he candlelight flickered and died with a hiss as shadows clouded like heavy fog in every inch of the room we were in. Winds stirred around us, hissing as they rattled the bones hanging from the low ceiling. A few old and rusty bells groaned as I kicked a small couch covered with more items than to count before I placed the witch's chair in its spot and forced her on it, blindfolding her. She protested, her thin, long fingers trying to remove the piece of fabric obscuring her vision. It only took me a low, feral growl for her to drop her hands back to her lap, leaving the blindfold intact in its place.

Saél, still standing in the far end of the small room kept utterly silent as though she was nothing but a ghost. She kept her head bowed, her eyes fixed on the floor, her hands clasped together in the perfect portrait of a submissive slave. She didn’t fool me the way she did her mother.

I saw it as clear as the sun in the middle of a hot summer day, how her thoughts were dark and unholy, begging her mother would die right there on that chair in a slow and agonizing sort of torture. How her magic, so different from the blindfolded woman, churned deeply under layers after layers of lies and magic and spells and away from Ûzan's keen, hooded eyes. I smirked at her, fully knowing she couldn't see the gesture. Later, I would pull every single answer for my questions from her later. No matter the power in her veins or the long history with witchcraft, she could never withstand my spirit elemental once my mind dived into hers.

Aedis helped me rearrange the candles, placing them in circular patterns around the chair, the narrower circle in the centre, wide enough to swallow the witch and my standing figure next to her. We didn't light those candles, didn’t open the windows to the early morning sky, didn't allow in any single sort of light.

I turned to the pair of glowing, red wine eyes, their pupils vertically slit like a snake's, and held their stare for a few heartbeats. Then, Aedis turned to the wall Saél was pinned to, grabbing her by her collar before tossing her on a sofa that was torn and covered with dust, the cushion of foam and feathers half spilled out. The furniture groaned under the impact of both their bodies, the old wood wailing as Aedis turned to stare at the witch's daughter right in the eyes. Despite the heavy blackness, our eyes glowed, leaving a very thin light that was red and so feeble it was almost not perceptible.

"One sound," he hissed, claws holding the woman's face in place. "One damn sound can break the entire enchantment and doom us all. You better keep your mouth shut, or I'll gag you right now. Understood?"

Saél didn’t nod, the claws on her face pressed to closely to allow any movement without leaving injuries. But she managed a small sound out, a sort of whimper laced with fear, half of it faked. She would not mind it, dooming us—dooming herself—if it meant getting rid of the older woman seated next to me.

I returned my attention to the witch, my head falling next to hers, my lips so close to her ears I knew she could feel every breath against her hard, rugged skin. "Same thing goes to you, old woman.''

I didn’t particularly wait for her reply as I pulled a knife from the many ones laid on the nearby counter, whipping the dust over the torn fabric of my ragged shirt. But nonetheless, she dared saying, "I am not old."

I flashed my teeth in a wicked sort of grin, sending the image straight to her mind along a whisper of darkness that kissed her consciousness, leaving her shivering in her place, legs trembling so badly they jutted from their place. Her shoulders shook and I felt how taut her muscles were beneath the hand I placed on her nape to keep her still.

"This is merely a lick of the darkness I made off," I whispered, delighting in the way she shuddered. I sensed the terror slowly building within her, painting her aura, and grinned even more.

I turned around her, one hand cupping one side of her face, the other holding the knife that slid through her cheek, tearing her skin and flesh deep enough blood seeped from it like a small cascade. Thankfully, she didn't jolt or shift at the action, and I wondered if she actually could feel the pain growing under her skin or if the curse deprived her of it. I cut the other cheek, slicing it obliquely to her chin where both wounds met. No longer needing the knife, I threw it, the metal hitting the wooden door separating the living room from the rest of the house and remained there, half of it buried. Blood pooled in the cupped hands under her chin, the sticky substance going rapidly cold against my skin.

"I warn you," I said, crouching and dripping with my magic one single drop above each candle. "This will be temporary; a few minutes for you to actually realize this is not a lie. Your curse will be lifted the moment we receive the Arowcinders bottles."

Silence greeted me back, answering me enough. What I didn't add was Téors's plan: to lift one curse and damn her with another, silent one. One that would end her the moment she would merely decide to turn us over, be it to the White Troopers despite all the hatred she had for them, or to any of Lysithea and Blake's dogs, and for whatever reason it was. But the curse I was planting in her, that small flame that would reduce her to ashes, was deadly and painful and everything wicked. It would wreck her, destroy everything she ever was and would ever be. It would possess her, control her, leave her locked in a shell that she would no longer control nor feel. And then, her soul would melt bit by bit like a candle under gentle warmth: slowly. Agonizingly. So much she would beg the mercy of death.

I covered every single candle, refilling with cleaner blood for every circle until I was done, leaving a heavy scent of iron in the air. I took once again my place behind the witch, both hands falling a breath away from her temples. The spell wasn’t dark, not at core, at least. It was one of my many gifts, to break curses and cast new ones, just like the gift of killing and bringing back a bounder to life. Only the words were evil and poisonous and would have burned my tongue if they weren't allowed to me by Aether so I could go to Eziara undercover.

