Chapter: 24
Darren stared dubiously over Tim's shoulder at Dick as he slowly meandered over to where the two sat on either side of the chessboard in the library, simultaneously moving his bishop diagonally three spaces without taking his eyes off his cousin. Tim frowned at the move, clearly irritated that the fork tactic with his knight was disrupted. Though he seemed equally puzzled by the strategic play. Darren had to bite his lip from the smirk that threatened to show, he preferred seeing his friend squirm at their apparent extended—to Tim who expected an easy win—chess game,
"So," Dick started as he finally reached them, staring pleasantly down at the two boys, raking his gaze briefly over the chess pieces. Neither one of them glanced up at him, "When I dropped you off early at the manor today, I did not expect to get a call from Bruce about a bonfire in the backyard? Care to explain?"
"Oh, I burned a painting," Darren replied, tapping his foot impatiently—his leg jouncing up and down lightly at the movement, waiting for Tim to make a move, "It should be out by now, the snow certainly helped"
"Oh God, please tell me it wasn't one of Dami's,"
"Nope, it was mine," Dick looked surprised at that,
"When did you…? Why did you do that…?!" Dick seemed uncertain as to which aspect of that fact to be upset or concerned about, settling on the latter statement it seemed. Darren merely shrugged an answer, to which Dick looked to Tim for one instead, "Do I want to know?"
"Probably not," was Tim's neutral response which earned an eye roll from Dick.
Darren didn't know how long he'd been in the art room working on the painting before the classroom filled up with students and Layla broke the haunting spell of his hazy daydream, the painting was certainly near being completed but that didn't matter to Darren. He didn't want it. He didn't want to see it. It was a constant reminder of how he failed his friend as well as himself…it symbolized the start of an end or the end of a beginning? Darren couldn't formulate the feeling the painting invoked, but it wasn't pleasant, and he didn't want it on display for others to see. With no other need for it, or desire to keep it. Darren found some matches, a damp area of ground in the backyard and some lighter fluid. The painting smelled horrible as it burned, but it also for some reason, felt cathartic and made the day seem more bearable. Darren had no regret,
"Sooo, who's winning?" Dick asked, crossing his arms, and rocking back and forth on his heels, seeming to actively decide not to pursue any further answers regarding the destruction of the painting. He instead focused on the chess match unfolding before him,
"At this rate…Darren is," Tim answered, disgruntled and irritated, glaring at the board, roughly moving a piece across two squares, as a sacrifice, distraction or deliberate move Darren couldn't quite tell,
"I wouldn't count yourself out yet," Darren stated lightly, moving his one remaining knight, mindful of his queen standing ready in the corner. Tim's scowl moved from the board to him, Darren merely grinned placatingly, though perhaps it just seemed like a smirk given Tim's eye roll,
"I didn't think you knew how to play chess," Dick mused, not rudely, just curiously,
"Tim's been teaching me, and playing with me," Darren stated, nonchalantly.
In truth, Darren was a formidable chess player—there hadn't been many games other than chess and backgammon in the Nest, and one got very good very quickly in a place with nothing remotely technological—the real issue had been finding time for playing chess that was when he got very crafty while in Harbor House and the Compound,
"Oohhh," Dick lulled, a hand coming to his chin, a knowing gleam in his dark blue eyes, "This is a Poker Game Maneuver,"
"A what?" Tim questioned incredulously, his attention straying from the board. It was Darren's turn to glare at his cousin,
"Did you bet on something?"
"Shut up, Dick," Darren hissed, meaning more than just his cousin's name,
"Oh Darren," Dick crowed, messing up Darren's hair playfully, "Oh little Timbers, my sweet summer child," he then ruffled Tim's head with his other hand as well,
"What are you going on about?" Tim demanded, his stare flickering from Dick to Darren suspiciously as he ducked out from under Dick's hand, swiping his own to straighten out his hair,
"Dick," Darren warned, also lightly smacking his cousin's hand away,
"It's this thing Darren does, he likes to pretend he sucks at games when in truth he's actually pretty good at them. Swindled Bruce out of like six hundred dollars on poker night once,"
"Bruce let him play poker?"
