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Author: Myth & Legend Story: Cursed Rating: Teens Status: WIP Reviews: 30 Words: 215,482
Author’s note: Well, I’m back. I hope this chapter is up to scratch, and that you enjoy it after the long break. Just a quick reminder the “Schintor” is mentioned when Marlow and Amelia first meet. It’s a ritual of blood exchange whereby memories are shared. Marlow shut his eyes tight, his breath turning to ash in his throat as his ribs were shaken by the primeval roar of the explosion. His skin blistered, and his nerves sang with pain as he felt his death loom before him. When his heart continued to beat he opened his eyes cautiously, staring at the wall of white magic that swirled in front of him. It sparkled like a pearl, the heat of it making him sweat. Next to him, shielded by the spell, Tonks was rigid with shock. Her mouth hung open in a silent scream as her breath rattled in her throat. The air was arid, too hot to breathe, and he barely heard her croaked curse of surprise. With a faint sound the magic dispersed, leaving nothing but a hellish landscape in its wake. The Auror offices were filled with dancing flames, and the stinging smoke unfurled upwards towards the ceiling. There was nothing left of Tonks’ desk except splinters, and a blossom of scorch marks stabbed towards them, stopping abruptly a bare hair’s breadth from where they stood. Away to the left someone groaned, shaking Tonks from her paralysis. Marlow watched her go, barely registering what was happening. Two more dull thumps shook the building, and he felt his heart jolt in fear. More explosions. His wand hung from his limp fingers, still warm from the spell that had discharged from it. The shield that had saved their lives was like nothing he had seen before, but it had come from his wand, he knew it. Sweat trickled down his spine as explanations sprang to mind, none as comforting as they should be. Shaking himself free from the grasp of his own imagination he turned away, looking at the bodies that littered the ground. Some were beyond recognition, disguised by a grisly shroud of burns. Others groaned quietly, unable to comprehend what was happening. Tonks was kneeling next to Kingsley, speaking words of comfort that the Auror couldn’t hear. He was alive, staring blindly at the ceiling and biting his lip against the pain. Marlow grimaced at the bloodied mess of the man’s face, knowing that the scars would be permanent - if the shock didn’t kill the wizard. Something chimed against his boot and he looked down, seeing the dark lines of the Gulum on the floor. Absently he picked it up, running his thumb over the smooth metal before looking over his shoulder with a frown. A shadow flitted across the doorway, eerily quiet among the cries of the wounded. As he watched, it took shape, melting forwards from the smoke and flames and stepping towards him. Tonks looked up sharply at his gasp and stopped, gaping in disbelief. ‘What do you see?’ he demanded hoarsely, seeing the confused recognition in her face and knowing that her eyes would not see the same person who was beckoning to him. ‘Sirius… I don’t understand.’ Her face was pale, and her eyes were huge on her face. She rose slowly from her crouch, her right hand reaching hesitantly towards the apparition. Quickly Marlow clapped his hand down on her shoulder, shaking her lightly as he tried to keep his own gaze averted from the figure among the flames. ‘Run.’ ‘What?’ ‘It’s not who you think it is. They take on the appearance of the dead to tempt you closer! Get out of here, and don’t stop for anyone or anything unless they speak to you.’ ‘But-’ ‘NOW!’ The fear in his voice was enough, and he levelled his wand at the thing before him as Tonks sped away, dodging through the burning debris. In front of him Mariah, Thane’s dead wife, put one hand on her hip and beckoned him closer, her full lips curving into a beautiful smile. There was no sign of the scavengers’ teeth marks on her flesh, nor any evidence of her gruesome death. Even the ring that he had cut from her finger was in place. He knew with ever fibre of his being that what he was seeing wasn’t the truth, but he could feel his heart constrict painfully, desperate to believe it. ‘Wraithkin,’ he whispered, blinking sweat from his eyes and trying not to let the billowing smoke choke him. His throat was scratchy and his eyes stung, but he did not flinch. The woman moved forward, stepping over corpses and the injured