Her cordial, if a bit dismissive, demeanor has all but evaporated. Her expression is nearly a hissing snarl and I'm stunned as to why. It was such a violent change from her prior bemused expression that I'm nearly left with whiplash at the change.
“I-I told you I was going to grab it from my pocket,” I say. “It was stabbed into my tire and I need to know whose it is.”
She studies me and looks down at the knife, then back up at me.
“We have no desire to be a part of your games. You will not waste our time.” She turns to walk away.
“Wait!” I call after her. She stops and turns, eyeing me suspiciously. “I just need some help, please!.”
“No,” she says, “Leave here.”
“I can’t, I need this. I could give you–uh,” I grasp at different payments that I think might change her mind, “I could give you something. Something from me, my hair?” She raises a skeptical eyebrow, “My blood?” I cringe at my words. Why the hell did I say that? I wouldn't give that. Chock that one up to panic, If I don't get this, I don't know who else to ask. If she was in any way corrupt, she could use my hair to control me to do terrible things. With demon blood though, she could do so much more. I begin to wonder if this whole situation is worth it, but my mouth continues running. “Not blood, but hair? You could use it to bind any of my abilities I have and I would be next to powerless. Please, I need your help.” It's hard to negotiate when one person has all the power, but right now it's necessary. People don't trust demons, or demonspawn. It's not a stereotype–Demons who venture into this plane have to be powerful to make it through and generally do so to wreak havoc on the human population. Through cunning or by propagating. Even half-demons, tempered as we are by our human blood, have a tendency toward destruction. I have to show her now that I can be trusted.
“That is a bold wager, demon. Are you sure you would take the risk?” She looks deeply into my eyes, but I don't look directly into hers. I have always been told never to look into a wizard's eyes. I try to swallow, but my mouth is suddenly very dry, so I kinda just make a choking sound. I feel a pressure in my head as her gaze intensifies. But then Anna flashes into my mind. Pale, sweaty and unsure of what is happening to her. If this guy is still in my town or decides to stay here, that will happen to many more helpless people.
“Yes,” I say and the pressure dissipates. Her slight smile returns again.
“Very well, Mikael. I believe you can be trusted now. But you should know that blood magic is a dangerous school. Those who work Hematomancy often fall to darker arts. I will not require anything from you but your word. You must make an Oath on your power that you will honor our neutrality and armistice inside the guild house.”
Oh, man. I probably should've started with that. A simple Oath that would render me powerless inside. Although if I did, she may not have been so ready to accept my offer.
“By my blood and by my power, I, Mikael Balthazar, swear to uphold neutrality until our business is done . . . and I return to my vehicle.” She raises an eyebrow at my add-on. I make it a point to C.M.A. (cover my ass, if that wasn't clear) when dealing with magic.
“Interesting,” she says, “As do I, Olvira Duchesne,” I wasn’t expecting a last name like 'Do-cane' given her looks, “agree to your terms and swear that no harm will come to you by our hand until our business is done and you have returned to your vehicle.” I can feel the Oath bind us together. Now, if I do anything against what I said, and I mean anything, it will double back to me and affect no one else. If anything were to happen to me, it would turn on her instead, and I would not be harmed.
“Follow me.” She turns toward the doors, pulls out a handkerchief, and hovers her hand over the blade stuck in the ground. It slides out of the grass, and the hilt places itself in the cloth in her palm.
On the way up to the doors, she is making odd gestures and speaking in a hushed tone. She is unweaving spells and breaking down some of the wards on the building. Mostly the ones on the gigantic sigil carved wooden doors that are opening at our approach. I can't help but get chills. It’s really cool to witness real magic. When we enter, I hear a slight popping sound and look around. I look back to where we just came in. I can see the outside, but it doesn't feel like it's real anymore. It's like an afterimage. The doors close behind us, and the magic barriers close like a curtain again to cover it. The inside of the building is like nothing I have ever seen. I haven't ever needed the wizards to do anything for me, so this is a first. If it weren’t for the fact that someone sent an incubus after me, I would feel like a giddy kid going to an arcade for the first time. The grand hall of the entrance is a thing of beauty. There are statues and elaborate stonework everywhere. Each statue has a metal plate with the name of who it depicts engraved on it, along with some of their greatest deeds. I don't get a chance to read them, because Olvira is marching through quickly. I think the Archwizards live here, so this is all something she’s seen for perhaps hundreds of years.