"He'd had a bit more wine that night than usual," Darren admitted,
"It was after a gala," Dick inserted rather unhelpfully, "his 'Brucie' was at like an eleven that night,"
"Where was I?" Tim questioned, "How could I not have known about this?"
"Sick," Dick and Darren answered in unison,
"Is this seriously a thing?" Tim asked incredulously, "Did you really set up this elaborate scheme of pretending to be bad at chess just to swindle me out of a bet?"
"I don't know what Dick is going on about," Darren insisted, "Now let's get going, don't let him distract you—," trying to turn the focus back to the chess game
"What did you bet on?" Dick asked,
"Ignore him, he's messing with you,"
"I really don't know who to believe right now," Tim looked disconcerted, glancing from cousin to cousin,
"What did you bet on?" Dick tried again,
"It hardly matters," Darren stated rolling his eyes heavenwards,
"Math homework,"
"Oooh Darren, you played the long game—in reality and in chess," Dick crowed, "If I wasn't your guardian who valued your education, I might've been super proud,"
"You both basically have the same face, I can't read you. I can't tell who's messing with me…either of you could!" Tim hissed, flustered,
"Wait, what do you get out of this Tim?" Dick wondered, brow scrunching in confusion, "You don't need anyone to do your math homework,"
"He was going to do the inventory of the cave for the week,"
"Hmm, honestly that kind of benefits you more, not gonna lie,"
"And why would I take Bruce's money? I'm a teenage millionaire," Darren couldn't help but add on,
"Billionaire, that's how you know he's lying; he got the amount wrong,"
"Well, there's a reason he picked math homework," Tim sighed,
"He's messing with you, he's your brother it's what they do," Darren insisted,
"He's not wrong that's exactly what you do,"
"Well there's an easy way to resolve this," Dick stated pleasantly. He leaned over Darren's shoulder and tapped each corresponding piece with his finger, knight, rook, queen, one after the other, "Checkmate in one, two, and…three," Tim stared open-mouthed at the board before looking over at Darren,
"How dare you," Darren could hear the humor under the tone of betrayal and couldn't help but grin,
"You taught me so well!" Darren tried to redirect, but knew the jig was up, and instead flipped the chessboard sending the pieces flying in all directions,
"Okay, that was not necessary,"
"Now no one wins the bet," Darren declared,
"That's not how that works!" Tim snapped, unable to keep the grin from his face and the laughter under his breath,
"I think you owe Timmy here Dare,"
"Not on my life. We never actually finished the game!"
"Because you threw it across the room!" Tim exclaimed, miffed. Still Darren couldn't help but grin mischievously,
"I'm surprised the Nest had chess," Dick mused, bending over to pick up the black queen piece,
"They had only old games, strategy games…I mean we were assassins in training, but we were still children and they still wanted us to think,"
"The opponents must've been tough too, given they had centuries of practice," Tim questioned, almost cautiously,
"The Talons didn't play…though I did play William on occasion. It was weirdly the only time he seemed normal,"
"Did you win?" Dick asked, his voice small, strained. The shift in the mood, in the air around the three boys, almost electric,
"Once," was all Darren said,
"Then where the hell did you learn poker?" Tim questioned, clearly wanting to divert attention,
"That was Calvin actually, he had a weakness for gambling at times and he traded in chocolate…so I had to get good at that one," that earned a chuckle from both Dick and Tim,
"Well, as fun as ruining Darren's chess maneuver was," Dick started, the newly dubbed 'Chess Maneuver' eliciting a groan from Darren as he leaned back in his chair, hands to his face shaking his head in dismay that his well-crafted plan had been foiled, "I need to look over some casework for Bruce. Dare are you feeling up to patrol?"