"Vyór," I let out in a broken whisper, my voice so low yet filling every bit of space. It was the oldest word in the Fallens' tongue, the one they believed was the heart of the beginning and ending. That one word that was the endless point, the loop from which everything came to existence and returned to after destruction.

The candles erupted, the wax flying all around in small, thin shards like broken glass would. Wherever those shards fell, they melted with such intensity even the remaining substance was as fluid as water. The liquid didn't move nor solidify, remaining idle and waiting for my orders. The threads placed inside the candles remained where they were, each one strained and unwavering as it floated in place, fire--a dance of crimson and ebony all at once--swallowing their thinness fully.

Shadows seeped from me, going out of every pore as they danced their way out, cocooning and isolating me from the world outside their darkness. Every sound turned mute, every heartbeat vanished, every trickle of time stopped.

It was like the world had stopped turning, like life stopped existing outside those walls, sealing us away of everything. Then, it rained, black water falling in long drops from the ceiling and meeting the flames.

I lifted my head, feeling the coldness of the water hitting my face and going down my closed eyelids, my chin, my neck, my chest and down to my toes. It was pure darkness that showered us, only constricted to the area inside the burning threads. And when those drops met the red and black flames, they erupted in a fire that was wild and dangerous and darker than the night.

It hissed and wailed and growled, trashing around us before it swirled next to my feet like a hound waiting its commands. Through my barely opened lids, I stared at Aedis and Saél, at how my mate was unflinching as though he had seen so far more than this. At how the younger witch next to him was so pale it was like she stared straight at Death.

Light, that was more threads of glowing darkness like satin reflecting under sunrays, oozed from my hands and swirled around Ûzan. It was then I opened my eyes despite the throbbing in them, staring at the unmoving body in front of me. Her aura flared stronger than any one I'd ever seen in that moment, forging itself into an existence so close and similar to ours I could touch it, feel its texture that was like both foam and stone beneath my fingertips.

It was woven into the very fabric of the world, strings and threads coming in and out of the trashing magic surrounding everyone and everything with a drop of life, merging with realms and dimensions and worlds far behind comprehension. It was the mirror to the soul, the journal of existence, the gate to everything: every feeling, every thought, every memory, every bit that forged the very life. It was beautiful and daunting and alluring in a dangerous way. Holding the being of someone in my hands, reading and writing it like a book, capable of erasing pasts and creating new futures. This was real spirit magic, one of the many miracles that grew in the gift Aether blessed so little with. This was the power of everything.

So I dived into her aura, pulling the threads one by one, each a different color and texture and temperature, each distinct in ways I could not explain. Dived into her very being, finding Aran's curse: a bunch of threads that were darker and harder than coal around her heart—because all curses fell on the heart, weighing on it. On the essence of life.

I pulled at those threads with fingers that were made from the dark light and shadows coming out of me, my physical ones still around the woman's temples. Gently, carefully, I loosened the knots on those threads, removing with my magic the darkness tainting them. And adding a new one from my very creation.

Magic pulsed in my veins the same way my blood did, growing stronger and stronger. My veins, thanks to Sorcha's perfect glamour, throbbed black instead of white, the way it had done so many times as I conjured heavy magic. Anyone pulling as much power as I did, the ones that even owned it in the first place, would have screamed right now as more strength than to be told shot through me. His bones would have melted, his flesh would have turned to cinders, his eyes would have turned to frost, freezing in place as he took in every moving detail around him as his soul vanished from his body.

But I didn't.

I was stronger, more powerful, deadlier than anyone that had ever walked on these earths. Even when I pulled from that well of magic within me, even when I allowed myself to fall into that abyss of power, I didn't shiver. It was nothing more than a scrap, the very few feet of my fall down the deep, deep abyss that signaled the depth of my magic. Sometimes, when I would pull too much, I would stop and cling to the façade, too scared to bring on more. Scared of what parts of me were in there, waiting for me to delve so deeply so they could manifest.

This time, I did not need to throw this deeply, only pulling at the edges of my magic that shimmered brighter than the sun and moon combined in me, and darker than oblivion once it got out of its phyisical cage.

My fingertips tingled, my legs were half numb, my claws replacing my dirtied nails and growing as long as the blade of the knife I threw minutes ago. I moved my hands from around the witch's temples and down to her shoulders, working my way slowly to her nape, to where my curse would work. The spell would snake from her heart to her nerves, paralyzing her, turning her to stone and trapping her in her own mind while anything beneath the layer of stone, including her soul, would be set on fire. My hands reached her nape, right to the spot in its very middle, and shot through her consciousness. I watched as my magic seeped into it, smudging her aura the way ink would do once dropped into water. The magic moved, going deeper and snaking around in the shape of a squid's tentacles to every muscle in her body.

Aran's curse was loosened the moment I touched the threads, and would be removed by itself the moment our bargain was fulfilled. This was my gift to her for our service, for all the Troopers she'd killed, for all the blood she'd spilled, for all the children she'd slaughtered and hung their bones around her house—some of those children were my father's friends, taken from their manors and mansions in the dead of night far before she was locked inside this house.

