Isaac liked cabins.

They were rustic, secluded, quiet, and difficult to find if not specifically being searched for. Julia hated them for all of the same reasons. One could practice spells, fight monsters, or get really drunk with a vulgarity-spewing jug with no distractions. While Julia also enjoyed those activities, she preferred them in a more metropolitan setting. But she had grown to know Isaac well enough that she knew there was no room for debate. Isaac went his own way. She was welcome to tag along but always free to part company if she didn’t like the destination. So, while she griped about his cabin rentals, she did so playfully, just enough to make her opinion plain and to taint his enthusiasm a bit.

Just about a year had passed since Isaac had reluctantly taken on Julia as his unofficial apprentice. As he had suspected, he didn’t make for a particularly well-rounded teacher. Beyond her unnatural hand-eye coordination—which he learned about early on when she trounced him in a dozen rounds of darts—it had taken him several weeks just to figure out where her strengths lay. And when he finally deduced them, he had no idea how to instruct her.

A century ago, she would have been referred to as a Sanguinist, or Blood Witch, as her strongest magic literally flowed through her veins. Like a thaumaturgic petri-dish, her blood could cultivate powerful acids, poisons, and many other essential spell components. The warpaint she had adorned herself with so that she could see—and kill—the cultists in the darkened building had been a tincture of her own blood mixed with that of a feline. So too had been the poison that had killed Gregory Scott—her blood mixed with something foul, Isaac wasn’t sure exactly what. He’d never been a fan of poisons, so he didn’t ask.

Aside from a few minor spells—the spectacular failure of his Carrion Abomination sprang to mind—Isaac didn’t know much about sanguimancy. Hell, he wasn’t even entirely sure if he pronounced it correctly when he said it out loud. The best he’d been able to do was locate a few pieces of literature to at least get her started on the study of her craft. Beyond that, he had no clue what to do with her. Their aptitudes and skillsets were just too different. But there was no complaining to management when the boss happened to be an otherworldly voice calling from who-knows-where.

Finally, with a grasp at a last straw, he’d reached out to Lucille at the Reliquary. It had taken some cajoling, a few called in favors, and a doubling of his membership fees, but she agreed to assist. Lucille was no Blood Witch, but she had a far better grasp of it than he did. In addition, she had access to better resources and even pulled other staff members in to help. Julia’s progress there had been impressive.

This had been the moment when the logic behind Arrangement’s strategy became clear to him. The Reliquary proved the perfect fit for her training...and Isaac was the only agent able to pull the strings to make that happen. And, in his desperation to pawn her tutelage off onto someone else, that’s exactly what he had done. The Voice always seemed to know exactly what move he would make, and in the end, it made Isaac wonder if he was in command of his own fate at all. But at least he’d wormed his way out of the bulk of Julia’s instruction.

While the situation had affirmed to Isaac that he would have made a terrible teacher, he absolutely excelled at dropping Julia off at the Reliquary in between assignments. Unfortunately, the resulting solitude always proved short-lived. The Voice had paired them together and there seemed to be no getting around the responsibility of overseeing her field experience.

In that regard, they weren’t a bad fit. Sure, she was often impulsive, overly aggressive, and impatient with the more scholarly aspects of the craft, but she was independent enough that Isaac didn’t have to babysit her. She excelled at the darker arts that made people dead, and considering how violent the Arrangement assignments had become, her skills came in handy.

***

Dawn found Isaac sitting on the cabin deck, sipping coffee. He wasn’t so much an early riser as it was that he hardly slept. A mild weariness always plagued him, regardless of the amount of rest he managed, so he had come to regard a full eight hours of sleep as a waste of time.

The rising sun had painted the sky in fiery red and orange. In such moments Isaac liked to imagine the world was burning. It wasn’t a malicious thought. He had no desire to usher in the apocalypse. But he found an odd comfort in the idea. If a swiftly moving pyre consumed the whole world it would incinerate not only his problems but the problems of all. The idea of an empty, problem-free world held appeal, even if no one remained to enjoy it.