Darren stilled in his dramatic and sarcastic misery and considered the statement. The change in the mood brought to light less pleasant things in need of clarity…things Darren had pushed back. Delayed out of fear of what he might find or learn. Things related to the potentially deteriorating blackmail. Things related to Charles…the sway he said he had over Darren's life and the very real threat Darren had impulsively handed him. All this related to his father. To their last meeting. Risks growing more and more out of Darren's control…or was this perceived notion of a threat, a loosening of his reins on the Court, all in his paranoid mind. Strengthened by a refusal to let go. To trust the security, he established for himself. Where were the real threats? Darren might be able see the future…but not far enough that it could matter,
"I'll meet up with everyone later…I need to check up on something myself,"
"What exactly?" Dick asked, "Will you need backup?" While the reason for keeping Darren protected while on patrol had ebbed in its necessity and urgency…the concern of the Court breaking their word was still on the back of everyone's mind,
"No, it's Court blackmail related. I can handle it myself," Tim let out a grunt, as if remembering something,
"Speaking of the Court, I just remembered there's something I wanted to try with the further encrypted documents on the flash drive. I should get on that, the program might need to run throughout patrol,"
"Guess I'll be doing that math homework now," Darren muttered, glumly flicking over the white knight splayed on its side across the checkered board with a finger. Watching as Dick and Tim hurried down to the Bat Cave.
No math homework was completed by the time Darren walked soundlessly through the halls of Belle Reve. He'd been too engrossed in figuring out how to call Slade out on his lie…or at least on the potential of his lie. Darren was operating off the information given by a little girl. She could be extremely wrong, lying, or misremembering the event in its entirety as it was. However, the night of his mother's murder and his kidnapping by the Court still tore through his mind eye viciously clear. A memory that terrifying stayed clear in one's mind. With a wince at the thought, the recollection no matter how brief, Darren continued down the well-remembered path, weaving through the halls, invisible to the guards and security cameras.
Darren remembered how many times he said he wouldn't come back. How many times he warned his father it would be the last time he saw him…and yet here he was, once more whispering through these halls to see Slade. For answers, information…things just out of his reach. And how many times had Darren left, feeling more uncertain than when he'd entered?
Slade said he didn't know anyone by the name of Charles Chamberlain. Then how is it the little girl remembered seeing Darren's eyes, Slade's eye, the only eye anyone could see as belonging to the one who injured Charles' leg? He bemoaned the fact that he didn't think to ask the child if the person wore an eye patch, he'd been too stunned by her answer to interrogate her properly. Darren hadn't questioned it, Slade's answer. The possibility of him knowing anything about the third Crowne child's descendants was slim. There was a chance that Darren had merely asked the wrong question. Slade was often picky like that, with his answers if he felt Darren hadn't phrased his question correctly or worked hard enough to form a conclusion that Slade could confirm or deny. Perhaps he should have asked whether he knew a Charles Chamberlain instead, maybe that was how the man introduced himself...with his alias. Maybe that would have warranted a response, Darren thought bitterly to himself.
Darren's thoughts turned stormy as he turned a corner, only to stumble and wince his hand slipping against the concrete walling of the prison as his vision flickered. The view of the dark hallways disappeared, the scene of his own side profile, split by the metal bars of a cell, from a distance skittered across his sight. Darren bit back a sharp gasp as he righted himself, his head snapping to the cell across from him to the small window high on the back wall, glass and bars covering it. He couldn't see anyone, no movement, no shadows. Not even when he strained his eyes to see farther, reaching his limit even as a Talon. Darren didn't understand it. Didn't know why his precognitive ability was going haywire…why it alluded his control. He didn't know how to tame it. The headaches were getting worse, each movement into the future a blast of rippling agony through his skull. It had been mild at first, as the weeks passed, but at the first month's mark they'd grown in frequency and throbbing discomfort.
The sensation of eyes on him, of being followed didn't cease. Not even as Darren resolutely decided to continue his way to his intended target. Long, slow low breaths were his only means to ease the cracking ache in his head. This phantom shadow dogging his every move came no closer nor farther at every glimpse Darren had of their view, of the danger they posed. They weren't impatient. They were steadfast and certain…and Darren didn't know why. A part of him longed to ask his father what he thought of his silent stalker, another part didn't want to give Slade another piece to use against him. Darren knew he should tell the Bats…but he didn't want them to think he was losing it, they already thought that in most instances. And he wasn't sure this was a person…it could be a dog or a mouse, or even a bird. Though those wouldn't necessarily pose a threat great enough to warrant activating his precognition. Even so, the glimpses were so short, insignificant. If it weren't for the splitting headache Darren wouldn't think of them as anymore than an annoying inconvenience.
