The little bird was a bright bit of life against the grey shadows of the Ancient Forest. A piece of string had looped around a root protruding from the ground, and the bird was caught fast in the crude snare. Crimson wings beat against the ground, clawed feet curled into balls and kicked frantically at the ties.

Joki crouched in the grass, watching the small drama without emotion. With her eyes she followed the string from its origin at the stick to where it knotted around the delicate legs, fettered the bright wings, and looped around the tiny throat so tightly the poor creature was bloodied and panting for breath. Terrified black eyes flickered this way and that, occasionally fixing on Joki when the little bird sprawled on the ground from sheer exhaustion.

A slow, bemused smile tugged at Joki's lips as she drew parallels in her mind. Similarities and intuitive knowledge. He'd be pleased. Her thoughts ran rampant for a few moments before she turned her attention back to the bird. Just look at you. Trapped by someone else's stupidity, wounding yourself because you won't stop to think about what you might be capable of. A quiet laughed escaped her, even as she reached for her wand. I'm tempted to call you 'Nina'.

"Petrificus Totalus".

The bird lay motionless, frozen mid-struggle. Carefully Joki freed the small warm body of the strings and held it in her free hand. The creature was mangled, broken in places and soaked in its own blood. Still the little heart throbbed swift and sure beneath her fingertips. Joki nodded. This one was worth saving.

"Episkey."

She ran a fingertip over the bird's soft plumage. How pretty you are. And strong, for one so dainty. I wonder, if I freed you, would you stay of your own will? I'm sure we could be of use to one another. Try to consider it, won't you? The wand rose again.

"Relashio."

_________________
"We are not bound forever to the circles of the world, and beyond them is more than memory."

“Twins run in my family, apparently. Thomossa had a sister named Tilly. It was Tilly that Alexander loved, not Thomossa. And here we have the first tragedy of my father’s life. He married the wrong woman. He never saw Tilly until he had married Thomossa. From then on, the thought of her burned him . . . any affection he may have had for Thomossa turned to apathy, even loathing.

They had an affair, naturally. Alexander has never been one to deny himself what he wants. He knocked her up- the sister, not the wife. And Tilly died bearing his children. Isn’t that just delightfully cruel?

The children were twins, interestingly enough. A boy and a girl.

Since they were all he had left of his beloved Tilly, Alexander forced Thomossa to raise the poor children as her own. She couldn't love them, of course, knowing what they were.

And here is the part I love. It seems I bear an uncanny resemblance to Tilly. So much so that he can hardly keep his eyes off me these days.

So I learned some important things. I learned where I came from, and I learned what he lost.

And I saw her. That's when I knew why he had chosen me for his work. He's built a shrine to her, right in our house. He's kept her there all this time. She’s perfectly preserved by magic, of course, but still . . . quite dead. Isn’t that amazing? He spends all his nights with her now, sleeps during the day. You should have seen the room- candles by the thousands, like she was some saint.

I think-and I am not defending him-she was something unusual. Her face was so like Thomossa's, but still so different. Wilder, stronger . . . strange, and unforgettable.

Looking at her, I felt pity for Alexander. And I hadn't expected to. Still, he has sinned, and he must atone. Every word . . . every foul touch . . . everything he's ever taken from me will keep me on this path.

The whole time I was with him this weekend, we spoke only for a few hours. Just long enough for me to learn what I needed to. But I'm afraid I did something quite awful when I left.

Over the years Alexander has taught me almost everything he knows about our grim little hobby. He certainly taught me enough to undo what he can do."

Joki smiled dreamily, resting her head back against the side of the ornate bath.

"I paid a final visit to that chamber, alone, before I left the house. He took what I loved best- I took all he had left. The scent of decay was overwhelming before the door even closed behind me.”

Creed and Sierra came together, as Joki had expected. But after looking about the bar, Sierra had left and gone back out into the freezing night.

"She could have stayed." Joki spoke up as Creed approached the table where she sat.

"She had..." he paused to look her over, "other things to do."

Joki placed her glass back on the table and picked up the cigarette resting in the ashtray, taking a drag before replying. "So do I. So Make it quick."

