England, West Coast
Devonshire, Dartmoor
St George, Skirrid Inn
5 November 1898, 6:51 p.m.

Thunder rumbled and the wind howled. As if the heavens were shedding tears over what was going on there in the little village on the moors. Two seekers amid death and chaos. Dr. Archer lowered the girl's body to the ground. Blood slowly seeped from her body onto the floorboards, staining the wood dark red. Kyle was still standing in the same spot. The mage still clutched the weapon tightly, his gaze fixed on the dead girl. As if she could rise from the dead at any moment. Very slowly, Dr. Archer came closer to his comrade, then carefully and cautiously reached for his hand.

"It's over." the doctor's voice murmured into the room as his fingers wrapped around the other Seekers. Slowly, deliberately, he disengaged the mage's stiff, cramped finger links from the weapon and released them from his grasp. He felt the man tremble and after another heartbeat, he reached out and pulled Crowford to his shoulder.

"You had no choice. She would have killed me," he said sympathetically. Even though he knew it might not be helping him right now. Killing another human being for the first time and seeing a life end at your own hands... Some it lifted like gods, others it brought to their knees. "Thank you... Kyle." The doctor murmured softly. He felt the other take a quivering breath. 

Then Crowford pushed away from him, nodded fabric, and turned his face quickly away. Benjamin did not blame him. Instead, he let his eyes wander. It was now up to them to sort out this mess.

Although his body did not stir, everything in him was shaken and still quivering under the blow that had hit him as hard as the witch. Kyle's thoughts and feelings were caked with black tar. He could do no more than stand there and look. His whole body was frozen as blood poured from his slender chest and soaked the thin robe. It stuck to her skin and left dark red drops on it like liquid rubies. Her lips were smeared with it, as were her chin and neck. So much red on pale skin.

Kyle felt the darkness inside him slam dangerously hard against the walls of his control. His fingers trembled uncontrollably. Even then, when Dr. Archer had taken the gun away from him, he felt the cold in his fingers like needles pricking his palms and phalanges. Nausea hung in his throat. A sticky, musty lump. Hard as a rock and with jagged extensions that made his throat raw the more he swallowed and that just wouldn't go away.

Your father would be proud of you.

It hit him like a fist in the stomach. Suddenly the smells pressed even harder on his senses and like bitter bile down his throat. The stench of rot, withering flowers, the metallic tang of blood. They pulled his taut nerves to the breaking point and Kyle wanted to roar, to let out the wedged cry of grief that robbed him of air and squeezed his chest. He had never wanted to kill.

Surely, anyone who lived in London and walked the streets at night must have once imagined what it would be like. If you had no other choice or your life depended on pulling the trigger or striking.

In his case, the latter was less likely than snapping his fingers and giving in to the urge to teach people to respect with a spell. For crying out loud, he was NOT weak! Physically, he might always be inferior to some men. But his mind was so much sharper and more honed than their cursed blades could ever be! But he held back. For years he had controlled the urge that grew like a black seed inside him, sprouting more and more if he was not careful in action and word or gave it too much leeway. When he lost control or gave in - like now. Then he could literally feel the black roots digging deeper into his soul. It became more and more difficult to uproot the parasites growing like weeds in his mind. He had been in dicey situations before. Yet Kyle had never pulled the trigger or stopped a heartbeat. He never attacked first, he only defended himself. But now...

He felt dirty and disgusting. There was a tremor in his fingers that he could only control by clenching them into a fist. Even though Archer had taken the gun away from him, he still felt it. Even when he picked up his walking stick from the ground again and it nestled in his hand like a loyal friend. He was a magician, a scholar. Not a soldier, not a militiaman, not a policeman or a detective of the Yard.

The Order of Seekers allowed him insights into books, resources, connections to contacts, and training opportunities to grow. Now, however, he felt like a cowardly assassin. In the end, one wanted only one thing: to survive.

Elly would have killed the doctor, there was no doubt about that. He knew that. The spell she had used was cruel and despite her bungling (for otherwise the shot would have been fired without Dr. Archer being able to even begin to fight back or think clearly) it had worked. The doctor would have pulled the trigger. Sooner or later, depending on when his mind could no longer rebel against the curse, became exhausted and inevitably lost power like a leaky hourglass.