Darren's measured steady pace dragged out to a snail's crawl as he neared Slade's cell. His breathing hitched at the rising crescendo of his aching temples. Darren didn't want Slade to see him like this, to call him out on his lack of diligence…the reluctance he held at trying to master this precognitive ability…or worse show concern if the source of the headache was revealed. It was dumb, he knew that. It was stupid to hide this fact from everyone else not just his father. His brothers had warned him of the risk, the varying experiences each of Darren's siblings had when their abilities veered out of their control. But Darren was a Talon. He had his strength and speed, his enhanced senses. He had the Court of Owls breathing down his neck even with the controls he put in place to keep them at bay and himself from their deadpool. Darren couldn't afford any weaknesses to show. Which is why he pulled himself upright as he stepped into the dim moonlight hovering just outside his father's cell,
"Slade?" Darren hissed, working to keep any strain from his tone,
"Huh…and what do you need this time?" Came his father's drawling voice. He stayed shadowed by the darkness of his cell, though his remaining blue-grey eye still glittered through the barred window. Darren couldn't tell if the tone was one of mocking or one of irritation. And didn't know what to make of it if it was the latter. Could Slade be bored of Darren's visits? Losing the appeal of having his youngest son by his side? Darren didn't know how to feel if that was the case…and with a startling realization, Darren understood that he liked having that backdoor open. He liked the option to disappear being at his fingertips. If things went bad, became worse and irreparable in Gotham—or with the Bats or his siblings—at least Darren had his father. What would it mean for Darren if had no one? Where would he go then?
"You lied," Darren monotoned, shaking away such troubling and improbable thoughts,
"You'll have to be more specific…you're not the only one I speak to here in this prison." Darren gritted his teeth, resisting the urge to roll his eyes,
"You said you didn't know a Charles Crowne," Darren bit out, "I've received information from a source that you do,"
"We'll that's interesting," to his credit, Slade did sound surprised, amused even, "Who was this source…? It better be a good one," there was a sting in Slade's tone, irritation at misinformation. Or anger at getting caught? For a moment Darren floundered. His mind jerking to the kid on the balcony…the ridiculousness of trusting something like this coming from someone so young. Unsuspecting. Uninformed. Unaware. But this was Slade. Could he already know who told Darren he was the man that injured Charles' leg? Or did his father really not know Charles…and if so why did that child think he did,
"That source is for me to consider, not you,"
"Not when they're warping my son's perception of me,"
"I don't need other people for that," Darren couldn't help but retort. Slade let out a chuckle, Darren could see him shaking his head amusement crossing his features,
"Of anything, believe I know nothing of this insignificant man," Slade sounded uninterested, bored. Darren couldn't help the flare of fury that sizzled to the surface. At Slade's disinterest, his blasé attitude toward a man that has caused great stress and fear in Darren's life,
"He's not insignificant," Darren hissed, "He knows who I am, what I am…the other Bats…you, that you're my father, he's—,"
"—a threat to the new life you know and love," Slade murmured, realization dawning in his gaze,
"And what would that disturbance do…what would it push me to…? You," Darren struggled to keep his voice down, his anger getting the better of him, "That's what you've always wanted, isn't it? My support and protection gone, the only person capable of providing me with either…you?!"
"Your conclusion might be correct in part but there's something else you haven't considered…how? How could I have orchestrated this scheme you've concocted—when I am trapped in this prison cell?!"
"You always said you could get out whenever you wanted, that you were staying here for my benefit,"
"Well then, it seems you've come full circle. How would involving myself with a man who knows every detail of your life, and is seemingly willing to use it against you, act towards your benefit? What would that accomplish? How would that get you to see my side of things?"
