Only a fool would practice dark arts in their own home. Carmine needed a place she could study without risk of interruption. She needed a place of her own. The first book she spied in the vault already sat in her pack, but it didn't sit alone. If the vault had been disturbed, it couldn't be as closely monitored as she feared. Circumstances could change at any time, without warning, so she stole more than just one book. What Emmet didn't know wouldn't get back to him. She hoped.

The question of who disturbed the vault still rattled in her head. How many people had access? Aside from her and Emmet, the Levals certainly did, some exorcists she had to guess, but who else? She had no way to know, not yet, at least.

That question had to wait. She had more important things to solve; like finding a study. Once again, she slipped out from the tower on the edge of night. This time, at least, she left a note that she'd return at noon tomorrow. Where she went, she didn't say.

Stalking through Reefcliff's old town, she analyzed building after building. She hoped to find a place with at least four decrepit walls still standing, maybe a locked door, if she were lucky. Her feet ached already, and she considered lightening her requirement to at least one of the two. She didn't have an eye for this work. Everywhere she looked, she saw broken windows and busted doors. Someone walking in on her was the last thing she needed, right beside fellow tenants. Displaced folk used the crumbling buildings for shelter. Some of the best candidates for her study already had occupants. Her work already veered on the abhorrent, she didn't want to cause any more needless suffering by forcing people out.

The looks she got told her to keep her distance. Folk in this part of town regarded Carmine with abject suspicion. A sentiment she returned. Desperation could make a rogue of anyone, not that she had room to judge. She forewent her blue, and obvious, Leval robe in favor of a simple white shirt and dark pants, but the spellbook holstered at her ribs stood out no matter what she wore. Coming here alone made her nervous, but she drowned her unease with a few sips from her new flask. For once she hoped her scars would do well to keep others away.

Reefcliff's old Town curved around the bay, edging closer to the expansive ocean and all its perils. A mild landslide a few years past rendered the area partially flooded. Nothing a few sea walls couldn't fix, but the empire devoted its resources to strengthening its fleet, rather than repairing a decaying district. So long as the shipyards met their quotas, naught needed to change.

Their neglect became Carmine's opportunity. One old manor suggested a promising candidate. Boards covered its windows. Overgrowth consumed its west wing, while water tainted the east. Carmine strained her eyes to read the fading letters above the door. It claimed to be a dockmaster's lodge. Carmine scoffed. It had neither authority, nor comfort.

She pulled the door open. Its locking chain dangled limp from its housing, jagged hacksaw marks carving through its rust. She suspected someone had looted the place, but the foyer was virtually bare. Rotted chairs and empty portrait frames crawled towards a long wooden desks nailed into the ground. Rusted posts tilted at odd angles, the ropes between them unraveled. Carmine imagined the place in its prime: dozens of people lining up to report their goods, scheduling passages, paying for docks, and perhaps the dockmaster skimmed some profit for himself. Now, she claimed it.

Deeper inside, offices had been gutted and store rooms pilfered. What might have been a bedroom now bred enough varieties of mold that Carmine shut the door never to open again. Far from perfect, far from healthy too, but the work didn't allow Carmine the luxury of choice. She found the office in the west wing that smelled only a little wood rot. It would do. Time to unpack.

A mage's bag always fit more than it appeared. Thanks to space-altering spells, Carmine had everything she needed. She set her books on the desk. How could she begin without notebooks and research to fill them. Next, she carefully placed down a black crystal tablet. It allowed her to create and erase spell circles without leaving a trace, and she could mark it by touch alone. So long as she didn't need to draw anything larger than its surface, she could practice as many times as she needed. Next, she retrieved her portable safe, and all her necromancy notes from within. Last, Carmine pulled a case of common spell components from her bag. Silver, rare stones, specific herbs and sands, some spells required some strangely specific focal points. What these new spells would need, she had no way to know, so she brought everything. As she set all her materials aside she stood before the desk.

Her feet gave her a throbbing reminder she'd been walking on crumbling roads for hours. This decrepit place offered little in comfort. She shook her head, almost laughing at her own absurd concerns.

One of those concerns stared back from between her hands. The Waters of Life, a tome of forbidden sorcery, was now her bedtime story. Her knuckles rapped the desk in soft thuds with the book between them. Its dark crimson cover beckoned Carmine down. It wanted her to open it. Her hands stayed still.

Ridiculous.

She'd stolen a relic, killed an old man in his bed, even lied to people who trusted her, but this is what gave her pause? Turning the page in a fucking book? She laughed, shaking her head, but not the feeling that she stood on a precipice. Which way was up? Which way is down?.

She'd already come this far…all the wrong she'd done would make her lose everything if the exorcists found out. If she continued, some good could come out of all this. Her parents could live again…if she continued.

