The outside air felt cool as he was marched across the lawn towards the low wall that marked the edge of the wards. He allowed himself a moment of relief that there were no other students in sight, just before the Warden opened the gate and pushed Gennady out. He felt his stomach churn as he brushed against the edge of the wards, the network steadily turning hostile. The wall was so low a child could climb over the carved stone, but it was really nothing more than a boundary marker. It was the wards that really defended the school.
“Go,” the Warden ordered. “Do not return.”
Gennady stared at the other man for a long moment. The Warden’s face was inhumanly blank. It occurred to him, too late, that the Warden might not actually be human. A homunculus? It was possible, but illegal. Very illegal. It burned at him, as he turned and stumbled away, that the rules were really just for the weak and helpless. The people with power could afford to ignore the rules, secure in the knowledge that no one would come after them. He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to walk until he was within the forest. Where would he go? Where could he go? There was no place for him anywhere near Whitehall.
His legs felt heavy—and grew heavier, the more he walked. He found himself stumbling, as if he’d forgotten how to make his way through a forest. The forest wasn’t safe, but ... it should have felt like home. He kept walking, convinced—deep inside—that if he stopped and sat down, he’d never be able to stand up again. Something moved in the shadows, circling around him. Gennady reached into his bag and retrieved the knife. It felt reassuringly solid in his hands. And yet, he was suddenly very aware that something was following him.
Ice trickled down his spine as he glanced behind him, seeing nothing. It wasn’t very reassuring. There were all sorts of stories about things hiding in the forest, from werewolves and vampires to giant spiders, basilisks and other folk. Or awful folk. The thought wasn’t remotely reassuring as he forced himself to pick up speed, trying to make it to the road before nightfall. He could make his way down to the town, then walk on until he left the hue and cry far behind. It wasn’t much of a plan, he conceded silently as he heard something behind him, but it was all he had.
He sensed a surge of magic and ducked, instinctively. A fireball shot over his head and slammed into a nearby tree, burning through the trunk and sending branches crashing to the ground. Gennady jumped, then forced himself to run as another fireball shot through the air. He knew who was behind him. He knew who it had to be.
“Come out, little rabbit!” Charlus. Of course it was Charlus. “Come out, come out, wherever you are!”
Gennady felt his heart sink. This was it. Charlus was going to kill him. He’d bragged about hunting commoners for sport, but ... now, Gennady believed it. He could hear the aristocrat crashing through the trees, not even trying to hide. Or ... Gennady felt an odd little flicker of hope. Charlus wasn’t used to the deep forests. He might have ridden through the fields, crushing irreplaceable crops under his horse's hooves, but the chances were good he hadn’t been walking through them. Who knew what sort of supernatural vermin he might have attracted? The thought gave Gennady hope as a third fireball flew past. This was his element. He might have a chance ...
“I can see you,” Charlus called. “I can hear you.”
Nonsense, Gennady thought. There was no way Charlus could see him. Not now. A skilled hunter certainly wouldn’t be making so much noise. Simon or Lyndred would have done a much better job of sneaking through the woods. You don’t know where I am.
He stayed low, inching around Charlus’s position. The aristocrat seemed to have someway of shadowing Gennady ... Gennady frowned, then cast an obscurification charm to blur his exact location. Charlus might not even realise his spells were being bamboozled if they weren’t being openly deflected. Gennady smirked to himself, then cut himself with his knife and allowed the blood to drip onto the muddy ground. The moment he took himself and his charms away, the blood would draw Charlus’s spells like flies to shit. Gennady smirked at the thought. It was very apt.
“Come on out,” Charlus mocked. Compulsion hung in his words. It would have worked, if Gennady’s magic hadn’t already been tainted. “I’ll make it quick.”
Gennady tightened his grip on the knife as Charlus’s voice came closer. He did intend to kill Gennady, to murder ... no, it wasn’t murder. Not to him. Bitter resentment welled up once again as Gennady realised that Charlus and his peers wouldn’t see it as murder. At best, they’d see it as distasteful. Red rage boiled within Gennady as he lurked in the shadows, welcoming them like old friends. Charlus blundered past, making so much noise he had to be scaring the animals for miles around. He really wasn’t a good hunter. Hogarth would have kicked his ass.
“I can see you,” Charlus called. Another fireball flashed through the air, followed by a transfiguration spell. “I can ...”
He broke off, abruptly. He’d seen the bloodstain. He knew he’d been tricked. Gennady didn’t give him time to think, time to act. He launched himself forward, knife in hand. Charlus turned, too late. Gennady buried the knife in Charlus’s back, his magic reaching forward and dancing along the blade. He’d seen the rite in the book and dismissed it, knowing he’d have to kill someone for power. That didn’t matter any longer. Magic surged around him, throwing Charlus to the ground. Gennady landed on Charlus’s back, pinning him down. The magic ... the magic was twisted, both attracting and repelling him. Gennady laughed, despite himself. Such considerations didn’t matter any longer, either.
Charlus tried to struggle, but he’d been caught and pinned before he knew what was happening. The magic—the rite—was making it hard, almost impossible, to fight back. Gennady felt a thrill as he tasted Charlus’s horror at his enforced submission. The sensation was addictive. He understood, all of a sudden, why Hogarth and Charlus had enjoyed making him submit. The feeling was delightful. He was finally wielding power as it was meant to be wielded. And all would bow before him.
“Please,” Charlus whimpered. “I ...”
Gennady leaned closer until his lips were almost touching the aristocrat’s ear. “Why? Why should I spare you?”
Charlus shuddered. His limbs were too weak to fight. “I ... my family will avenge me.”
“Lucky you.” Gennady snorted. He had a feeling Charlus’s family would be glad he was gone. The idiot was too dumb to realise how many enemies he'd made. “Like they care.”
“They’ll wipe out your family,” Charlus said. “They’ll kill them all.”
Gennady laughed, humourlessly. It just wasn’t fair. Charlus was an asshole with magic and a bad attitude and a family that cared enough to avenge him, while Gennady ... his family would be relieved if he died. They’d been plotting his death since they’d realised he had a clubfoot. Now ...
He found his voice. “You think I care?”
Charlus hesitated. “Please.”
Gennady drew the moment out as much as possible. “You want mercy?”
“Yes.”
“Really?” Gennady pressed down hard. It was hard to force himself to wait, to ask the question he’d wanted to ask for over a year. “Tell me, where was your mercy when we first met?”