"You could've left and returned without batting an eye…you could've hired someone like Wintergreen or even my goddamned brothers, to seek him out. You might be here now but you and I both know that's a temporary arrangement," Darren sounded desperate, he could hear it in the echo of his voice, as it rattled in the halls of Bell Reve, as he resisted the urge to clutch the bars and pulling himself close…as if he were the one caged,
"My contacts on the outside aside, consider this, I've been in here months and he's only worked up the courage to face you now? Would I really put my faith in a sniveling coward like that if I truly wanted to force you to my open arms like that? Consider also the fact that if I am truly remaining here for you and despite my overall desire for you to be by my side instead of the Bats', why would he still be alive with that kind of knowledge? Information that is a threat to you is also a threat to me." Darren scowled at that,
"You really don't know him…a Charles Crowne or a Charles Chamberlain?" This time Darren truly listened to his father's heart and breathing, no interference from his suspicion and anger,
"Not at all," Slade stated, the picture of perfect calm. Without another word Darren spun on his heel, needing out of these gray and black concrete walls, needing away from the twisting, winding, path of these conversations with his father—,
"Perhaps take this questioning up with your brothers…or even your sister?" Darren gritted his teeth, his ears perking at the pointed underlying tone, refraining from barking back unsavory comments about Slade's choice of parenting, at his role in the misery that was his and his siblings' lives.
Still, the barb stuck deeper than Darren cared to admit. Worse even than realizing one of his own siblings might be working against him.
"Have I mentioned how amazing it is that you can just teleport from one side of the Atlantic to the other," Stephanie gushed, as she glanced around Baudelaire Castle. Livia couldn't help but grin,
"Well it helps that there's no longer a curse to worry about. No threat of death equals limitless vacations!" Livia answered, grinning over her shoulder as they made their way down the expansive stone halls.
It was a relief to have a friend with her, it's been a while since she'd set foot in the castle. She'd been hesitant about going to the castle at all after the Merging Ritual. Her minimal connection to Klarion had been an issue during her first visit, where the house had nearly killed her and Darren. Visiting again when Livia was the new Embodiment of Chaos...? There was a chance that even after accessing and resetting the Hearthstone at the core of the house, it wouldn't recognize Livia and attack once again. Thankfully the castle seemed to remain remarkably still, its provisions remaining friendly and not the decrepit hostile hovel of stone ruins it initially was to Darren and Livia. At most the Hearthstone recognized Livia for what mattered, that she was a Baudelaire,
"Thank you for coming with me," Livia added as they turned another corner,
"Are you kidding? I wouldn't miss it for the world. You'd think after mansions and beach houses, private planes, and private island getaways I'd be tired and jaded with all this rich people stuff…but in all honesty, at least to me, it never gets old. And not to mention no one I've known ever owned a castle before!" Stephanie did a little gleeful twirl as they continued, her golden hair glittering in the illuminating light. Livia still couldn't tell whether the lights were candle, oil, or electric, but they shone brightly and didn't cast long creepy shadows so she wasn't complaining,
"I wouldn't say I'm rich,"
"You have a castle, there's bound to be a secret safe in here, filled with centuries-old gold, imagine the interest!"
"Well…I guess technically there is," Livia mused, thinking of the glittering jewels and trinkets stored away within the secret chamber that held the journal she'd originally thought was her father's…but it turned out to actually be Klarion's journal or at least his Merging Spell. Altered by her father to give her a fighting chance at hosting the demon, "But I don't actually know if anything is cursed or not so I don't think I'll be pawning off anything of value anytime soon,"
"Sounds like the perfect business opportunity to me. Sell cursed items to be used on thine enemies. Perfect way to make actual cash. It would be like magical money laundering!"
"Well glad to see where your priorities lie," Livia mused, "But we're not here for a potentially illicit business venture or tour or a giant castle rager—,"
"—at least not yet!" Stephanie crowed,
"We're here for research," Livia announced, ignoring her friend's insert, flinging open the double doors to the massive library that dominated Baudelaire Castle's southern wing,
"Now that's a library," Stephanie whistled. Books stood in shelves stacked from floor to ceiling, elaborate artfully arched windows dotted between the bookshelves on one side, showing the darkening sky and surrounding forest covered in snow and leafless, but thick enough that it seemed forebodingly vast. A long stone table ran down the length of the wing between the two walls of bookshelves, flanked by a scattering of lounging chairs and tables every two shelves or so. No ladders rolled along the bookcases, as no one needed them with magic glittering in the air and at the fingertips of every owner since the castle's creation. Even now books drifted lazily through the air, as if pulled by invisible hands, reordered, or placed on the table,
"And we have a magical helping hand too," Livia said, smiling at her friend's awe, "Alicio!"