The burning sky soon lightened and was clear and blue by the time Julia stumbled out to join him. As usual, she had filled her gigantic novelty coffee cup to the brim so that he’d have to brew more.

“So, what’s the plan for today?”

“Practice.”

She rolled her eyes almost before he said the word because she rolled her eyes at all of his answers to that oft-asked question. “Practice what?”

“Throwing knives.”

Her eyes brightened. “I was worried you were going to make me read an old book and pick out the magic punctuation. And while I’m glad that’s not it, what could you possibly teach me about throwing knives?”

His unofficial apprentice proved astute in her doubt. He could teach her nothing on that subject. Her hand-eye coordination was remarkable. If he set up a target, she’d nail the bullseye every time. But he had something different in mind.

After they had drained their java, Julia grabbed her case of throwing knives and followed Isaac into the wooded area behind the cabin. She counted five trees that he had painted red ‘X’s on and then scoffed. “That’s it? This will take about fifteen seconds.”

“That’s your warm-up.”

Julia bested her boast by four seconds with five straight dead center throws. “What’s next?”

“Hit the rest of the targets.”

“Huh?” Julia scanned the trees. “I don’t see anymore. Oh, don’t tell me, are they invisible?”

“Nope. The targets are either blocked from your line of sight or on the opposite sides of the trees or on the underside of branches.” He nodded upward. On a thick tree limb about twenty feet directly above them was another red 'X'. “Start with that one.”

“Fine,” she said curtly, but quickly found that throwing a knife straight up, with power and accuracy, proved harder than she anticipated. It didn’t take many misses for her patience to crack. “This is impossible. Is this supposed to be a lesson on failure? Some kind of can’t-win-them-all nonsense?”

Isaac rubbed his beard as he looked up at the empty target. “Honestly, I’ve never tried throwing something straight up before. Maybe it’s not possible.”

“You asshole. So now what? I walk around and find the other targets?”

“Nope. You have to hit all of them from there.”

Julia’s frustration grew. “How am I supposed to do that?”

“I’m going to help you.” Isaac moved off deeper into the trees. “If you’re going to continue to be my...” his voice trailed as he wasn’t sure how to finish the sentence. He didn’t want to use student or apprentice, nor did he want to say partner or colleague. Each was too formal, too official. “If we’re going to be doing Arrangement jobs together then we need to work on some tricks. Teamwork type stuff.”

“Oh. Teamwork. Is that what we need? I thought you liked our current tactic of you drinking with Jughead while I do all the work.”

“I do actually, but recently I noticed that Jughead is sort of rude, so I think I need to cut back on spending time with him. Sooner or later, we’re going to run into an adversary that you can’t just stab or poison to death in the dark while I get sloshed.” He motioned to the empty air next to him. “Aim here and throw.”

She looked confused. “There’s nothing there.”

“Trust me.”

Julia sighed and hurled a throwing knife at the spot. Her aim, as always, proved true, but as the weapon hit the designated spot its trajectory suddenly bent, and it curved to the right and flew off into the woods. “What the hell was that?”

“I telekinetically altered the path of the knife to hit a target you weren’t throwing it and couldn’t even see. That way we can work together to take an opponent by surprise. That’s the plan.”

She pointed where her blade went into the underbrush. “But you didn’t hit anything.”

“Yeah...well...that’s not part of the plan. But that doesn’t mean the plan isn’t sound. Hence, practice.”

***

Practice they did, for most of the daylight hours, only stopping when they had successfully combined to hit all of the targets. By that time Julia was rubbing her sore throwing arm and Isaac’s head pounded from the repeated telekinetic strains. As neither felt in the mood for Jughead’s foul ranting they opted for cold beers and sat on the deck as the sun sank.

“You need to work on your telekinetic aim,” Julia chided him.

“Yeah, yeah. To be fair I have the hard part.”

