"That looks... terrible," the doctor gasped, clenching his teeth tightly. Even his dark beard couldn't hide the shadow across Benjamin's features at that moment.

Across Kyle's Palm and back of the hand, just below his slender index finger, was, in each case, an ugly cut. Although the injuries were almost a year old, they had not yet closed properly. They weren't bleeding, but the edges of the wounds were blackish, and it was possible to see the injured, twitching muscle tissue underneath. Fine dark veins branched out from the wounds to the wrist. Another minor wound on his thumb painted the same picture, and Dr. Archer pressed his lips together so tightly that they turned pale.

"I should never have let this happen," Archer said quietly. His grip on Kyle's hand tightened a little, almost as if he wanted to hold his patient so that he couldn't slip away. At the same time, his pitying look was full of unspoken self-reproach.

Kyle groaned softly and ran his free hand through his black hair from his forehead, brushing back the dark waves.

"Sure, because you could have stopped me!" Kyle said, clicking his tongue in sarcasm. "After all, the best way to fight fire is with fire! Dark magic against dark magic. Without it, we would never have survived the fight against the demon. I put our survival above the commandments of the order. It was necessary," he assured the doctor for what felt like the hundredth time, "and you know that damn well!"

"You must never, never do something that insane again! Do you understand? This..." and Ben pointed to the wound that wouldn't heal, "... is going to kill you one day. If it's not the effects of these occult practices, then it will surely be the germs and impurities that find an open door to your bloodstream." Benjamin Archer fixed his comrade's gaze with a determination as if he wanted to carve these words in stone.

Kyle Crowford pursed his lips a little angrily in response.

"Do you think I would have recklessly decided to use forbidden magic? I risked being robbed of my powers and knowledge by the Order," Kyle hissed irritably, his eyes glancing nervously toward the door to ensure no one was listening to this conversation. From his point of view, it was madness to discuss this topic here in the Order's headquarters of all places.

The loss of his magic would have cost Kyle much more than Benjamin Archer realized. It was about far more than forbidden knowledge and lust for power. It was simply about Kyle's soul. He could not allow his partner to stir up the dust that had fortunately settled with his concerns—and all because of these comparatively minor cuts.

"Don't you understand that I'm just concerned about your well-being, Crowford?" the doctor asked. "Look at this: The wound is highly infected, festering, and keeps breaking open. Surely, that must hurt!"

Ben sounded almost desperate, and Kyle's anger fizzled out. It was as if someone had pricked a hole in a balloon with a needle as he looked into the doctor's genuinely concerned face. It must be frustrating for a doctor not to be able to heal a wound with traditional medicine ... especially for his partner. Ben looked helpless - and entirely at a loss.

"Promise me you'll never do anything like that again," Ben demanded in a low voice. "The Order has banned this form of magic for a reason. It damages the body and the mind!"

Kyle would have liked to groan in frustration and run his hand over his face.

"I can't and won't promise that," he finally sighed. "If the situation requires it and I am without any other option, I will do everything in my power to ensure both your safety and mine. The Order allows us to use physical force in emergencies. Well, think of it as the use of psychological force. But I can assure you that this is only a small part of my repertoire, and I do not prefer this form of sorcery."

Dr. Archer just shook his head. He couldn't understand why Kyle would risk tainting his soul and body with black magic. Of course, he suspected there was more to it than that because he considered the young magus too clever and well-read to make such a sacrifice carelessly. However, as Kyle usually failed to give him a clear answer to his reckless actions, he had no choice but to stare at him with a reproachful look in the blessed hope that, at some point, common sense would take hold of his brain.

Kyle knew that he owed the doctor answers. And even if he did not intend to give them to him, he didn't want to upset the young doctor. To appease his partners a little, he briefly raised his injured hand and added conciliatory: "Believe me, it looks worse than it is. It hardly hurts anymore."

That was a lie, of course.

It hurt every day, even if the intensity had lessened. It was as if he was cutting the wound into his flesh anew every morning. Black magic was not a pleasant practice; unfortunately, blood magic always demanded a sacrifice. And since Kyle didn't have the option of having a sacrificial lamb to pay the blood price back then, he had to bear the consequences himself.

"How long will it take for the wound to close and the ... side effects have subsided?" Dr. Archer now asked and again motioned for Kyle to take a seat. Then, he gathered the materials he needed for the treatment from the wooden cabinets and drawers. He carried small brown vials on a wooden tray alongside bandage rolls, needle and thread, clamps, and other utensils and placed them on the small order table beside the bed.

Kyle's gaze lingered on the door of the hospital room. He felt uncomfortable discussing the subject and wished Dr. Archer would just let it go.

"I can't say. It's different every time, and I only have a little experience with it. Magic rarely fits into a fixed mold. It's unpredictable - that's what makes it so dangerous. Last time, it took a little over two years for the wound to close enough to stop hurting."

"Two years!" Dr. Archer gasped his gaze in bewilderment on the mage's hand. Two years was a long time for such a minor injury. "What if the wound had been in a more dangerous place?"

"Well, they don't call it a blood sacrifice for nothin'," Kyle replied and saw Dr. Archer blanch a little at the thought. The magician couldn't help but give a dry chuckle. "You're in the Order of Seekers, and the thought of ritual sacrifice frightens you, Mr. Archer?" he teased the other Seeker a little and could see Dr. Archer hunch his shoulders because his masculine pride was offended. "Believe me, humans have been sacrificing people and animals for millennia to appease superhuman powers. I'm just one with a knife in a long line of people."

"Unlike you, Crowford, I'm not used to hanging around in the company of bloodthirsty cultists or dabbling in forbidden knowledge," Ben replied gruffly. "Besides, most of those who claim to know such things are nothing more than lunatics anyway."

Well, at least Ben was right on that point. Only one out of hundreds who claimed to have mastered the occult arts was a true mage. Very few seers or spiritualists were well-informed or well-read. The majority, however, bribed participants at séances, used the vaguest possible statements in their prophecies, and concealed tricks and sleight of hand behind their flickering candles or moving objects. It was a business in which trusting and, yes, perhaps even grieving or desperate people were exploited and tricked. But these charlatans were not the Order's concern. No. Instead, it was that one among hundreds.

When it came down to it, in most cases, the seekers were more like amateur investigators. Searching for real supernatural phenomena or beings was like looking for a needle in a haystack.

"Are you sure you want to upset someone who knows about black magic, Mr. Archer?" Kyle replied, raising one of his arched eyebrows demonstratively.

"No, after what I've seen, I'd rather not." Dr. Archer raised his hands in submission.

He settled down on the wooden chair and pulled up an extension of the side table. With a click, he fixed the hinges. They usually were used to drape tools or materials, but now Kyle could rest his hand on them.

After Dr. Archer had cleaned the wound with practiced hand movements and disinfected it with iodine, he carefully bandaged it, slit the end of the linen bandage, and finally tied everything together.

"Done." Satisfied, the doctor looked at his work and washed his hands in a ceramic bowl on an iron stand. Although Crowford had assured him that the wound was only blackish due to the after-effects of the black magic, Ben obviously didn't want to take any risks.

"Good, now for the fresh injury," Ben explained, returning to Crowford.

At that moment, the iodine almost fell out of his hands.