He had to intervene. There simply wasn't time to break the spell. Even Dr. Archer's words did not wash his soul clean of guilt. He felt awful. It tasted bitter and putrid, cracking his façade and revealing a glimpse behind the backdrop of arrogance. Far from the play, behind curtains and sets, there was a world of its own. And in this one, Kyle had never wanted to see himself with blood on his hands. No way. Not again.

Why did the stupid kid have to play around with magic? There could have been terrible consequences for everyone around them. If Elly hadn't gotten her hands on that damn book, she might still be alive. Kyle squinted his eyes and turned away, trying to tear himself away from the sight. It would haunt his nights and dreams, that was a bitter certainty.

They had to see to cleaning up this place of strife now. Otherwise, questions would arise that they would not and could not answer. Casually, his fingers slid over the side of his coat and the pockets. He had to convince himself of something when they were done here. He had to substantiate his suspicions before he showed them to Dr. Archer. But if it was true and he was right...."Kyle..." Archer put a hand on his shoulder and the young mage flinched. The doctor eyed him closely, then continued. "What are we going to tell Baltimore?"

Kyle took a deeper breath, then let his gaze slide over the ruined furniture. "I know a spell that can fix things. But it will take a little time." Kyle pulled the staff from its mooring on his walking stick. The handle nestled into the black of his leather gloves. It felt reassuring. Magic was within his grasp. Magic he could measure and control. It gave him back the feeling of control, for nothing was more agonizing to him than helplessness. He knew the feeling of not being able to do anything. What a boot on his back felt like, despair, and how being kept small could smother the flame in your soul. But that was over.

Kyle's fingers closed tighter around the knob of metal in his hands. His eyes stroked the dark wood and crystal tip. Of course, something inside him knew it was a lie to promise himself safety with it. But for the moment, that lie had to be enough to stretch his back and lift him.

A little while later, Dr. Archer knocked on the constable's door. When they led him into the room at the Skirrid Inn, the cupboards were back in one piece, no splinters covered the floor and the countless flowers adorned bouquets instead of covering the floorboards like withered snow. They had added some dignity to the host's body, deserved or not, with clothes. Elly, too, was wrapped in a night robe to reshape the scene.

They told Baltimore that the unfortunate widow, in her bottomless grief, had probably dug up her husband's body again. Then she hanged herself in her grief and Elly the poor girl, found her foster parents in that room. The good heart could not withstand the sight and the loss. They recounted how earlier that day she had been instructed by Kyle to clean the room and do the laundry. There she had stolen his gun and probably shot herself with it so as not to be left alone.No matter what Elly had done, none of them wanted to sully her memory. Terrible things had happened to her. She had been broken and needed help. Elly did not deserve to be condemned as a bloodthirsty murderer and buried outside the sacred ground. Moreover, they did not want people to blame the other incidents on Elly and become careless too early a relief.

The constable got more men to assist him in having the remains recovered and taken to the chapel. Outside, the pattering rain had by now died down, the rumble of the thunderstorm was slowly but surely receding and the earthy smell of a passing storm was in the air.

Crowford insisted on having a smoke with Benjamin outside the door. This was unusual, he had explained to the doctor only a short time before, neither to smoke nor to drink. Even stranger, Kyle used Elly's key to unlock the back door instead of going out the front into the marketplace. While Benjamin stepped out into the fresh air and took a deep breath, however, Kyle stopped at the gate. His fingers slid over the frame as if he was looking for something.... and he found it.

"Elly was telling the truth," he said suddenly and Benjamin blinked questioningly. When he lifted the lamp, the golden-red light fell on scratch marks carved in the door frame not far from the door lock. A magic rune. People had tried scratching over it to remove it, but the deeper grooves were still visible.

"What is it?" asked the Doctor, laying his eyes on the mage, who was now reaching into the inside of his cloak and pulling out a scorched book.

"Elly did magic in a language that wasn't English. Did you recognize her?" asked Kyle, flipping the book open as he did so. "She used magic. But she learned casting from this book." the mage explained and Benjamin's gaze fell on the name written on the cover. "And this grimoire also tells us who it belonged to."

"Jäger." He breathed and it hit him like a slap in the face.

Kyle nodded. "I think we've been led up the garden path. It's time to put an end to it all."