"If you're going to accuse me of things, I'd prefer if you did it in person." Creed replied evenly as he sat across from her, an abrasive undertone in his voice. "Mainly because I can't decipher your coded meanings when they're written down."

"Accuse you?" Joki raised a mocking eyebrow. "I don't think so. We're well past that point."

"Oh? How's that?"

"Accusing would imply that I'm not certain. You see?"

"Certain of what, Joki?" Creed asked coolly. His features were all but hidden by his hood, his harsh gaze was felt more than seen.

"I'm not playing your games. So don't waste my time, hrmmm?"

"Then how about you come out with whatever issue you have with me," Creed said shortly, "and you can be on your way."

"Oh, I don't think it's an issue any longer. At least I hope it's not, and that for your sake you've learned a lesson. But if not..." Joki shrugged carelessly "you'll just force me to be creative."

A slow grin spread across Creed's face, and he tilted his head toward her. "You enjoying this?"

"No, Creed. I am not enjoying this...at all."

"Then help me help you and tell me what you're talking about."

"I am talking about your interference in my work. I am talking about how you're trying to stop a thing that won't be stopped." She paused to lift the cigarette to her lips and take another drag, smoke curling about her face as she exhaled. "And most importantly...I am telling you just how bad things will get if you continue."

"Your work?" the man asked sarcastically.

"My work. I know what you're thinking- that I'm a bad person, that you're doing the right thing and saving me from my sins. But I really don't think you've thought it through."

"What makes you think I'd want anything to do with you and your cadavers?" Creed crossed his arms, sounding affronted.

A slow, dangerous smile curved Joki's lips and she leaned across the table, her voice low and cajoling when she spoke. "Don't lie to me, Creed. I know you, remember? I know what you feel, I know how you think...I know how you taste."

His face hardened into a sneer, and she knew her last arrow had found its mark. "You do. Then you'd know that I couldn't care less about what you do for 'fun'."

"I know you're trying very hard to shove a lie down my throat. Creed...please...I really don't want to see you hurt."

"I'm not trying to do anything." Creed said flatly. "If you knew me at all, you'd know that if I tried to do something, it would be done." His eyes bored into hers, their hazel depths carefully guarded.

"I know you loved me." Her voice was barely a whisper. "I know you want to hurt me, drag me down into the dirt and kick me around...but you don't want to destroy me."

They stared at each other, hazel eyes and green locked on each other with fury and all the things they buried deep. "No one else would have slipped the knife between my ribs and stopped before it pierced my heart. No one else but my Creed, who never could hurt me quite as much as I deserved." The words were meant to hurt him...why, then, was her chest tightening until she could hardly breathe?

Creed continued to watch her, apparently unmoved. "If that's what you think...then you know me even less than I thought you did."

"No." Joki shook her head. "Whether we like it or not, we know each other. Neither of us likes all that we see...but we both see some things we'll always love. And that's why I'm asking you...begging, if you wish...to end what you're doing now."

Creed stood and took a few steps toward her, closing the gap between them.

"Do something for me?" Joki asked in a miserable whisper.

"What is it, Joki?" The anger was gone from his voice, and the kindness that replaced it cut her far deeper than his anger could have.

"Kiss me...and let us say goodbye." Her speech was halting, her voice unnaturally thick. "After tonight...things are going to change...and we won't know each other as the Creed and Joki we used to be."

He was silent for a few moments, then reached out and placed his fingers under her chin, lifting her face. Joki looked at him searchingly, then shook her head. "Forget it. I won't take anything more from you. Go on, I'm sure she's waiting."

"Is that what you want?" Creed asked softly, his fingers holding her chin in a firm but gentle grip.

"I want you far away from everything I am." Her voice sounded broken, even to her own ears.

"Right now," he persisted, "Is that what you want, right now?"

Joki swallowed hard, closing her eyes tightly for a moment. "Yes. Yes, more than anything, I want you to go where I can't hurt you anymore."

Creed lowered his hand, giving an almost imperceptible nod. "As you wish."

His footsteps faded away on the hard floor. A gust of piercing night air ripped through the tavern as the door opened and closed behind him.

