James Davis - Circle of Skulls

"Suggests followers of Asmodeus," Quessahn finished quietly, staring off into the shadows and seeing the murders in a new and frightening light.

"And that is why we agreed to help Rorden Marson," Jinn said.

"What do you mean?" she asked, searching the seriousness in his gold eyes and fearing his answer even as she allowed herself to reluctantly accept the inevitability of what he would say.

"Asmodeus has some stake in these killings," he answered. "One of his servants, an angel known as Sathariel, has been drawn to Sea Ward because of them-"

"And you've come to stop the murders," she said. "To stop whatever this cult is up to and-"

"No," Jinn said and her hope faded, seeing in him what she had not wanted to see, what she had always seen and tried to deny. "We've come for the angel."

"I should have known," she replied. Fury filled her as she pulled her cloak tight and stormed toward the door, shaking her head and cursing herself for a fool. She glanced back, her hand on the door, and saw a familiar glimmer in his gaze that pained her. There was hope, she decided, somewhere between his celestial sense of duty and the mortal heart that had been forced upon him, but she couldn't rely on it to do the right thing when it mattered. "I'll be back," she said. "There's something I need to do."

Then she charged out into the winter night before she could change her mind. She didn't need another chance to search him for what was no longer there, the ghost hiding in every gesture and stare. Snow swirled between the buildings as she walked the circle of crowded buildings around Pages Curious, the cold bracing her and keeping her alert.

The stars were caught behind a net of white clouds, and she let herself be further drawn into the darker places of her magic, letting the stark truths of half-formed, chaotic realms direct her thoughts.

"Better that it be the dark now," she whispered bitterly, a scent of smoke still clinging to her cloak, specks of dried blood caught in the creases of her hands. "Better that I be more prepared."

"I can see it, you know." Mara's voice stopped her cold, and she spun to find the dark-haired woman walking out of the shadows. Quessahn slid a suspicious hand toward her dagger, magic tingling at her fingertips as Mara approached, the same knowing smile upon her face as before. "You love him, don't you?"

The statement pierced her like a knife, sharp and direct, flaying any attempt she might have made to deny the accusation and leaving the truth laid bare on her startled face. Wide eyed, she looked away, shaking her head in disbelief at being caught so unawares. She forgot her prepared spell and released her dagger.

"Not exactly," she replied, anger warming her. Mara spoke as though Quessahn's privacy were a mere puzzle for someone to figure out. But in that moment, her senses still freshly heightened by her magic, she caught another glimpse of the dark aura that hung around Mara, a shroud that squirmed with a life of its own. "You're not human."

"Not remotely," Mara said, still smiling.

They stood facing each other down for long moments. Quessahn's thoughts raced, wondering if Mara would tell Jinn, wondering if the next day would bring questions she didn't want to answer. Again she cursed herself for getting involved. For all of her indignant posturing with Jinn, she'd agreed to help for selfish reasons no less questionable than his.

"Well," she said at length and turned away. "We both have secrets, then."

"No," Mara said, a scratching tone in her voice that lifted gooseflesh on Quessahn's arms. She turned to find a tall, dark figure standing where Mara had been. Tattered, black robes hung thick across sharp shoulders, the cloth fluttering as shadows crept from crevices toward Mara. Thin wisps of stringy, black hair escaped the darkened hood where two pinpoints of coal red light glittered to life above a lionlike smile of sharp teeth. Skin the color of a dark bruise covered the hand that rose from Mara's robes, pointing at Quessahn almost teasingly as she said, "You are the one with a secret."

Quessahn backed away slowly and readied spells upon her tongue, dagger once again comfortable in her grip. But Mara merely turned away, her form melting bit by bit back into the illusion of a dark-haired woman, leaving Quessahn alone in the snow. She shivered as the shadows returned to their places. The hag returned to her shop and her strange alliance with the deva.

Finding her feet, Quessahn turned them back toward the House of Wonder, walking in a daze as she pondered what affect the years had had upon Jinnaoth-and the man she'd once known.

NIGHTAL 20, THE YEAR OF DEEP WATER DRIFTING (1480 DR)

Several blocks of cold streets passed in an unremarkable blur, Quessahn's mind elsewhere, her eyes only mechanically watching her surroundings. The gates of the House of Wonder opened noiselessly, the cold iron numbing her fingers until the warmth of the House's corridors brought the feeling back in comfortable waves. Melting snow on the back of her neck sent chills down her spine as she passed the spectral guardian and made her way to the tall stairs at the far end of the house.

The scratching of quills on parchment was the only indication she was not alone as she took the first step, grinding her teeth and steeling herself to deal with the insufferable Archmage Tallus. She'd always rolled her eyes when others mentioned the patience of long-lived elves and eladrin, for she had no patience for the archmage, but she suspected he could be of help to her. Some of the books in his library were whispered about among other students of the Art, and having had only fleeting glimpses at the tomes, Quessahn knew that at least half of the rumors were true.

If anyone possessed the knowledge to unravel the spell being cast in spilled blood, it would be Tallus. The other masters she did not know as well and was not sure who among them she could trust, but with the archmage at least she knew where she stood. It would have to be enough.

The hallway at the top of the stairs stretched several strides to the south, far longer than any exterior view of the building might have led the casual observer to believe, just one of the many wonders in the old house. Her lip curled in disgust, expecting any moment to be accosted by Gorrick, Tallus's lapdog apprentice and as intolerable as his master. But halfway to the archmage's door, Gorrick never appeared, nor did there seem to be any light shining beneath the door at an hour the archmage was usually up and about.

She listened at the door, hearing nothing, and tentatively knocked just loud enough to be heard by anyone awake. There was no answer. She laid a hand on the handle, heart hammering in her chest, and the door opened easily, unlocked and barely shut. Pushing it open fully, she gasped in wonder, wide eyed at the bare walls, faint outlines of bright paint where shelves had once stood, impressions in old dust where a large desk had sat. Naught remained but a square of light from the window and the burned-out nub of a candle on the ledge.

Tallus was gone.

"Bloody Mystra," she swore, her mind racing at the possible implications, thoughts coming back around to what had brought her to the room in the first place. "If anyone possessed the knowledge," she muttered and closed the door behind herself, swiftly crossing the mystical hallway as if it, too, would disappear and leave her stranded somewhere between reality and nothing.

NIGHTAL 21, THE YEAR OF DEEP WATER DRIFTING (1480 DR)

The afternoon sun painted the winter sky pink and violet as Jinn strolled slowly through Pharra's Alley, searching the faces of a dispersing crowd. Hopeful students gathered daily before the gates of the House of Wonder, some performing minor tricks for passersby. Illusions danced at their feet and flew through the air, their makers' chants accompanied by the occasional clink of a coin dropped into tin cups at their feet. Jinn saw no familiar faces among the crowd, but he hadn't truly expected to. He was passing by the House only on the remote chance of spotting Archmage Tallus.