without a second glance. Abruptly she stopped, a frown gathering on her brow as she examined him more closely. In a second she realised her disguise was useless, and the tan of her skin melted into nothing, revealing the nature of the creature beneath. Needle sharp teeth flashed as it lunged, reaching towards Marlow with transparent talons. Blind eyes flickered as it sensed him by the power of his life alone. He could smell the scent of death on it: the distinct, damp perfume of grave rot. Even as it lunged for him he twisted aside, dodging between the flames and sprinting away as fast as he could. Behind him the flames cracked sharply, and the fire took on a silver edge as the creature failed to follow him and perished. He turned to watch as the body, little more than sculpted air to start with, vanished in a hiss of fire and steam. Pressing his hand over his mouth to keep out the smoke he carried on, his wand clutched in his hand. More shadows flitted along the periphery of his vision, but he ignored them as extinguishing spells finally began to release water onto the flames. The burns on his hands and arms stung sharply, and his right cheek felt tender to the air that whispered past his face as he ran. Finding the stairs he took them two at a time, not stopping to look left or right or answer the cries of pain that rang in his ears. At least, he thought bitterly, the Wraithkin would leave anyone seriously injured alone. They sought out the strongest life forces and turned them into mirrors of their own vague existence. The fact that those creatures were here, things he had only seen once and hoped to never see again, did not bode well. They were summoned from a land that bridged the gap between the living and the dead. Only someone who could open a portal could call them into this world. They thirsted for life and would take that of those around them by any means necessary. Some had thought they were related to Dementors, but no Patronus could kill a Wraithkin. You couldn’t take life from something that was already dead. Even the one that had just burned to nothing would re-enter the world through the portal, if possible. His feet splashed in the puddles as water plastered his hair to his head. The cool water from the extinguishing spells eased his pain a little, but his fear was still paramount. Finally he found the main entrance to the Ministry and skidded to a halt as someone stepped out in front of him. Instantly he whipped his wand up, pointing it at their face. ‘Speak!’ ‘It’s me, it’s me!’ Thane shouted, his hands held up in surrender. ‘Are you all right?’ ‘There are bloody Wraithkins here!’ Marlow replied, wiping water out of his eyes and leaving dark trails of soot all over his face. ‘I know. I think they’re all over the town.’ Thane looked ill. His ashen face was streaked with soot, and his eyes kept darting around the shadowy room. ‘I just saw Tonks. She’s gone to find the Ron and others. Did you hear the explosions?’ Marlow nodded, grabbing Thane’s arm and dragging him along. No one stopped them or even looked their way as the Healers hurried in, wands at the ready to heal what they could. Fire officials, dazzling in their bright white robes brushed past, taking the stairs two at a time as they shouted for everyone to evacuate the building. ‘We need to find somewhere safe,’ Marlow said flatly, spitting the dusty soot from his mouth. ‘Shouldn’t we help Tonks?’ ‘It’s no good finding anyone unless there’s somewhere for us all to hide. Can you remember how to seal off a building from the Wraithkin?’ ‘Of course, but -’ ‘Come on then.’ Marlow forced his tired legs into a run, pushing away his concern for everyone else. He didn’t allow himself to wonder what had become of them. In the end it was all about his own survival. He hated himself for that cold thought, but it was better than the sharp, panicky concerns that threatened to overwhelm him. For once, the huge front doors to the Ministry were wide open. Beyond it witches and wizards thronged in the Muggle street, casting hasty glances over their shoulders as they tended to the wards that hid the catastrophe from the sight of the people of London. ‘Get to Diagon Alley,’ a wizard snapped at Marlow, his wispy eyebrows drawn into a fierce scowl. ‘They need all the Aurors able to hold a wand.’ ‘What happened?’ Marlow asked, not bothering to correct the man’s assumptions. ‘There were two explosions. One was in Gringotts and the other somewhere in Knockturn Alley. Go!’ The wizard showed no sign of recognising Marlow as Harry Potter, but if his face was like Thane’s then a mask of sweat-streaked grime covered his skin. He reached up to wipe it away, but thought the better of it. Even now it would be best if he was just another wizard with a wand. Thane took the lead, sprinting through the ward in a shock of purple light before dodging among the pedestrians. A few Muggles looked at them in alarm, taking in their appearance in the blink of an eye, but they sped on. Marlow swore quietly to himself as he saw the smoke. Two thick columns were being belched into the sky where the fingers of the wind smudged them into thick streaks. ‘Too big to cover up,’ Thane said breathlessly. ‘At least the Muggles can’t get to it.’ Marlow didn’t bother to respond as they dashed through the open wall and into Diagon Alley, only to be met by a terrified witch sprinting the other way. She was sobbing frantically and trembling like a leaf. ‘What is it, what’s wrong?’ Thane asked, holding a comforting hand to her. ‘Why isn’t anyone trying to put the fires out?’ ‘Get away from me!’ she screamed, her chest heaving as she tried to blink the tears from her eyes. ‘Get away from me!’ Fear made her insensible, and she did not hesitate as she turned on her heel and sprinted into the smoke. Her robes fluttered around her ankles and Marlow opened his mouth to call out, only to flinch as her scream cut through the air. The two wizards stared in horror at the roiling smoke that already filled the alley, watching the shadowy shapes dive through it like fish through water. Gripping his wand tight Marlow took a step forward, ignoring Thane’s warning. The acrid smoke tickled his nostrils, and he hunched his shoulders as a cool wind tickled the back of his neck. He didn’t have to walk far to find the body, and even as he bent to check for a pulse he knew it was hopeless. The young woman had already joined the Wraithkin. There were bites on her arms and face, the skin discoloured by the poison that had leeched into her blood and stolen her spirit in a heartbeat. Her eyes were glazed, and her mouth open in a silent scream. Looking along the alley he could see other prone shapes. People had tried to extinguish the fires, but the Wraithkin had got to them first. ‘Marlow!’ Thane’s cry snapped his head back, and he lunged through the smoke towards the older man. Three figures in black turned towards him, their faces masked and their eyes hidden in shadows. One had their wand tip pressed to Thane’s temple, and the other two held him as he struggled to free himself. ‘Expelliarmus!’ The magic soared through the air, slamming into the figure pointing their wand at Thane. They sprawled backwards on the stone as Thane pulled himself free, planting a fist squarely in the stomach of one of his captors as the other slipped away into the smoke. Sweeping his fallen wand off of the floor Thane ran onwards, leaving Marlow to follow. ‘I think there’s more than Wraithkin out here!’ ‘Who were they?’ Marlow asked, squinting through the smoke as he almost tripped over another body. Thane didn’t answer, instead shouting back, ‘We’ve got to find somewhere -’ The rest of his sentence was drowned out in a rush of sound. Green light flickered off of the surrounding walls, and Marlow craned his head upwards as the magic soared through the air. Blurred by the smoke and rippling gently in the heat a massive skull etched itself into the sky. The smoke obscured the sun, creating a false dusk in which the spell shone with emerald clarity. The rustling of robes caught his attention, and he heard Thane swear bitterly as the figures stepped forwards. Smoke curled lazily around them, reaching up with choking tendrils and scattering beneath the measured paces of the dark-robed wizards. Marlow glanced over his shoulder, counting hastily as their reflection in the window of Quality Quidditch Supplies were obscured. Instinct pressed him and Thane back to back as they were surrounded. No words needed to be spoken as each man instantly sought the protection of his friend and promised it in turn. The steady beat of footsteps stopped, and for a moment nothing broke the silence but the distant crackle of flames. A wand tip flared, lifting away the shadow the smoke cast across them all. Marlow looked from one masked face to the next, wishing he could see what lay beneath. Behind him Thane murmured, ‘Death Eaters. This is to do with you, lad.’ ‘Death Eaters?’ ‘No time to explain. Let’s get out of here.’ Marlow looked for the weak link in the chain, measuring the height and build of each wizard with care. One, short and stocky, fidgeted slightly under his gaze, and he knew that if they could break through this wizard would be the one to give them their escape route. Straightening his shoulders he managed a small, predatory smile in the direction of the nervous man, and tightened his hand noticeably on his wand. The wizard twitched a little, but held his ground. Behind him Marlow could feel Thane tensing, ready to pounce in the opposite direction. Grimly Marlow wondered who would be followed, and who would be left to escape. Or would it be the perfect chase, and the thirteen would split to hunt them both down? ‘Kill them.’ The woman’s voice took him by surprise, but Marlow had no time to think on it as the Death Eaters surged forward, spells already shining like jewels on the end of their wands. Thane’s weight slammed into his back and they both landed on the cobbles painfully as curses soared overhead, followed a breath later by cries of pain. Wasting no time they both scrabbled to their feet, running without a thought towards the dark, fume-choked alleyways that knotted wizarding London. ‘Avada Kedavra!’ The green light lit the surrounding alley, and Marlow stumbled, gasping as memories surged in his mind. A dead body, staring sightlessly at the sky. A knife cutting his skin. Unfathomable hatred… And under them all was the sharp, bitter desire to turn around and cast the same spell back into the smoke. To slay them, one by one, for daring to challenge him. ‘Keep going, lad, it missed you by a mile!’ Thane’s voice was an anchor to reality, and he willingly followed it. Ducking down a small passageway between shops he leant against the wall, gasping for breath and almost vomiting at the smoke that caught in his throat. ‘What’s wrong?’ Thane demanded, his eyes fixed on the passageway mouth and his wand at the ready. ‘I remember.’ Marlow pressed a hand to his head and sank closer to the floor where the air was clearer. ‘I just can’t make sense of it.’ ‘No offence, lad, but now’s not the time,’ Thane said quietly, leaning down to put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Let’s deal with these bastards first.’ Marlow nodded once, spitting on the floor and shaking his head to clear it. They needed a plan of attack. ‘How about Morrissey’s ribbon? Just until their numbers are lower, then we can fight face to face.’ Thane nodded at the idea, his approval etched onto his face. ‘There’s another alley over there. I’ll whistle when I’m ready. And, lad, watch out for Wraithkin.’ ‘You too.’ Thane vanished into the smoke, leaving Marlow to gather his own thoughts. The memories continued to stir, but he ignored them. If he was to survive he needed to be concentrating hard on everything around him, not picking apart the images of his distant past. Minutes went past like hours. Every little sound was a threat, and every whirl of smoke hid dangerous secrets. When Thane’s low whistle finally came Marlow flicked his wand, sending a wire thin line of magic out into the haze. It drifted like a strand of spider web, red and angry, until it connected with Thane’s wand. The sparkle of power shook his wand for an instant before it fell silent, and the thread vanished. Only the gentle twitch of the wood in his palm told him that it was still connected. Crouching low to avoid the worst of the smoke he squinted around him, trying to make out shapes in the strange ochre air. He had no idea what time it was and wondered how long they had before darkness added an extra dimension of fear to the scene. He’d seen no human being other than the dark-robed wizards and the witch when they’d first entered the alley. He wondered if people had begun to avoid Diagon Alley, or if the hundreds who normally thronged the shops had found somewhere safe to lie low. He held his breath as a Wraithkin drifted past, its jaws slightly agape. It twitched, sensing life nearby, but carried on regardless, perhaps sensing a stronger collection of life force further ahead. It drifted above the ribbon, causing no more than a spark of shock to glint along its length. Once it had gone he heard another soft noise from Thane, and answered in kind. The whistles were quiet, and only made sense to another Tiparnay. It was the easiest way of letting a partner know the simple things, such as that you were still alive. The sound of running footsteps and low, argumentative voices made Marlow grin coldly. He hunkered down a little more and peered around the alley mouth, looking into the smoke at the three figures walking towards him. Contrary to the thirteen they had seen together these three were huddled close together, and jumped at every little sound. Initially Marlow had thought they had something to keep the Wraithkin away, but perhaps he had been wrong. ‘We should find the others. This is useless!’ one snapped weakly, flinching as a fellow masked wizard turned on him. ‘We obey orders, or we die trying to complete them. We do not run like cowards.’ The third remained silent, flicking his wand back and forth among the smoke. A gentle tug on his wand tip let Marlow know that Thane was ready, and gradually he tightened the spell until it ran at knee height across the alley. Morrissey’s ribbon was a loud spell, and once it discharged their cover would be blown, but the odds would be more in their favour. The Death Eaters, too intimidated to stride ahead or fall behind, collided with the ribbon almost simultaneously. The magical charge scorched the air, sending dazzling white light flashing in front of Marlow’s eyes. There were no cries of pain. There wasn’t time for any as the Death Eaters were thrown back by the power of it. They fell to the floor like a bundle of rags and lay motionless. Cries of alarm and excitement echoed around the alleyways and Marlow knew they’d have to stand and fight, or run and hide. Thane had already sprinted to check the bodies, and Marlow saw him swear violently and rub his hand over his face. ‘What is it?’ he demanded, watching over his shoulder for approaching attackers. ‘They’re dead.’ ‘What?’ Marlow left his hiding place and approached, staring with a sinking heart at the froth that coated their lips. Morrissey’s ribbon was a shocking spell that rendered the victim unconscious. The cyanide foam of the suicide pills at their mouths was something he hadn’t even considered. ‘The shock would have ruptured them,’ Thane said quietly. ‘It’s not our fault, lad.’ ‘Yeah it is,’ he whispered in reply. ‘There!’ The two men turned to see their pursuers charging down the alleyway, all evidence of sombre decorum lost. ‘East, and meet at the bank!’ Thane shouted, taking off to the left and leaving Marlow to take the narrow, snaking alleys to the right. Dodging down the side of Eeylops Owl Emporium, Marlow jumped over abandoned cages and sacks of owl treats before scaling the fence at the back and sprinting away. Cities were always full of forgotten spaces. Areas where one shop backed onto another became a general dumping ground for broken merchandise. Scraps of mossy cobbles, once part of the main street, had been cut off by buildings and sat in resplendent silence, rarely touched by human feet. Now he hurried through the warren of hidey-holes, dodging through gardens and keeping his eyes trained on the steady column of smoke. The air was already thickening from a persistent tickle to choking smog, and he skidded to a stop beside the wall of a tumbledown shed. There was no sound of pursuit, and he quickly cast an Aeris spell around his lips. A deep breath of clean air sent him into racking coughs as the spell filtered the smoke out. He should have thought of it earlier, but there had been no time. Now, as he bent double trying to let his lungs recover from the abuse he cursed himself. Abruptly a tingle of warning shot down his spine, but before he could react a wand tip bit into his neck, sharp and painful. He froze, his breath locking into his throat as his ribs spasmed painfully. He could feel the wand tip bruising his skin and glanced out of the corner of his eyes at the tall, masked wizard. It was a moment of predator and prey, where one knows that he has won, and the other that he has lost. The frozen tableau erupted into motion as Marlow dove away, twisting around and bringing his boot into painful contact with the wizard’s crotch. The cry of pain rapidly turned into a snarl as spell after spell discharged into the air. Some hit the mossy ground while others bit into Marlow’s flesh, burning and twisting like hot knife blades as he struggled to his feet. Blood splashed down his arm as a vivid purple curse sizzled past, and he retaliated unthinkingly, grasping the wrist that held the wand and kicking hard at the forearm. The crack of bone was audible, and the wizard howled in pain. His agony turned to fear in an instant, the shadowed eyes widening in uncontrollable terror. Letting