She wiped the cold sweat of her brow, and turned the first page.

Blood. The tome taught the secrets of blood. The mingling of soul and body infused flesh with vitalic essence concentrated in blood. A mage could draw on that energy, if they knew how, but doing so would drain the source of life.

In moderation, the subject could heal the harm in time as one would heal a wound, but too much at once, and Carmine guessed what would happen even if the book wouldn't admit it.

From what she read thus far, this…blood magic offered an alternate, more powerful source of energy to fuel spells. If used alongside the standard spiritual method, her spells would have more power than she could wield before. That alone would be useful, but not directly relevant to her goal. Learning to control vitalic forces however, that could help her unravel the transition of life to death, and perhaps, turn it back again.

Before making any assumptions, she had to learn its function. That required testing. Using an animal felt wrong, and another person would be even worse. There was only one subject at the moment.

Carmine plucked her father's knife from her belt, her own haggard reflection in its steel. All this…was for them. She rolled up her left sleeve and unraveled her bandages to the flame-kissed flesh beneath. The knife nibbled a red line over her arm she, and at last realized one benefit to her mutilation: her dulled, damaged nerves barely felt pain at all.

She cut shallow, only enough to get a few drops. With her blood on her gloved hand, she whispered a healing incantation to close the fresh laceration. She focused her intent through her blood, and it brightened crimson when her breath finished. The wound closed, as expected, but the fatigue, the mental pressure she associated with spellcasting never appeared.

The book was right.

The front door creaked in the foyer, cutting through Carmine's focus. She rolled down her sleeve and wiped the knife on her pants. Did someone follow her? An exorcist? Carmine snatched a hand mirror from the desk and reflected everything in her study. Whispering an illusion, she captured the sight in her mirror. As she snapped it closed, her books, her tablet, her vault, it all disappeared. None had moved in truth, but until she reopened the mirror, they would be invisible unless disturbed. A stronger focus created a stronger illusion, and Carmine hid the mirror beneath her desk before stalking into the hall to confront the intruder.

“Could you be a little quieter?” A rough whisper carried from the entrance in an annoyed hiss. It bristled with irritation.

“Can you get off my back?” The retort snapped louder, squirming and uncertain. “You can't see shit unless I spot it first.”

“And you wouldn't have the spine to follow. Now keep quiet before they hear us!”

Much too late for that. Their light, yet unpracticed steps creaked across the rotten floorboards towards the west wing. Flickering firelight betrayed their movement ahead of them. Carmine shut her door, and slicked into the darkest part of the hall. Her eyes better pierced the night than lantern totting humans. They rounded the corner into the corridor where Carmine waited and watched. She saw only two: a young man and woman. From their faces, Carmine guessed they were a few years younger than herself. Sixteen, seventeen, perhaps, but they wore familiar expressions of folks with twice their years, and thrice the troubles. The young woman led the way, a deep frown creasing her grime tinted brow. Knotted black hair slithered from her scalp, unevenly cut likely but an untrained hand. Behind her, the young man held a lantern low to the ground. He lacked the same intensity as his partner, but Carmine noticed his brown eyes darting towards each room, calculating, appraising, before he followed. Both wore dark tunics, color faded, stitches frayed, and stains of varying ages matted their trousers.

They were the desperate people Carmine hoped to avoid. They’d seen her wandering the old town, said as much, and they followed her inside.

Annoying. She cursed in her mind. Such carelessness threatened all her work. If she were going to act outside the law, she needed a better eye for such threats.

…A better eye. She smirked. Perhaps she could turn this misfortune into a benefit after all.

Carmine waited for them to near her before she stepped on the edge of their light. Her footsteps cracked against the wood, clear and close. Both humans jumped at her sudden presence. The young man lifted the lantern, illuminating Carmine's scared face and stern glare. He looked upon her and flinched. For the first time, that put a smile on her face.

"Holy shit," the young man gasped, "that's a fucking elf! You're going to get us killed-"

"Find your spine, Marcus," the young woman snapped. Her knuckles tightened white around her dagger hilt, its point glinting at Carmine. "You. You don't belong around here. We- uh- we have certain rules for new folks."

They leaned away, their stances half-way between confrontation and flight. Carmine understood their confusion. She often was the first elf most people met, but they had the fortune of attending the same school, or being in a calm environment. Calm deserted this pair of vagabonds. They dared intrude on her space and she caught them by surprise. Confusion gave way to uncertainty, mystery…fear. She could use that.

"Truly?" Carmine stood straighter, emulating Symphonia Leval of all people. "I have some rules of my own." Her language switched to the ancient's tongue, as Carmine called the lantern’s fire to her hand. A small part of her mind still screamed as she cradled the flame in her hand, but she forced it down.