No sound remained behind, save the crackling of the fire and the dull thumps of tankards on wooden shelves as the bartender prepared to close for the night.

Joki reached for the bottle on the table and started to refill her glass, then changed her mind. Taking the entire bottle, she left what she owed on the table and headed for the Olgavich cemetery.

This was her favorite time of day, this grey hour before dawn when mist rose from the ground and the night's shadows softened. Silently she moved through the forest, her cloak drawn about her to ward off the chill air. She soon came to the place she hunted. The clearing was dark and deep, ringed by ancient trees whose branches formed a gnarled canopy overhead. A cold wind blew through the forest with a melancholy sound, stealing under Joki's hood and stirring tendrils of her vibrant hair.

She sat at the base of a tree, sheltered from the wind by its giant roots. She didn't have to wait long before the sound of leaves crunching under hooves announced the arrival of the thestrals she had come to find. Into the clearing they came, four of them. Their black, skeletal figures moved with unexpected grace; leathery wings arching into the air and fanning with the wind.

The wild creatures were wary of her presence at first. Milky eyes watched her suspiciously, bony heads extended toward her as the thestrals sought her scent. She simply watched them, unmoving and unafraid, and eventually the winged horses ignored her and folded their legs under themselves to rest on the cold ground.

The creatures reminded her of the dead woman that had lain in her father's house. His obsession- her true mother. One look at the still face had told her much of what Tilly had been. A wild thing- unnatural and dangerous, with rending beauty only those well acquainted with death were brave enough to see.

Joki had given Alexander a week. A week to realize what she had done. A week to rage, to curse, to grieve- and then to think and to plan. His letter had arrived a week to the day after she left him. It was discomfiting how well she knew him, for it reminded her how much she was like him. But as her guide had told her, the similarities were also gifts. Knowing Alexander, thinking like him, was an advantage when fighting him. And there was no question- she would have to fight him soon.

"We," she corrected herself out loud, suddenly aware of how good it was to know she wouldn't fight alone.

A thestral lifted its head and looked at her, then bared its fangs in a yawn and closed its strange eyes again. The girl smiled to herself. The thestrals were a part of it all. Not until last year when the pitiful, unkown girl had died in her workshop had Joki been able to see the beasts. That realization had shattered all the lies she had ever believed about her brother's supposed death, and her father's part in it. She had simply needed someone to open her eyes to the possibilities.

A golden bar of sunlight penetrated the gloom of the clearing, then another, and another. The magic hour had fled; the new day begun. She looked over the four thestrals a final time. A grim smile curved her lips again as she climbed to her feet. The time for hope and comfort was past. All that remained was to work, and to prepare. A battle was coming, and there would be no room for mistakes- not with the elements involved.

Turning her back to the savage creatures, Joki lifted her chin and strode into the forest, contemplating the habits of beasts.

((Hi! Sorry for posting on your thread. ))

Regriam stalked through the Slytherin corridors, her heels echoing through the quiet, cold dungeon. Twisting and turning, she remained silent until she reached Joki's room, running her hand along her door as memories quickly filled her mind. Her lips curled into a smile as she pulled out her wand, mumbling "Alhomora" and inviting herself in. She sat down on Joki's bed and began to write on a piece of coffee stained paper:


"Dear Joki,
It's been far too long since we last seen each other. I hope you remember who I am, and what you mean to me. I'm very sorry for not writing you while on my vacation, my owl, my broom, my wand, my everything got locked up. I hope you're doing well, and I hope father is still "happy". As we haven't spoke for so long, I have so much to tell you, yet find myself at a loss for things to say. I feel I've changed somewhat, from my old hyperactive easily-annoyed self, but I still love you, momma'. I do hope we get to see eachother soon, and that we can resume everything as we once did along time ago.

Love,
Regriam."

Regriam put the letter into a green envelope and set it on Joki's pillow and smiled, setting a cigarette next to it, as well as a "Welcome to California" lighter.

((Yeah, I suck at writing things sorry ))

Joki sat on her bed, Regriam’s cigarette dangling from her lips and the “Welcome to California” lighter within reach on the dresser. Using her Expert Potions book as a makeshift desk, she held a piece of parchment against the book and wrote a brief response to Regriam’s letter.