"At your service Mistress Baudela—er—Livia," the ghostly remnant crowed, appearing out of thin air in front of her, correcting himself with a bashful grimace,
"Oh my god you have your very own Obi-Wan Kenobi!" Stephanie cried, looking ready to jump up and down giddily,
"I know right!" Livia nearly squealed as she turned to face her best friend, unable to evade her friend's excitable energy. Feeling her own love and excitement for this place burst through her.
Why hadn't she come back to this place sooner? It was her family safehouse…well safe castle. It protected them from whatever they were fleeing at the time. War, famine, plague, witch hunts, demons. Her father had walked through these doors, down these halls. He'd seen this magnificent place. It wasn't a home…not how the Baudelaires over the centuries had used it…but perhaps it could be, or it might be. One day. The curse was broken. Livia could live freely now. Not fearing being near others who would suffer because of her curse…only her demons. Livia frowned as the thought of Klarion stored away in the recesses of her mind came back into focus. Thoughts of building a home in her family's castle would have to wait…right now they needed answers, not just regarding Klarion's possible threat to her autonomy, but also for the untethered spell burned into her shoulder.
At the thought of her untamed wound, Livia felt a twinge of pain spiking through her shoulder blade and down her back and held back a wince. It wasn't that the wound had grown—it remained perched just underneath where the Acromion met the humerus bone an ugly red burn twisted into the shape of a foreign, ancient, runic language, only that it seemed to have set in deeper. There wasn't much that Livia knew about untethered spells. What happened when one was physically imbedded into a person and if left incomplete what occurred. What does this growing radiating pain mean for Livia. For her magic. For the future, she fought so hard for, died, and came back for? Was everything at risk once more? Was there a way to seal this spell without incurring what it was intended to do?
They were still waiting on answers from Constantine and Zatanna. Livia didn't want to wait, nor did she want to rely on others to help fix a problem she was facing. Not when that had already been used against her once. Not when it meant she owed them. Perhaps Zatanna might be fair, but Constantine was as unreadable as he was unreliable. She couldn't know what he wanted with her or what he wanted with Darren's blood. Darren might not care about giving his blood to help her push Constantine along in his unknown solution. But he didn't understand the gravity of what that implied.
Hair, spit, nails, blood…it was a genetic and magical footprint. An untrained magic-user that left everything around would soon find themselves the unwilling slave of a much more skilled, and evil, spellcaster. It was a connection to you, for both magical and non-magical beings. One that could be exploited. Spells, curses and hexes leveled against you by a spare strand of hair. Love spells perfected from afar with an eyelash, you wouldn't even know the difference. The connection to anything magicians left behind was severed, rendered useless. That wasn't what Constantine wanted, or at least he didn't share what his intentions were. Which meant he didn't know to what extent Livia understood about this deeper side of magic and didn't care to explain it when he brought his initial demand to her. He was banking on her ignorance. She didn't know what he wanted from Darren's blood and she didn't know if severing the connection would render the properties of an Anchor that would be found there useless. Livia had no certain way to protect Darren if Constantine decided to collect once he discovered how to complete the untethered spell.
The thought was sobering, and dampened Livia's light mood. But that was why she was there. They needed a leg up, and the Baudelaire Castle's library was as good a start as any,
"What is it you require?" Alicio asked earnestly, always ready to serve. As in life, so in death,
"We need whatever you have on untethered spells," Livia stated,
"Your request is our command," Alicio said sagely, gesturing as books started floating down to the grand table,
"Our?" Stephanie questioned, eyeing the books as they set themselves down,
"Just go with it,"
"Why the sudden interest?" Alicio questioned innocently enough, but Livia still grimaced. The memory of why she was even here sending a twist to her heart and a shudder down her spine,
"Let's just say I've gotten myself into a bind and I need to fix it," Alicio thankfully got the hint and kept quiet, his curiosity silenced for the moment,
"Hmm, this is quite a lot of books," Stephanie mused, "We might need to call for backup,"
"Well you might be getting your castle rager after all," Livia stated with a grin, "just not the one you imagined!"
