In the heart of Liberty City sits an ancient school. One of the oldest institutions in the city, the school stems from a religious order that made its way to the New World before the birth of America’s Founding Fathers. Settling on a picturesque stretch of woods overseen by a bluff that hung out atop the water below, the nuns of St. Cecilia set to work mining the stone and using it to create a parish for their newfound community. Tasked with a sacred duty held in trust for generations, the nuns built stone vaults and placed the terrible relics they possessed inside them.

Over the years, the hamlet grew into a town and on into the city of today. As the town grew so too did the modest church at the heart of the community. The dutiful sisters, aware of the growing population and boom of children opened the doors of their cloisters to the people, and grew the church into a school. Filled with new purpose, the old ghosts of the Order of St. Cecilia faded and the new leaders forgot the reasons to keep the old vaults locked away. So as the school expanded, they happily moved the seemingly innocuous contents of the vaults to create space for the new library. So it was that old altars ended up shoved in the back of the unused sections of the library and innocuous seeming books were reshelved among their mundane counterparts.

And like spiders lying in wait the magical texts waited, unnoticed and unmoving, for centuries. Such is the way of the spider, dear reader, to lie in wait until it becomes too late for prey to escape. But some things prey upon spiders, and the patience of the predator can easily become the foolishness of prey. Sometimes, the only difference is which monster moves first. But always, the victor is the monster that moves last.

The two stand opposite one another, one tense and poised to strike and the other nonchalantly unconcerned. Roiling waves of energy snap and twist around one while the other seems to be almost a drain with magical energy vanishing as it encounters him. Clad in her white costume, cowl pulled low to obscure her face, Eldritch is the vision of an avenging angel, here to deliver wrath upon the sinners of the world. Across from her Athow seems utterly normal, a Mediterranean man sporting an assured smile in his sharp suit.

Slowly, Eldritch begins to mouth the words of her opening spell. Across from her, Athow remains stationary. Inch by inch, webbed lines of light begin to spiral out from her fingertips. Poised to strike at the barest flicker of movement, Eldritch waits for her prey to make a mistake.

Athow remains unconcerned and immobile. Languidly, he shifts his weight from one foot to the other and cocks his head to the side.

“Are you planning on readying that spell all day?” Seeing Eldritch has no reply he continues, “The Wizard’s Web, that’s what you are casting. I recognize the spell. Not my weapon of choice, given it lacks the punch of the more lethal spells but a serviceable way to incapacitate an opponent.”

Athow pauses and waits politely.

“Well?” he asks after a long pause. “Are you going to finish it or not? Surely it does not take you so long to cast an actual spell.”

Gritting her teeth, Eldritch snips, “Come over here and find out why don’t you?”

Responding to her challenge, Athow takes a deliberate step forward. Then he takes another. As he lifts his foot to take a third, Eldritch spins into action casting her hands out wide and hurling the glowing lines at him. With a precise motion, Athow lifts the book up and holds it out at arm length, letting the spine block the center of the web. As he does, the lines scatter into the air unravelling before they can damage the shelves.

“The problem with The Wizard’s Web is that it relies upon the center as the focal point of the spell.” Speaking almost as if giving a lesson, Athow continues. “While the lines are capable of cutting through ground, they do not have enough punch to go through particularly durable barriers, including but not limited to magically indestructible books.”

As he speaks, Eldritch moves quickly to ready another cast and with a swift motion throws a second set of glowing lines out at Athow. Just as deliberately as before, Athow dismisses her magic with a contemptuous motion of the text.

“Unimaginative. The spell fails and you simply reuse the same thing?” Athow shakes his head. “Standards really have slipped these days.”

“Not quite!” Eldritch snaps out as she twists forward in a fast motion. In her left hand, a ball of electricity forms and drives toward Athow underneath the book.

Smashing his arm down on her wrist, Athow chides her. “Shocking Strike, yet another spell unlikely to cause permanent damage. Unfortunately, the spell only affects your hand.” Twisting her bruised wrist up with his free hand, he pushes his grip on her arm into her face and then throws her arm back to her. Then he adds, “The rest of the body remains… weak.”

“Got you,” says Eldritch with a smile as her right hand brings the dagger around in an arc slicing toward Athow’s unprotected side.

Cursing, Athow uses his grasp on her wrist to leverage her away, just barely dodging the brunt of the attack. Quickly putting a few paces of space between them, he adjusts his suit inspecting the slight injury.

“I confess,” he says after a moment running his fingers along the cut. “I am not used to wearing flesh again quite yet. But you are quick, I will give you that.”

Flipping her weapon, Eldritch smarmily replies, “Well I am the first person to make you bleed in… how long exactly?”

Shooting her a disgusted look, Athow refuses to reply. Instead, he pushes his hand into the wound and whets it with blood. Then he slaps it across the cover of the book. A second later, his eyes begin to turn black as he inhales sharply.

“Not so fast!” Eldritch says as she bursts into motion.

With a quick motion, she lifts her dagger up and swings it down. As she does, it transforms into a battle-axe swinging straight at Athow’s head!

Unconcerned, Athow lifts the book above his head and blocks the weapon.