"Fuck! She's a mage too!?" The man stepped behind his partner. Carmine's smile grew.

"My rules will take precedence under this roof," she continued, "First you will explain why you've come."

"W-well…" The young woman's bravado all but deserted her now. "I-if you're going to, take some ground around here, you gotta pay tribute for…protection."

"...And that's supposed to be you?" Carmine soaked each word in doubt.

"The district is ours," the young woman insisted, frustration rising in her breath. "It wasn't free, we fought for it."

"Fought who, the fish?"

"You have no idea-" she fell for the goad. The girl stole one step closer. Carmine responded with a flick of her wrist and a whisper. The lantern flame flew into the knife, and its blade heated bright orange in an instant. With a sharp cry, the blade clattered to the floor. Its dim glow left the three in near total darkness.

"You have two options," Carmine declared. "You can try to extort me, and get yourselves hurt…or worse." She left them a few seconds to wonder. "Alternatively, we can come to a more amicable arrangement." Carmine let her words hang in the dark with only the heavy breaths of the intruding pair for company. She hid her spell signs behind her back as she called magelight to brighten the corridor behind her. "It's your choice."

"What do you want?" The young man caved immediately.

"Marcus!" The young woman snapped, but had no counter.

"You're right about one thing, I am new to this town," Carmine spoke over any second thoughts they could have. She weighted each word, demanding attention. "I'll need things retrieved, an odd job done, and a watchful eye to ensure I'm not disturbed."

"We're not your grunts! Do that shit yourself. Better yet: shit yourself." The young woman snapped again, still cradling her hand. A pang of guilt struck Carmine for burning her, but the woman would recover with some cold water.

"You're funny," Carmine chuckled, "but I prefer a bit of discretion in my dealings." She reached into her pocket, sliding a few coins between her fingers. "Make no mistake, you would benefit from this agreement." She pulled out a pair of silver coins: a piece of the stipend provided to students from the Leval institute. The ancients used silver as a conduit for their great works. The Vembrian empire, Raelis, and even other nations acknowledged its worth. The church of the ancients claimed its divine value as the blood of the ancients themselves. One coin was worth ten in gold. Only Arcanite eclipsed its value. To Carmine, two coins was a week's budget. To these two, Carmine estimated it was more than they'd made all year. Even in the dark, silver glinted in their eyes. It persuaded them more than any word she could have said. She tucked her coins into her fist and held it aloft.

"I'm willing to give you all this now, and two more coins each week you work for me. Don't involve yourselves in my affairs, save for what I ask, and you'll do quite well for yourselves."

"Regan," the young man looked at the snappy young woman, gesturing his eyes to the moneyed fist.

"Fine," the young woman swallowed her pride, a bitter sneer on her lips. She glared at Carmine "You better not try to cheat us."

"I wouldn't dare," Carmine replied. She divided the coins between her hands and offered one in each palm for the pair to take. As they reached out, wary and uncertain, Carmine grabbed their hands, and spoke an illusion to life. She called the arcane brand of her circle to the back of her own hand, and mirrored a similar symbol on both her new assistants.

"What are you doing?" The woman tried to pull back but Carmine held tight as she completed her sham ritual.

"Just a matter of insurance," Carmine replied as the illusion faded. She released her grip, leaving them with the coins she promised. "You are marked to me," she lied with grim determination. "Should either of you try to run off without fulfilling your part of the deal, or tell anyone, I will find you." She made no more threat than that, letting the two think of their own price for betrayal.

"Keep paying us like you promised, and you got nothing to worry about." The man examined his share with a hungry grin. Silver replaced his apprehension.

Good. Carmine hoped she'd pull this off, but she surpassed her own expectations. A self-satisfied grin crawled over her face as she enjoyed her mysterious mage act. Spending so much time in the tower made her forget how ignorant most folk were of sorcery.

"Now with all that out of the way, who are you two?" Carmine looked between them, huffing with faux-boredom. "What are your names?"

"I'm Regan," the young woman replied. "He's Marcus, my brother. We lived in this part of town when it went to shit."

"And then it flooded." Marcus added.

"I see," Carmine felt a pang of sympathy. She lost her home too. "Well, Regan, Marcus, we may not have started on the right foot, but for clarity's sake: be fair with me, I'll be fair with you."

For once, Regan's expression softened. Distrust still darkened her eyes, but the fighting tension in her stance finally relaxed. "I can get behind that."

"Same here," Marcus agreed. "So…you got something for us to do, or should we just come back tomorrow?"

"It's late, come back in the morning." Carmine turned back to her decrepit study. "And bring a chair, would you? There's no place to fucking sit around here."