They snagged Tim and Damian from Wayne Manor to help with research. The latter of the two comparing the architecture and grandness of Baudelaire Castle to the fortresses of the League of Assassins, which Livia wasn't sure how to feel about. They'd been at it for a while now and Livia needed a break before her eyes turned to goo and drip out of their sockets. She'd pulled out her phone for a few minutes before exiting the library and heading to the bathroom; Livia would resume her search with a fresh mind and face.
While there was a decent amount of literature to go through at the Castle, there still wasn't enough information on how to fix an untethered spells. Only not to create one. The dangers of an untethered spells. Make sure the spell is closed, used a closed-circuit spell only, why untethered spells are dangerous, how to protect yourself from an untethered spell—that would've been useful in hindsight. So far there was no book on what to do if a spell is broken or how to make an unknown spell whole. Perhaps they needed to refine their search phrase. Alicio and the invisible helpers could only do so much on such a broad topic. Who is to say that there even was a magical tome in the Castle that would even come close to what Livia had branded onto her body? Where else could she go…who else could she trust to fix this problem? Or would she have to live with this unhealing brand and this pain forever.
With a sigh Livia bent over the sink, splashing some cool water on her face, and ignoring the twinging ache down her shoulder at the sudden movement,
"Not quite copy and paste, is it?" a voice spoke, a familiar voice. Livia let out a muffled yelp, sputtering from the water as she jerked upright whipping her head from side to side, trying to find the source. Her gaze settled on the mirror in front of her, to the image of Lèa's Baudelaire gold-green eyes staring back at her. Livia felt her body go rigid, out of fear or anger she didn't know,
"Are you kidding me?" Livia hissed, "I got enough of this from Klarion, now you?"
"Don't flatter yourself, I wouldn't be here if I didn't think I could benefit,"
"Benefit…benefit from what?" Livia shook herself, "You know what, no. Why are you here…how are you here. Get out, go away!"
"No," Lèa stated simply, "And I was buried here, you idiot. My Pavilion may be gone, my gravesite is not,"
"Right, of course you were," Livia ground out, rubbing at the space between her eyes with the flat of her three middle fingers, she could feel a headache coming on, "Remind me to remove you,"
"That's not how that works,"
"Perhaps but at least it would piss you off,"
"Not many would dare anger the dead,"
"What do you want. I won't ask again,"
"It's not a matter of what I want, it's what you need," a sly, self-important grin spread just visible under the mourning black veil Lèa often wore when she appeared. Her form altered, from a mother in mourning dress to a skeletal hag; the latter vision more common now that the core of her strength in the afterlife was destroyed…Livia's father most likely with it. The reminder of her father's unknown status on the otherside hardened her resolve,
"I need nothing from you, nor would I want whatever you had to offer,"
"Even if it frees you from your pain?" Livia gritted her teeth,
"And what do you know of my pain," The witch had manipulated Livia's discovery of Klarion's journal, along with countless other Baudelaires over time…what if she manufactured the Siphoners discovery of her too?
"I know enough, as I said, not quite copy and paste…is it?" Livia scowled at the witch in the mirror. Unsure of how to respond, irritated that she somehow knew of Livia's predicament,
"How do you even know what copy and paste even is?" Was the only biting remark Livia could come up with,
"I've had literally nothing else to do for the last 100 years other than keep up with the modernization of this world," was the flat unamused response, "I could easily help you, no more pain, no debts to be owed—,"
"—Except for yours," Livia snapped, "Besides your last attempt at 'helping me', got me killed!"
"Oh get over that already, clearly it didn't take,"
"No, no one gets over being murdered! Certainly not the ones who somehow survive the attempt,"
"So you're more willing to suffer than you are to put your lot in with me…that's a little prejudiced don't you think?"