With her other hand, Eldritch snaps her fingers and swings underneath his outstretched arm with a quick punch to his wounded flank. But, ready for the follow up attack this time, Athow bats her hand away.

“That trick will only work once,” he says as a surge of magical energy runs down his arm.

Crying out in agony, Eldritch falls to her knees. When she looks up, Athow is gone!

“What!” she gasps shortly, whirling around in an attempt to find the missing dark wizard.

A few paces away, Athow winks back into sight. “It seems my blood will not nourish the book as much as I thought. That invisibility spell should have lasted much longer.” Sighing, he turns back to Eldritch and says, “Well then, let us continue. You were in the middle of casting yet another unimaginative incantation.”

“That must be the book of deception,” Eldritch say warily. Then she tosses a palm in the air, throwing up a ball of light that shines throughout the room before bursting into glittering dust that fades as it falls throughout the room.

“You’re no illusion at least,” Eldritch says as she watches the dust fall on Athow’s suit.

Brushing it off his shoulders, he replies nonchalantly, “Interesting. You combined a Second Sun with Glowdust?” Stroking his chin thoughtfully, he continues, “I can see the utility. The Sun burns away illusions and the dust reveals hidden things. A bit redundant but then it would be more effective.”

Eldritch grins underneath her mask, and a hint of pride enters her tone as she snaps back, “Yeah? So you’re saying I did something not even the great Thorm Athow ever thought of?”

“Evidently,” Athow drawls. “But then, I never required such a juvenile combination. There are more effective means of banishing illusions when you possess this book.”

“Let’s see them then,” Eldritch taunts.

Athow’s face darkens.

“You can’t, can you?” Eldritch asks. “Your blood doesn’t power the book. Gathering all the books is meaningless if you can’t fuel them.”

Athow refuses to confirm her statement but his silence is confirmation enough.

“And you haven’t cast any spells of your own. The only magic you’ve used came from the book. So either you’re conserving your strength for something big, or your resurrection did more damage to you than we thought.”

Athow merely pulls at his cufflinks, adjusting them silently.

“Bell?” Eldritch asks under her breath as she stares down the wizard. “Do you think…?”

“I do,” Belinda confirms in her mind. “His lack of magic is suspicious. We must be wary but see if you cannot find out more. Your attitude often vexes me. Let us see if you cannot do the same to him.”

Triumphantly nodding, Eldritch twirls her dagger and crows, “Well then! This fight doesn’t mean much. You can’t win even if you do beat me.”

Athow shakes his head, “I’m not trying to beat you, girl child.”

“Then what are you doing?”

Athow does not deign to answer the question. Instead, he merely smiles and gestures toward the dagger. “I’m here for that. Whatever happens to you is irrelevant.”

Flipping the weapon in her hands, Eldritch asks, “I don’t get it. Let’s say you get the dagger and all the books. What then? You can’t power them with your weak blood.”

“Well,” Athow replies, “for every problem there is a solution and the solution to this one is simple.”

“What then? What’s so simple?” Eldritch goads him, trying to draw out more of his plans.

A darkness crosses Athows face as he smiles, barring his teeth. “Blood is not a finite resource, girl child. Any blood will power the books, even if it is inefficient. All I require is enough donors.”

Gasping, Eldritch recoils. “You mean!?”

Spreading his hands wide, Athow asks, “Why do you think I came to a school? Lots of blood sources simply walking around waiting for me to tap them.”

“I won’t let you!”

Dropping his hands, Athow shrugs and says, “Well, I have other options. In fact, there is one person who could singlehandedly fuel the books. Conveniently, she happens to possess one on the books already, and go to this school.”

“I won’t help you!” Eldritch hurls back as she readies a blast of magic.

Hurling a bolt of light, she transforms her dagger into a long spear and thrusts in a two-pronged attack.

“Magical Blast,” Athow murmurs as he uses the book to deflect her bolt and steps quickly out of range of the spear.

In a quick follow up, Eldritch pulls back the spear and twirls it into a whip she spins around and swings at Athow. Athow ducks behind a bookshelf, too surprised to react faster. Above his head, the strike of the whip topples a few books onto the ground.

Standing, he says with a laugh, “I did not mean you. No, I know that you do not possess any of the books. Your attempts at deception are rudimentary at best, or did you forget that I once contended with the great deceivers among the ranks of the demons?”

“So have I,” Eldritch snaps back as she transforms her weapon into a staff glowing with power.

With a few quick moves, she spins and hurls a sequence of blasts before turning her staff into a sword and rushing toward Athow.

Hiding behind the bookshelf, Athow begins to stand before looking down in surprise. With a wicked look, he curls his fingers around an innocuous looking book ignoring the blasts raining down above his head.

Smiling evilly, he says, “That’s three.”

Underneath his hand, the remaining blood from his injury fades away as letters curl into existence.

In spikey letters the words form. “A Witch’s Guide to Curses: Bewitchments, Chants, and Mantras.”

The battle rages, but it seems even chance is aligned against Eldritch! But who could Athow mean when he claimed one person’s blood could fuel all the magic necessary for his dark ritual? Who is this mysterious individual? Find out next week in… “The Book of Bella!”