go of the man’s arm Marlow spun just in time to see the Wraithkin lunge towards him. The cobbles dug into his ribs as he ducked, feeling the talons whisk past. Without looking back he grabbed his fallen wand and scrabbled to his feet. The masked wizard’s sobs died to nothing, and he knew the Wraithkin would soon resume its search for him. His abused body wanted nothing more than a long slumber, but he drove it onwards, gradually moving back towards the main alley as he approached Gringotts. The bank’s beautiful façade was shattered into pieces. Columns had been shorn in two, and the massive roof slumped threateningly. The stone did not burn, but he could hear the distant crackle of flames from within. He wondered how much money and how many deeds were being lost with each minute. Approaching the rubble with care he noticed little bodies, childlike in size, tossed like crumpled dolls along the ground. The goblins looked as irritable in death as they had in life. Grimly he thought of the people whose secrets had been hidden within the bank’s catacombs. The piece of Mordasbal he had left in the goblin’s care was probably already missing. He wondered if the Death Eaters were behind all of it, and how Thane knew about them. The thought of his best friend made him look around, and he began to pace the periphery of the ravaged building. With each minute his trepidation grew. Thane was good, but it didn’t mean that nothing had befallen him. He wondered if he should go back along the eastern side of the alley in search of him, but dismissed the thought. That would be foolish. A sigh from the building caught his attention, and he noticed a massive crack up the frontage gape further. With a final tortured sigh it collapsed and rubble shot in all directions. Marlow felt something clip the side of his head, and swore as the world spun. He tried to stumble out of range, but another blow knocked him to the floor. All he could do was curl into a ball as his grip on consciousness slipped, and darkness held him. Hours slipped past, and the setting sun turned the smoke crimson before night swamped London’s narrow streets. When Marlow finally awoke it was to find the alley as deserted as when he had lost consciousness. The fires burnt on, gorging themselves on whatever would burn. He could hear the distant screams of Wraithkin victims, and moved slightly in preparation to run. His head pounded threateningly, and he could feel sticky blood on his cheek. Lying still to gather his wits he froze as someone nearby spoke. For an instant he thought he would be seen, until he realised the rubble of the bank obscured him from view. ‘We found this in the Ministry, Lady.’ The voice was obsequious, and he could almost hear the distaste in the woman’s response. ‘Thank you, Vartan.’ There was the sound of ruffled paper and a sound of surprise. When the woman spoke again there was barely veiled urgency in her voice. ‘Did you confirm that the younger one was Potter?’ ‘No, Lady. Unfortunately we were unable to kill either of them before they escaped. I am sorry.’ The apology sounded harsh and false, even to Marlow’s ears. The Lady obviously thought the same, because her next words were little more than a snarl. ‘Retreat. The Wraithkin feed indiscriminately. Those two men were Tiparnay, and one of them is Potter. There will be another opportunity for us to – meet. Spread the word that he is not to be killed. It appears he is essential to my plan.’ ‘Yes, Lady. Should I close the Wraithkin portal?’ There was a moment of silence and Marlow could smell a sickly, floral scent mingling with the smoke. ‘No, Vartan,’ the woman purred. ‘Let them suffer. Let them suffer for the poverty they have reduced us to.’ Their footsteps receded and Marlow grimaced. Somehow he didn’t imagine that their plan would put him to any pleasant use. With great care he looked over the edge of the rubble, trying to see if the coast was clear. When nothing threatened him he rose unsteadily to his knees. His stomach rebelled and he wretched heavily. Groaning, he wiped his hand across his mouth and got to his feet. He tried to gain his bearings as his head threatened to split in two. The Wraithkin portal had to be closed. If not then the creatures would continue to pour into the living world until there was nothing left for them to eat. Staggering drunkenly he clung to chunks of rubble until he reached the nearest vertical wall, scorched as it was by the explosion. Looking around he saw the mouth of