“I still think we’d be better off if I just threw my knife directly at some dude’s face while you drink in the truck. I really don’t mind.”

Isaac sighed. “Someday we’ll be up against someone who can defend themselves from such direct attacks. A knife that changes direction suddenly could catch them by surprise. It’s called misdirection.” He couldn’t help but think that it would also come in handy should the Voice ever order her to throw her knives at him.

“It’s called a mis-take.”

“Knock it off. We’re going to keep at it until we get it right.”

“You mean you get it right. My throws are perfect. You’re the weak link in this strategy.”

Although she said it with a smirk, she was correct in that assessment. Today had been more about Isaac’s practice than hers. But her candid criticism just washed right off of him, as he had no self-esteem to damage. His former master had ensured that. “An ego is a fake skin designed only to bruise much easier than the real thing” had been a lesson that had been meted out with the bruising of both. Isaac’s real skin had healed, and the fake skin had shed completely.

As if knowing where his thoughts had gone Julia asked, “So what was your master like? Did he teach like this?”

Isaac ignored the first question but the second one jarred him with the comparison. “No. This is not how he taught at all.”

Julia frowned as she did anytime she thought Isaac was hiding juicy magical secrets from her. “Why are you teaching me differently?”

“Because I’m not a lunatic.” He fixed her with his hardest attempt at a stern glare, which wouldn’t win any intimidation contests, but caught her attention well enough. “If I had ever referred to him as a ‘weak link’ I’m certain that he would have peeled me like an onion.”

There were moments like this when he pierced her swagger, and he was glad he answered her. She needed to know that, despite her rapid advancement, there were times and places in the Other World where she’d have to learn to tread carefully. There always would be.

She remained quiet until she finished her beer, then stood and rotated her right arm like an exhausted pitcher. “Next time you rent one of your precious cabins get one with a hot tub. My shoulder is going to be so sore tomorrow.”

“Before you go in,” he reached into his Everbag and handed her the book, Satan’s Secret Servants, that he had taken from Peter Goss’s mansion.

“Aw, come one Isaac. I’ve read this six times. There’s nothing there.”

“There is. I can feel it.”

Julia sighed as she snatched it from his hand like a student ordered to finish her homework. Then she headed inside with a grumbled goodnight.

Isaac blissfully enjoyed being alone for about three minutes before Testiculies strolled up the deck steps and claimed Julia’s vacated chair. Isaac reached over to scratch the cat’s head but withdrew quickly when it hissed without even looking. The magician had been forced to admit to himself that the repeated rejections from the feline were indeed bruising his non-existent ego.

Isaac nursed his beer until the sun sank completely and then pulled one of the Black Tarot from his bag, holding just a corner of the card between thumb and index finger. He laid it on the table.

The Bone March.

Periodically he examined the three cards that remained in his possession, hoping to uncover some clue as to what fate they may be leading him towards. The images on each changed unpredictably and tonight the Bone March showed a procession of the dead—zombified corpses and specter-like wraiths—clawing and rising from their graves. The last time he’d looked at it, the artwork had depicted a well-manicured cemetery, bathed in sunlight and laden with flowers. The card had exuded solace; a blissful, well-earned rest. Tonight, the scene emanated rage—an undead horde set free to seek denied justice or bloody revenge.

Aside from knowing that the dead could be happy, sad, or royally pissed, neither visage told him much. He sighed and slipped the card back into the bag.

Testiculies snored like an old man, lips vibrating over the snaggletooth with each breath. Not wanting to risk the ire of the feline Isaac headed inside without disturbing it. He tugged off the Everbag and draped it across a chair, then had a pang of guilt about leaving the cat outside. Even though it would probably find its own mystical way in later, he opened the door and started to shout an offer for it to come in.

Something whistled by his face and struck the door hard enough to embed in the wood.

It was a throwing ax, the handle still trembling from the force. While having a blade hurled at his head proved sufficient grounds to retreat inside, he did so with much more zeal when he recognized the design of the weapon.

He knew who had thrown it.