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We walk up to a door, and she makes some more gestures with her hands. I can feel her pour a small amount of will into the movements. The energy she uses sends high-pitched ringing through my ears. Magic does that when it’s being used around us–especially when it’s a threat. The ringing is like a warning or defense mechanism that demons have. It’s our preternatural senses telling us to be careful.
The door in front of us changes from a new, freshly lacquered door to an old knotted one that doesn’t quite fit the frame. There’s about an inch or so gap from the top and bottom. Olvira pushes it open and walks in. I can only assume I am to follow, so I do. The room that it opens to looks like an old classroom. There are stools and tables with a few people practicing spells and incantations. They all look at me as I pass by. Some stand in respect to her station, and some of them wrinkle their noses like I smell or something. I just look around in awe at everything. She walks to the back of the room and addresses a young man with his back to us leaning over a large desk.
“Vithar,” she says in her commanding voice.
He immediately stands up straight and turns to her. “Yes, ma'am.”
Everyone in this room is wearing robes, and he is no different except for the designs on his. I assume the designs indicate some status level throughout the guild. I look the rest of him over. He is tall with red shaggy hair, wisps of a goatee and, from the way his robes hang off him, is rail thin.
“This,” she waves a hand at me, “demonspawn needs a scrying spell performed.” At the announcement of my lineage, there are a few of the other wizards that get up and leave the room. “Are you up to the task?”
Vithar looks at me and nods. “Of course, ma'am,” he says and looks back at her.
“You're not going to do it?” I ask without thinking.
She glares at me and Vithar's eyes widen as his mouth drops open. “A simple scrying? By an Archwizard? Preposterous. This will be a training exercise for Vithar.”
His eyes close and open as he nods to her. I feel like an idiot. Who was I to think that one of the highest ranking members of the house would love to personally help me? I guess I just assumed that since she came to get me, she would be helping me. But now I think it’s that, if I had tried anything, she was confident in her abilities to vaporize me. It’s a sobering thought. Sometimes, I need to be taken down a peg or two. It keeps me humble.
Vithar produces an honest to god crystal ball from another table. I thought those things were just for show, like for back alley psychics and stuff. I look around making sure I didn't just say that out loud. No one seems to notice as a crowd gathers around us. He begins chanting and making precise movements with his hands. From beside me, I hear Olvira clear her throat loudly. Vithar stops and we all look at her.
“Did you forget that you needed the object, Vithar?”
He turns even redder, and there are a few giggles coming from the crowd surrounding us.“Of course not, Archwizard Duchesne. I was just getting it warmed up.”
More laughter from everyone at his attempted humor. I even see a small smirk from her as she hands him the blade, and he starts the chant over again. This time the crystal starts to cloud, and he breaks his chant and touches the blade to the ball. A picture starts to show inside. At first it's blurry, and I move closer to get a better look. As it starts to clear, I realize moving was unnecessary. I see Silverleech, and he’s kneeling and talking to someone. Suddenly there’s sound, and we can eavesdrop on their conversation.
“. . . tried, My Lord. The girl lied to me and sent me to another pathetic half-breed and disappeared before I could press her further. I am attempting to locate her again.” He bows his head lower, nearly prostrating himself before a shadowy figure sitting on a throne of sorts. Everything but the leech is clouded over. I assume because he is the target of the spell.
“Do not fail me.” The voice from the throne pauses, then continues. “You are my son, but I will not tolerate it, even from you.” I assumed he was speaking to the ‘father’ he said wouldn’t like it if I was killed but, perhaps not. The voice doesn’t match what I was picturing. It actually sounds quite beautiful.
I hear someone say, “no,” and I look around. I don’t know where it came from; there’s no one close enough to have whispered it that loudly.
“Yes, my . . .” he stops mid sentence, and to everyone's surprise, he whips his head around and looks directly at us. A few of the others in the room gasp and I hear shuffling as some of the students must be moving backward.
“Vithar . . .” Olvira says, and takes a step forward. I can feel something in my gut, she is gathering energy. The keening sound in my head rises.
“Forgive the interruption, my Lord. It appears a rat has taken my bait.” He holds out his hand in the form of a finger gun and points in Vithar's direction.
“Vithar,” she says more urgently, “Stop.” But he doesn’t. His eyes are unfocused and his jaw is hanging slack. I look at Olvira, then back at the ball. Closing one eye and depressing his thumb to the side of his palm, the incubus imitates the sound of a gunshot.
A loud pop echoes through the room, and the ball explodes in a shower of shards.