My magic clicked within me and I returned my focus to Aedis and Saél, the latter biting on her knuckles to silence whatever small sound emanated from her. Then, my attention slid to the rain that slowly stopped falling, to the fire that hissed and snaked and withered before dying. The liquid wax stirred, standing in the air like a serpent standing to attack before it darted to the doors, flinging them open and then the windows, burning the black substances in blotches, allowing light to seep in.

I tucked my hands behind my back, words rolling of my tongue as easily as the light that filtered inside the small cottage, over the dirt and dust and mass of trinkets and rotting bits of flesh.

They were words only Aedis and I could understand, the tongue of the Windreapers that caressed our ears in words as easily and clearly as the common one.

"The scythe of Death is at your neck,

One wrong thought brings your head to the deck.

There where awaits the executioner,

His mouth swallowing your soul with hunger.

Venom seeps in to your lungs and heart,

The poison sharper than knives as in the air they dart.

You, old and wicked and vile,

In your body shall my hatred rile.

To tear from the inside your soul to shreds,

And make you a prisoner inside your own head.

To wreck and devastate and burn and kill,

That is the price for an intention that is ill."

Ûzan opened her eyes once I nudged here with my elbow after removing the fold, fully oblivious to the meaning of the spell I just cast on her. Of the curse that would ruin her for good.

She didn't look as old as she did when we were seated next to the low glass table, her skin smooth and pale and glowing once the rugged surface melted away, looking in her late twenties. I knew better than to trust appearances.

She rushed to the windows, to the rays of light that came through the spots no longer covered with magic to seal them out. The witch ran her fingers through her hair, her locks like her daughter's, fresh blood that glimmered as light kissed her skin. I savored the sunrays, too, loving each bit as it caressed my skin. It had been only an hour and a half since we set foot inside this house, but the darkness bathing it suffocated me. It wasn't like the darkness of night, mysterious and beautiful. It was the darkness of hatred and depression and death.

"Two minutes," I warned.

Aedis didn't run to the window to absorb the moderate coolness of the autumn air, keeping the urge to get out of this place in check better than I did. I took place on the ruined sofa, squeezing my frail frame between both bodies, giving Saél a silent glare. The witch's daughter didn't even perceive it, the predatory way I stared at her that warned her to keep fair distance from my mate. Instead, she had her cat-shaped eyes fixed on her mother, a silence sort of hatred swirling in their blackness.

I didn’t know their history, didn’t know what Saél had endured under Ûzan's hand, but from what I read in the sealed letter on the glass table, the woman had every reason to hate her mother. I even doubted she knew what was in that letter, or else she would have tried evading, tried poisoning that vile woman or killing her in the middle of the night or even allow light to enter in her presence. Anything to save herself than to be sold as an object and not a person.

Aedis held the hand that had fallen on his knee, his gesture soft and gentle, the way the Leon inside him had done before. He interlaced our fingers together and I leaned back, crossing my legs and placing my head on the back edge of the furniture as I counted down the seconds.

I then turned my attention back to Saél who stared absent mindedly at her manacles and the chafed skin of her ankles beneath the scraping metal. Her wounds snaked from her ankle and up her limbs, perhaps even to her thighs, each bruise long and worse than the other. Even her arms were injured, some of the wounds still fresh and stitched tightly, a few days old at most.

She felt the weight of my stares, felt the way my magic nudged hers, and lifted her focus to me, her face grim and cold.

I didn't smirk nor grin, showed no bit of emotion as I peered into her depthless orbs. They were empty and voided of life, a mirror to a broken soul that couldn't mend.

The brightness in the room diminished and it was with a flicker of a finger that the holes on the windows filled themselves, the doors snapped shut, and the light became nonexistent. The two minutes were over.

"Well then," started Aedis, hand holding mine firmer as he stared at Ûzan's petite frame, perhaps a head smaller than her daughter and even more than us. "Is our bargain to your liking?"

Ûzan was smiling, something vivid swirling in her eyes, a sort of awakening evilness lighting her face. Her aura remained dark, sly, and wicked as though the very powers forging her soul were evil. "It depends on what you, Kyel, have to offer.''

Aedis's smile was cold and voided of anything of mischief or joy as he said, "A sword through your guts might very well be enough.''

The witch laughed, the voice sensual not one bit; chalk against chalkboard was more pleasant to the ears. "No need for that,'' she replied, tone steady and gentle even when I could see the stillness that dominated her aura. Good. "I was merely teasing, Kyel. I believe that you are mates, and therefore pay as one."

"We are,'' I confirmed, a wave of magic swirling around Ûzan before it enclosed like a pair of hands around her neck. Not tight to the point of suffocating or chocking, but enough to keep her in place. "Now, you better work on our requests fast or I'll have the curse restored back. And make it worse."

Her face slowly faltered, the wicked smile dissolving into a serious mask. She walked the small room straight to us, stopping once she was a couple of feet in front of the sofa. She only snarled at her daughter, flicking her wrist before Saél gathered her night dress and cloak, careful not to trip on the manacles, and got out of the room. Only to reappear moments later with an iron crate filled with empty glasses and tubes and vials and much more.