"Not when I know what it would cost," Livia was barely resisting the urge to pace in front of the silver oval mirror, wringing out her hands as she fidgeted. Wanting an end to the painful shoulder but not wanting the solution to come from the ghost of the woman who tried to have her killed,
"A little magic…a little power. It's hardly payment,"
"What do you even want it for? Move on! You don't have your pavilion anymore. There are no souls of Baudelaires past for you to torment and steal magic from. Your sons are dead, they have been for over a century. There's nothing for you here," Léa's expression hardened, turning darker as the flicker of a skeletal figure cut across the glass. Something that would once jar Livia, now it was merely a reminder of what Léa was: dead.
Léa was nothing, and yet she still had influence over the physical world…or at least so she claimed. Livia wondered if she would ever escape the woman or if she'd be there waiting on the otherside for Livia when her time came—if her time came. Darren's suggestion still flickered in her head, over and over from time to time. An easy out. An escape from pain and the threat of death that had weighed on her shoulders constantly since discovering her powers and the curse upon her family.
"Power vacuum," Livia jerked back to the conversation, surprised by the sudden words,
"What?"
"You asked what do I even want this power for? A power. Vacuum."
"A power vacuum of what?" Livia asked, almost amused as she crossed her arms over her chest,
"There's a demon in your soul fighting for control, and a spell broken on your skin…each are festering away. When one consumes the other…the natural order will be unbalanced. There will be a power vacuum, and I will be there to assume control," the room grew colder as the witch spoke, the silence stretching as Livia processed the words…the threat…the level of danger each coinciding factor her current condition presented,
"And what you think I'm just going to give you power because you were so honest with me?" Livia's voice sounded sharp in her ears, pitchy and uncertain,
"Perhaps not…but there are other spells, other witches and spellcasters, and well…pavilions can be rebuilt can't they?" Léa sounded almost coy, a small grin slipping over her features as if she knew her words had struck hard, "The thing is…I don't necessarily need you; but you might really need me. Be honored I even considered you instead of leaving you to rot ignorant of the threat against you,"
"You can't know that—," Léa let out a stringy laugh,
"As you mentioned, I've been around for centuries, I certainly know enough; who do you think stocked this library?"
"You're just trying to trick me!"
"Perhaps, or perhaps not. Either way, the fact remains…owe me this once; or face your deterioration, your own destruction, alone." With a furious scream Livia threw her fist into the glass mirror, Léa's sneering face flickering from its surface as the last of her deranged laughter echoed off the walls.
With a shuddering breath, Livia pulled her bloodied hand wincing at the tinkling pieces of glass that tumbled down into the sink. She silently healed her hand and hurried out into the hall, returning to her friends—unaware of what transpired—and buried her nose in another book.
Livia's mind, though, was far from silent, as Léa's haunting words clamored through her head.
Festering.
A/N: Hope you guys liked this chapter! I'm on time this time! WooHoo!
The first part was really just for funsies before we got to the serious stuff. I kind of liked the idea of Darren pretending to be bad at something to get what he wants. A small manipulation, a small thing that people underestimate him on. It's definitely something he'd only get away with once...at least for Tim. Bruce and poker on the other hand, perhaps not. Or maybe Bruce just let's him think he gets away with it huh? Haha.
With Slade, definitely wanted to follow up on Charles. He's been quiet now but Darren is starting to doubt those around him. Especially those out of his sight and who might not have his best interests at heart despite what they may say. And this visit doesn't do much more than further make him question his more criminal side of the family. He knows he shouldn't trust Slade, but there are so few people who know such secrets-and to Darren Charles could not have made those discoveries on his own-and there was an eye witness, albeit a very young impressionable eye witness. His plans to clarify the Charles situation just went sideways in an uncomfortable and upsetting away for Darren.
Finally with Livia I needed a follow-up on Léa, what she's been doing and what she wants. We know she wants her power back and Livia has refused to do it from the seance chapter. But will Livia become desperate as Klarion tries to fight his way free and the untethered spell weakens and pains her? It's not a good situation to be on and Livia can feel the pressure even if she is adamant on not helping her killer.
Happy Thanksgiving for those who celebrate and as always PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW! Would love to know people are still loving this story :)