Knockturn Alley opposite the bank. The wizard outside the Ministry had said another explosion had gone off there. He edged forward carefully, breathing a gentle sigh of pain as he groped in the darkness. Moving from one circle of firelight to the other he kept having to pause as the world spun lazily. When he finally reached the sight of the explosion he froze and ducked back out of sight, trying to calm his throbbing heart. The explosion in Knockturn Alley had been to cover the creation of the portal. A whirling funnel hung in mid air, as tall as he was. The Wraithkin spawned from it slowly, erupting from large cocoons before weaving away in search of food. Something tacky beneath his boot made him look down, and he grimaced at the large pool of blood. Borgin lay only feet away, dead and cold. Marlow felt a flash of sympathy for the moral-less wizard, but shook it aside. There wasn’t time for this. Gathering his wits into some shaky semblance of normalcy he looked around him. Any portal needed an anchor into the world. Somewhere nearby was an object that was keeping it open. Destroying that would close the portal. He kept one eye on the emerging cocoon as he scanned the rubble. The bomb must have been among Borgin’s merchandise, as the shop was nothing but a shell of broken artefacts. Something sounded underfoot and he looked down to see a mask. It had been torn from its wearer’s face, and his eyes gradually depicted a robed figure crumpled on the floor. Perhaps one of the Death Eaters had bought something, sold a package with the bomb in it and then opened the portal just before the explosion. Whatever had happened, it had cost him his life. The cocoon bulging from the portal began to writhe, and Marlow quickened his search. It was only when his boot caught a piece of wood near the funnel’s edge that he gave it any consideration. He had thought it nothing more than debris, but now that he looked at it he knew differently. Thelsa’s Staff. He’d acquired this for Borgin himself, and to find it out here, undamaged, was too much of a coincidence. The wood of the staff was bare and the carvings crude. It was meant to be an object of great power, and as he picked it up he could feel the wood humming beneath his palm. Taking a deep breath he gripped it tight and looked around, finding a remaining corner of wall. The bricks were crumbling, but they would do the trick. With all his remaining strength he heaved the staff at the wall, crying out in pain as the wood cracked and the magic discharged, crackling up his arms and along the ground. Whirling around he saw the portal tremble and begin to collapse. The cocoon thrashed, and talons slit through the membranous structure, carving a way out for what it sheltered. The creature slithered to the ground, the air that formed it taking shape. For a moment it seemed to consider taking on a disguise, but in that moment of thought Marlow was gone. His legs carried him at random, taking him through twists and turns in a desperate hope to lose the creature as the portal finally collapsed in an explosion of light. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted a familiar shape and headed towards it. A glance over his shoulder made him grit his teeth. Two more had joined the chase, and their ghostly shapes whirled the murky night air. Forcing himself to look forward again he summoned his strength and lunged onward. In front of him, next to a decrepit old church, a graveyard stood. It was a mystery of shadows, but to Marlow it represented sanctuary. If there was one thing a Wraithkin couldn’t do, it was enter the grounds where large numbers of graves were present. Their lives, so weak already, would be pulled towards the grave and they would be returned to the realm they came from. He vaulted over the low fence and skidded to a stop, turning to face the creatures that had followed him. They twisted, taking on a strange, human type form. Their feet made no sound as they prowled the periphery, their teeth lengthening and their eyes clouding over as they struggled to contain their rage. Marlow backed away as one tried to climb the fence, but it lost form and drifted into lifeless vapour as soon as it trod on a grave. The two remaining pulled horrific faces, and one pulled something from its phantom pockets. The knife caught the firelight for a moment and Marlow felt his breath hitch in his throat. The Wraithkin pulled back its arm and threw the blade. For a moment Marlow thought it would fall