Regriam,

I’ve not forgotten you, of course. Welcome back. Much has changed since you left, I will tell you of it when I can. I have missed you a great deal, and am relieved to know that you are safe. You mentioned my father- I am concerned for him. He has made some questionable business contacts since my mother died and I fear for his safety. Tonight I am going to visit him, to make sure all is well. Look for me in a day or two. If for some reason I don’t return, find Angelique and talk to her. I look forward to seeing you. Thank you for the gifts.

Love,
Joki


She quickly scanned the words she’d written. They were innocent enough, each letter well-formed and tilting backwards. She had taught herself Alexander’s trick of writing right-handed, but this was her own, the handwriting Regriam would remember.

Leaving the cigarette burning in the ashtray by the bed, Joki folded the letter and tucked it into an envelope. Before she left school that evening, she’d slip it under Regriam’s door.

Joki read the words carefully once, twice, three times as she folded her long frame into an undersized, overstuffed chair in the St. Mungo's Visitor's Tearoom. Her unorthodox appearance earned her several disapproving looks from the witch who commanded the shop, looks that turned to actual glares when the tea Joki ordered sat untouched before her.

The young green-haired witch folded the paper and dropped it to the floor beside her chair. Resting her elbows on her knees and propping her chin in her hands, she let the words run through her head- words assembled to present a sterilized account of a wicked life. And the end of it...

A metallic taste filled her mouth. Standing quickly, she threw far more money than she owed onto the table and left the shop. She scarcely heard the protests of the shop witch above the crashing in her head; breaking waves of an unnamed panic.

The staircases were a blur, the indignant shout of a healer went unheard. All was red and white and pulsing darkness until she was out in the cold night. In the shelter of the deserted storefront that disguised the hospital's entrance, she fumbled in her pockets for a cigarette...only to find that she was out. A curse tore its way from her lips as she slapped her palm against the store's glass display window.

Her image reflected in the glass gave her pause. Green eyes, wide and full of a hundred wild emotions stared back at her. His eyes- the only thing about her that was his.

The only thing...the only thing, ever, now... the thought stripped away the panic and rolled over her in a heady kind of rapture.

Because I willed it to be so.

This room had been Alexander's study, the sanctuary of the man who had once made himself her god. Mahogany bookshelves lined the walls, heavy dark furniture with luxurious upholstery gave the room an air of masculine power. Joki had always hated this room- now she made it her own. This was her home. Hers, and Zane's, as much as he wished it, and she would fear nothing here.

Restlessly she paced the confines of the small room. Two pairs of bright eyes watched her from the corner where Alexander's dogs lay forlorn and fierce without their master. From time to time Joki's hand would slip into her pocket, fingering the letter that was hidden there. She did not need to read it again to know what it said; the words burned into her brain and pulsed behind her eyes when she closed them.

"And now you know. I will meet with you this weekend. Go home and wait for word- go alone, or I will not come. Your brother."

The Veritaserum had done its work. She had found the answer that she had lived for the past seven years. Adam lived- lived, and was coming to her. The thought was enough to make her head swim.

Joki sank into Alexander's chair by the fireplace, folding her long legs to the side and scanning the room for anything to distract herself with as she waited. She eyed the fully stocked liquor cabinet longingly, but tonight drinking was out of the question.

She had found among Alexander's books a journal bound in green leather. Picking it up from the table beside the chair, she turned the book over in her hands. As she ran her thumb along the cracking binding she tried to fathom what dark knowledge this book might contain to have found its way onto the shelf between titles such as Necrosis and The Infinite Reach of the Will.

She opened the cover. There, written on the facing in a bold and elegant hand, was an explanation she did not expect:

Alexander from Tilly - "Dying because I do not die."

The simple line of text left Joki at a loss. An unknown mother, a fiendish father- these were easily put aside. But they were not the people who shared this book. These were young lovers, taking what was not theirs because they could not bear to do otherwise. She quickly turned the treacherous thoughts aside and perused the book. On the first page the name of the author was printed in calligraphy: John of the Cross. The yellowed pages were filled with poems by the saint, copied to the journal by the same hand that penned the inscription.

