It was midnight as the officer hurried down Marrow Avenue. The darkness shrouded him, hiding his lithe movements from all possible prying eyes. Except, that is, for the pair of eyes that followed him.
Malhaven Manor towered above, a black mausoleum, its stone gargoyles leering down at him. It was like every other manor on Marrow Avenue: imposing Grecian pillars and black rendered brick.
He slipped through the huge, wrought-iron gates, and up the wide drive to the oak front doors. Doggedly, his pursuer followed and crouched behind a manicured bush by the gates. He watched as the officer pulled the thin, silver chain hanging by the manor door. A clanging sounded within, and after a moment, the door opened, a dim yellow light spilling out onto the stoop.
“Can I help you?” frowned the butler, a portly man with wiry grey hair.
The officer pulled a piece of paper out of his jacket and held it up for the older man to see. His lined face paled as he read the first line. Silently, the butler stepped back, pulling the door open with him.
The officer stepped lightly inside and continued towards the sweeping, black marble staircase.
“Sir!” the butler protested. “If you just wait—”
“No need,” the officer replied crisply. Tucking the paper back into his jacket he jogged swiftly up the stairs.
On the second floor sitting room, he called her name. Down the hallway, a door opened, and his charge strode out in a flowing, black dressing gown. She was willowy and proud with the thick hair and pink cheeks of her condition. She was as pale as the moon and just as lovely with silver eyes that were presently fixed on him. The robe made a thin shield around her large pregnant belly.
“So you have come for me.” Her soft voice held a quiet power, and it stirred something within the officer that he pushed down immediately. She placed a hand protectively on her stomach.
“Beatrice Malhaven,” he announced formally. “You are charged with the illegal use of black magic. I have a warrant for your arrest while you await your trial.”
The words hung between them, a hangman’s noose swaying in a cold wind.
She squared her shoulders and closed her eyes for a single, broad moment. It stuck with him, those silver eyes. There was something scorching in them he could not name. Something primal, beautiful, and savage. But he did not let his mind linger on it. He had a job to do. One of many tonight. He clenched his jaw.
“Will you come easily, or will it be a fight?” Words he had said so many times, yet tonight they felt flat and dry in his mouth. He knew her answer before she gave it.
Her eyes were bright as she swept her arms out wide, silver magic swirling in front of her. “I will not come with you, officer.”
He responded quickly, putting his hands together in a spell that made his skin crawl. His Power surged within him, dark and violent. He separated his palms, and a black ball of potent energy fizzed and crackled madly, demanding permission to devour. His nostrils flared, fighting to control the movements with his mind. He met Beatrice eye to eye. Something deep inside him wanted to plead with her. Wanted her to stop this.
“Don’t make me do this,” he said through gritted teeth.
Her magic swirled powerfully in front of her. As she gazed at him, her face softened for half a moment and then became stone. “I will not be a prisoner,” she hissed. “I will not be a victim like those before me. I will not let anyone harm my children.” The silver haze pulsed, and all at once, it changed, turning a violent shade of red.
This was a battle of skill. Of Power. Of wit. The officer had fought this battle many times before, but this woman was something else entirely. The force of her Power shook the floorboards. He could feel the rage of it vibrating in his bones. The most powerful sorceress for five dimensions in any direction was commanding a change in the very matter around them. He knew there was only one way around it. And it was the black ball in his hands. He had prepared for this. He knew what to do.
“So be it,” the officer said, feeling a movement behind him.
“No!” A side door slammed open, and an old woman swept out, her face a mask of anger and fear.
At the same time, someone behind the officer cried out, “Stop!”
The officer was out of time. With all the force of his Power behind him, he hurled the death spell towards the pregnant sorceress. It soared straight through the red haze of her magic, and hit her in the chest. She staggered backwards. Her eyes widened, her mouth opening in a small gasp. She clutched her chest with a white fist and teetered on the spot. The older woman reached her, breaking her fall as she toppled onto the wooden floorboards.
“My child!” the older woman screeched, clutching her daughter. “What have you done?”
A large hand snatched at the officer’s arm. “What are you doing?” exclaimed a familiar voice.
The officer tucked a silver vial into his jacket pocket as he whirled around in surprise. “What are you doing here, JJ?”
“Stopping you!” the taller man cried. “I—I knew you were up to something—” his voice faltered.
“You shouldn’t be here,” said the officer flatly, shaking off his grip.
But the voice of the older woman slammed into them, making them turn back to the two women on the floor. One lifeless and white, the other shaking with rage. Her weathered face wet with tears, she lifted a shaking finger enveloped in smoking silvery magic. And when she spoke, her voice boomed, her Power making the matter in the room tremble.
“May woe follow your footsteps,” she rasped. “May you know my pain as your own. May you be powerless to protect your lineage from slaughter.”
The officer felt something twist within him, like a snake coiling around his bones, but he ignored it. The room sighed when the old lady dropped her hand. The officer turned back around dismissively, his eyes dull. “Go back to head office, JJ.” He roughly pushed past the taller man and hurried out of the sitting room and down the marble steps.
The taller man stood frozen, white with shock, eyes fixed on the pregnant sorceress’ dead body and her mother, who was now howling into the air like a grieving wolf.
As the officer ran out of the manor into the night, he remembered the woman’s face in the seconds before he killed her. He couldn’t put a name to it, but the primal look in her eyes would haunt his soul for the rest of his days. He did not know it then, but he would see that look in another’s eyes before his time was done.
Back in Malhaven Manor, the old woman laid her hand to rest upon her daughter’s cheek. Somewhere in the manor, a sweet chiming rang. She let out a short, humourless laugh.
“It’s too late for you to leave, Captain,” she croaked to the man. “He’s here.”
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