. "Then let us play a game until the others arrive. A question for a question. Honest answers only."

"What guarantee of honesty could I expect from you?" She can't help but scoff at his words. The proposal itself is ridiculous. A mask for some trap she hasn't yet spotted, more likely than not, but she can hardly evade a trap she can't see. If she can goad him into telling her more, maybe she'll be able to find it. "Your word means nothing to me."

He pats the satchel with his free hand. "But our records mean something to you or you wouldn't have taken these."

The cold in her chest turns to ice.

It's an effort to breathe.

"One page per question," he continues, "unless you care to ask a question of your own and trust my word. If you answer honestly, I will give it to you. If you try to mislead me, I'll burn it—as I'll burn it all if you don't wish to partake in this little game of ours."

"I doubt my word means anything to you, either." It's an effort to speak, and she doesn't sound as calm as she'd like.

She's not sure she sounds calm at all.

"Which is why I'll give you a choice: a truth serum or an oath of honesty."

She swallows. She hardly wants him to insist she take a serum, but she's missing something, and she's not sure what it is. "An oath would be little better than my word." The admission itself might be a risk, but she doesn't think so. He must already know the truth of those words, even if he doesn't feel inclined to believe everything else she's said.

"A blood oath."

Jake hadn't known about those, despite his upbringing. Blood oaths and blood pacts are little different, after all, and he probably feels his pact with her had been more oath than anything else. But if those raised in the Huntsclan weren't aware of them, what else does the Huntsmaster know that he hasn't cared to share? Is this knowledge new to him, recently discovered or recently rediscovered, or something that's been a closely guarded secret for years? Surely he's not guessing. Surely she's not that transparent.

Susan keeps her gaze on the Huntsmaster and presses her fisted hands to her thighs in an effort to hide their trembling. She's not sure it works. "Only magical creatures can be bound by those."

"Yes, but that won't be a problem for you, will it, Susan Long?"

There's too much certainty in his voice and manner for her to suspect that of being a guess, but— But it could still be a lie. A ploy. He might not know, or he might not have known, if she hasn't already given herself away.

But if he does know she isn't human, will he know she won't be truly bound or will he assume she'll speak as if she were compelled? Is this a test on its own? How many questions will he spend testing her honesty? How many answers can she afford to lose forever if he catches her in a lie? How many more can she give up if she's not clever enough with her responses, even when telling partial truths? How much can she afford to lie, whether or not she's truly bound to the honesty of her words?

How long will he give her before he forces a truth serum down her throat anyway?

Susan closes her eyes, trying to think, trying to breathe, but when she opens them, all she says is, "Lay out the terms."