Joki turned the brittle pages carefully, skimming the lines of lavish poetry. Most of it was lost in the tumultuous thoughts that filled her head, but two verses caught her eye from "The Spiritual Canticle".

When you looked at me
your eyes imprinted your grace in me;
for this you loved me ardently;
and thus my eyes deserved
to adore what they beheld in you.

Do not despise me;
for if, before, you found me dark,
now truly you can look at me
since you have looked
and left in me grace and beauty.

Unexpected tears welled up in her eyes, and she blinked them away angrily. Reaching for a quill, she swiftly underlined the verses in green ink and laid the quill aside. Her fingers reached up to the thin cord of leather that encircled her neck, pulling it free with a quick tug and a twist of her fingers. She placed the cord in the book, marking the place.

"Carr!" Her voice sounded sharp, even to her own ears.

An aged house elf crept into the room, his milky, bulbous eyes fixed on his new mistress with disfavor. Joki handed the book to him. "Wrap this and deliver it to Zane von Mecklenberg at Hogwarts. Hurry."

"Carr cannot go, mistress...the master forbade it, but at his bidding."

Joki gave the elf a cold look. She was exhausted, sober, and her patience worn thin by Carr's rebellious behavior each time she entered the Wilde mansion. She bore no love for the creature anyway, both for his loyalty to Alexander and his penchant for getting her into trouble as a child.

"Marius...Sulla..."

As a unit the two black dogs rose to their feet and bounded to Joki's chair, red tongues lolling out over their gleaming teeth. Dumb animals they may be, but they were not stupid- their master was gone, and this strange, sharp-tongued young woman sat in his chair. No one else had ever done so. Therefore, she was to be obeyed. Tails wagging, the dogs awaited her command as she stroked their huge meaty heads.

"My dogs are looking thin, Carr...if I suspected for a moment that you were neglecting to care for them, I'd let them pick the flesh from your pitiful little bones. Now do as I say, and do not question me again."

Marius licked his chops as if on cue. Carr snatched the book from Joki's hand and slunk out of the room, wheezing and grumbling. With matching disappointed sighs the dogs sank down to the floor, Sulla resting his head on her left foot and Marius on her right.

In the silence Joki ran her fingertips over the ring on her left hand, her thoughts turning to Zane...thinking of him was the one luxury she would allow herself anytime, anywhere. His wand rested against her side, a constant reminder that she was not alone, no matter what happened while they were apart. Joki closed her eyes and rested her head against the back of the chair.

Everyone said the worst part of a death was the waiting...she was quite sure that that was the worst part of living, too.

((Behind in my posting...this picks up the day after the last post left off ))



Joki stood near Alexander Wilde's coffin in her black funeral robes. On the other side of the coffin stood a man who could have been the Alexander of some twenty years ago- blond, muscular, beautiful. Adam Wilde had come home, but not to stay...and not to her.

The mausoleum was packed with people, gathered in a circle around the Wilde orphans. November was cold this year. The breath of the living rose in thin columns of vapor, the sounds of shuffling feet and rustling garments profaning this house of the dead.

The house that lies built... Joki thought nonsensically. What would these people think- these polite, wealthy snobs who had come sniffing for scandal- if they knew what parts Joki and Adam were playing? What would they say if they knew the true story of the Wilde twins? Joki's eyes flickered up again, to be met by Adam's mocking gaze. He knew her thoughts...dared her to speak them. In her head she heard his voice- the words spoken the night before, when she had been rocked to her core by truth.

"A father we shared...weak thing he was. My mother was the rightful mistress of his house- yours was the wanton whore that brought our father low. I am your brother- your cousin- but we never shared a womb."

More had followed- each lie unraveled with excruciating clarity. Joki's eyes drifted to the three dark-haired women who were ever at her brother's heels. The Thornboughs...a notorious family of dark wizards, Death Eaters...women. To them Alexander had sent his son, to be trained in the service of the Dark Lord. Into their arms had Joki's only comfort flown- by their hands had he been made the cruel thing before her.

