Then she charged out into the winter night before she could change her mind. She didn't need another chance to search him for what was no longer there, the ghost hiding in every gesture and stare. Snow swirled between the buildings as she walked the circle of crowded buildings around Pages Curious, the cold bracing her and keeping her alert.
The stars were caught behind a net of white clouds, and she let herself be further drawn into the darker places of her magic, letting the stark truths of half-formed, chaotic realms direct her thoughts.
"Better that it be the dark now," she whispered bitterly, a scent of smoke still clinging to her cloak, specks of dried blood caught in the creases of her hands. "Better that I be more prepared."
"I can see it, you know." Mara's voice stopped her cold, and she spun to find the dark-haired woman walking out of the shadows. Quessahn slid a suspicious hand toward her dagger, magic tingling at her fingertips as Mara approached, the same knowing smile upon her face as before. "You love him, don't you?"
The statement pierced her like a knife, sharp and direct, flaying any attempt she might have made to deny the accusation and leaving the truth laid bare on her startled face. Wide eyed, she looked away, shaking her head in disbelief at being caught so unawares. She forgot her prepared spell and released her dagger.
"Not exactly," she replied, anger warming her. Mara spoke as though Quessahn's privacy were a mere puzzle for someone to figure out. But in that moment, her senses still freshly heightened by her magic, she caught another glimpse of the dark aura that hung around Mara, a shroud that squirmed with a life of its own. "You're not human."
"Not remotely," Mara said, still smiling.
They stood facing each other down for long moments. Quessahn's thoughts raced, wondering if Mara would tell Jinn, wondering if the next day would bring questions she didn't want to answer. Again she cursed herself for getting involved. For all of her indignant posturing with Jinn, she'd agreed to help for selfish reasons no less questionable than his.
"Well," she said at length and turned away. "We both have secrets, then."
"No," Mara said, a scratching tone in her voice that lifted gooseflesh on Quessahn's arms. She turned to find a tall, dark figure standing where Mara had been. Tattered, black robes hung thick across sharp shoulders, the cloth fluttering as shadows crept from crevices toward Mara. Thin wisps of stringy, black hair escaped the darkened hood where two pinpoints of coal red light glittered to life above a lionlike smile of sharp teeth. Skin the color of a dark bruise covered the hand that rose from Mara's robes, pointing at Quessahn almost teasingly as she said, "You are the one with a secret."
Quessahn backed away slowly and readied spells upon her tongue, dagger once again comfortable in her grip. But Mara merely turned away, her form melting bit by bit back into the illusion of a dark-haired woman, leaving Quessahn alone in the snow. She shivered as the shadows returned to their places. The hag returned to her shop and her strange alliance with the deva.
Finding her feet, Quessahn turned them back toward the House of Wonder, walking in a daze as she pondered what affect the years had had upon Jinnaoth-and the man she'd once known.
SEVEN
NIGHTAL 20, THE YEAR OF DEEP WATER DRIFTING (1480 DR)
Several blocks of cold streets passed in an unremarkable blur, Quessahn's mind elsewhere, her eyes only mechanically watching her surroundings. The gates of the House of Wonder opened noiselessly, the cold iron numbing her fingers until the warmth of the House's corridors brought the feeling back in comfortable waves. Melting snow on the back of her neck sent chills down her spine as she passed the spectral guardian and made her way to the tall stairs at the far end of the house.
The scratching of quills on parchment was the only indication she was not alone as she took the first step, grinding her teeth and steeling herself to deal with the insufferable Archmage Tallus. She'd always rolled her eyes when others mentioned the patience of long-lived elves and eladrin, for she had no patience for the archmage, but she suspected he could be of help to her. Some of the books in his library were whispered about among other students of the Art, and having had only fleeting glimpses at the tomes, Quessahn knew that at least half of the rumors were true.
If anyone possessed the knowledge to unravel the spell being cast in spilled blood, it would be Tallus. The other masters she did not know as well and was not sure who among them she could trust, but with the archmage at least she knew where she stood. It would have to be enough.
The hallway at the top of the stairs stretched several strides to the south, far longer than any exterior view of the building might have led the casual observer to believe, just one of the many wonders in the old house. Her lip curled in disgust, expecting any moment to be accosted by Gorrick, Tallus's lapdog apprentice and as intolerable as his master. But halfway to the archmage's door, Gorrick never appeared, nor did there seem to be any light shining beneath the door at an hour the archmage was usually up and about.
She listened at the door, hearing nothing, and tentatively knocked just loud enough to be heard by anyone awake. There was no answer. She laid a hand on the handle, heart hammering in her chest, and the door opened easily, unlocked and barely shut. Pushing it open fully, she gasped in wonder, wide eyed at the bare walls, faint outlines of bright paint where shelves had once stood, impressions in old dust where a large desk had sat. Naught remained but a square of light from the window and the burned-out nub of a candle on the ledge.
Tallus was gone.
"Bloody Mystra," she swore, her mind racing at the possible implications, thoughts coming back around to what had brought her to the room in the first place. "If anyone possessed the knowledge," she muttered and closed the door behind herself, swiftly crossing the mystical hallway as if it, too, would disappear and leave her stranded somewhere between reality and nothing.
NIGHTAL 21, THE YEAR OF DEEP WATER DRIFTING (1480 DR)
The afternoon sun painted the winter sky pink and violet as Jinn strolled slowly through Pharra's Alley, searching the faces of a dispersing crowd. Hopeful students gathered daily before the gates of the House of Wonder, some performing minor tricks for passersby. Illusions danced at their feet and flew through the air, their makers' chants accompanied by the occasional clink of a coin dropped into tin cups at their feet. Jinn saw no familiar faces among the crowd, but he hadn't truly expected to. He was passing by the House only on the remote chance of spotting Archmage Tallus.
Quessahn, after informing them of the archmage's disappearance, had remained strangely quiet, she and Mara regarding one another with a chilled silence he hadn't yet deciphered. He ignored their discomfort. Having last seen Tallus at the Storm's Front, just before Allek had been killed, he was more than eager to question the wizard.
As the bells of gateclose sounded, pealing through the streets, one crowd's dispersal seemed to cue the slow appearance of another. Jinn smiled slyly as they passed by the alley's mouth in small groups. Formal costumes of black and white, chased in silver and gold, were the favored looks for the evening as early celebrants gathered in the failing light. Painted masks leered as they drifted by, some simple with subtle designs, a few others garishly designed with feathers and fanged mouths. A pair of coaches sped toward one or another of several celebrations, false faces blurred within the confines of thin glass as they turned left up the street.
Jinn had no particular love of the revived Winterfirst celebrations, an archaic and mystical ceremony reduced to an excuse for expense and pomp among the wealthy. But he could not deny its usefulness. He adjusted the plain white mask over his features and pulled his hood low, nodding respectfully to a passing patrol of the Watch. For one night at least, he could conduct his business without too much complication.