short, but the blade jerked and accelerated towards him, powered by the magic imbued in its hilt. There wasn’t the time to duck, and all he could do was shut his eyes as it cleaved into the left side of his abdomen, just below the ribs. Pain shot through him and he gasped, stumbling backwards a little. His hands had begun to shake, and he fought to control his breathing. The heat around the wound spoke for itself. The poison was already working its way into his blood stream. It would be much lower concentration than a Wraithkin’s bite, but it would still take less than a day to do its job. Weakly he forced his legs to move a little, clutching tombstones and spitting blood as he went. A dais-like tomb, as tall as he was and waist high, was his destination. He had to lie down. He had to rest. A few moments sleep and he would think of what to do. Biting back a scream of pain he eased himself onto the stonework, gritting his teeth as the knife bit into him further. His basic knowledge of anatomy was limited, but the amount of blood seeping around the blade told him that something important had been hit. Gingerly he lay down and fought for breath, trying to remember his survival training. If poisoned, breathe slow and relax. It will slow the circulation of the toxin. Dimly it crossed Marlow’s mind that whoever advised that had obviously never been poisoned. The advice seemed ridiculous, even to him. A small sound away to his right made him turn his head as gently as he could. Inky vapour, almost invisible in the night, was gradually taking shape. It thickened and whirled in the gentle breeze before a pale figure stepped from it, her lips curled into a pitying smile. Amelia raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow as she slid closer, tutting mockingly. ‘So much for the great Marlow. You see how easy you mortals are brought down? You see how weak you are, and how ineffectual?’ With a cool chuckle she dipped her finger in the blood that was beginning to pool on the stone beneath him. Slowly, knowing he had not the strength to stop her, she raised her crimson finger-tip to her tongue. Her gasp was loud among the tombs, and Marlow clung snarled pathetically, wishing he could find the power to fight her. He noticed her pale face blanch further, and her pupils dilate. Dimly he remembered the rite of Schintor, where memories were exchanged by the sharing of blood. Dimly he wondered if she could see the memories that were blocked to him, or if they were lost to her. Her hand fell to her side and she looked at him, her eyes re-evaluating him. In a quick movement she grabbed his chin with her right hand and bit into her left wrist. It was a small wound, but even as Marlow struggled to get away a drip of blood landed in his mouth. The coppery taste was instantly eclipsed as his weary mind was filled with a reel of images. They were fragmented and hard to understand, but they blocked the pain entirely. The debris of vampiric law faded away and was replaced once more with the reality of the graveyard. ‘Why?’ he croaked, not understanding. Amelia shrugged. ‘We needed to know what you know. Blood must be shared; it cannot be taken. If I had not given you a drop of my blood, your memories would have driven me to my own death.’ ‘Why not just kill me?’ Her face fell into a frown, as though she was at a loss to explain her emotions to a human of such limited understanding. ‘Vampires may be selfish, but we live for the fight, the hunt. We are human, in our way. This-’ she motioned to his prone form. ‘-is no hunt.’ ‘Sorry to be such a disappointment,’ Marlow hissed, unable to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. Amelia looked up at the horizon, and then back at him, before leaning closer so that her breath tickled his ear. ‘Dawn will bring you your salvation, Marlow. The blade will melt in sunlight. Think of it as a test, to see if you are worthy of my hunt. When the sun rises, the knife, the poison and the wound will be gone.’ ‘How do I know you’re not lying?’ he groaned, feeling his eyes close against his will as Amelia’s voice faded from his hearing. ‘You’ll just have to trust someone for once, Marlow.’ Amelia faded from sight, leaving the graveyard in deathly silence. After a few minutes a drip of fluid broke the peace, quickly followed by another. Marlow’s blood dripped from the lip of the tomb onto the uncaring Earth, measuring out the seconds until dawn, or death.
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