Ligeia, Lucasta, Ladonna...she would remember them. And someday, they would know just what they had cost her. Adam would no doubt rise in the ranks of evil- and he would not reach a hand back to lead her.

Still as the marble statues that guarded the vault, Joki remained when all others had left. The priest could not persuade her to go- Adam had not tried. Alone she sat, into the watches of the night, with her father. She was not for tears...she did not grieve for her father- not even for the brother lost in a way crueler than the thought of his death had been. She sat not only in sorrow- but in pale, wordless wonder. This was a grave...and she had a life beyond it. She had Zane...she had her work. In them she would take solace, and become a whole thing.

The walls of the mausoleum bore the names of those buried there- generations of Wildes, her family; their sins passed from one generation to the next. She would rise. Their names would be forgotten in the import of her own.

Finally she left the vault, left the caretakers to their duty of sealing Alexander's bones into the foundations. Snow fell on the cemetery. Gray shadows from the leaves of trees moved on the ground, a piercing wind tore at Joki's robes and shook her hair free of its bindings.

Down the hill her feet took her, down a path into a secret shaded glen. The earth was still dark and newly spread on the grave that lay there. An angel of obsidian guarded the spot, an angel with wild eyes and black wings unfurled in the force of a gale. A smile curved the cold lips, slender arms reached over her head, exulting neither in the vices of man nor the glories of heaven, but in the inexhaustible passion that was her own.

Into the statue's pedestal was carved only a name, and a quote.

Tilly Demori.
Now I live because I do not die.

The grey clouds overhead darkened, the snow turned to rain as darkness softly descended. As the stone face was covered by night, the girl who saw only herself in the angel's eyes sat on the ground under the protection of the wings, drew her knees to her chest, and would not weep.



Réquiem æternam dona ei,
Dómine.
Et lux perpétua lúceat ei.
Requiéscat in pace.
Amen.

Anima ejus, et ánimæ ómnium fidélium defunctórum, per misericórdiam Dei requiéscant in pace.
Amen.

The book had only been in her possession a few days, but already the pages were starting to show wear. Over and over she read the words, perusing each line ruthlessly. Even now, in the Hog's Head with a glass of rum at her elbow and a cigarette in one hand, the book lay open on the table in front of her. With a fingertip she traced the rough circle drawn in the inside cover.

So much to think through. The thoughts were hard to take in, harder to make sense of and release. Peace born of anger...desire inflamed by truth.

The investigation into her father's murder had been reopened. Salkan, the judge who had spoken against such an action, was dead. Hours were ticking away...days...it wasn't over yet. Strange then, this overwhelming sense of well-being. She was not alone.

Absently she reached for her glass, eyes still on the book. A nudge from the back of her hand was all it took to knock the heavy glass off the table and onto the hard floor, where it broke into large, jagged pieces. The noise made even the bartender jump, but Joki's thoughts were still deeply entrenched in the events of the past few days. Foolishly she leaned over and felt for the glass.

A large green shard was waiting for her, the raxor sharp edge slicing deeply into the smooth skin of her right hand. With a grunt she dropped the cigarette in her left hand into an ashtray. Lifting her hand in the dim light, she pulled her wand from her cloak pocket. "Episkey."

The wound grew uncomfortably hot, then cold; the blood racing back up her pale flesh and burying itself within her veins again, the flesh at the edges of the cut straining together as the damaged cells knitted themselves together. A simple spell, one she had known for years and used countless times...but tonight was different. She found she had been holding her breath as she watched the wound heal before her eyes. Slowly she exhaled and took another breath.

"Fascinating..."

Reaching down, she snatched a small dagger from the top of her boot. Without hesitation she pressed the tip against the pale skin on her right arm, digging the steel in and drawing a long crimson line down her arm. Calmly, taking her time, she wiped the dagger clean and placed it into her boot again, then picked up her wand.

"Episkey."

Holding her arm up in front of her face, she watched wide-eyed as the magical process repeated itself. Her muddled thoughts vanished in the clarity of wounding and healing. The soft flesh, the vibrant blood- their violent separation and then their returning. It was more than wondrous.

"Fascinating."

Joki stood and threw her cloak around her shoulders. Her wand went into the inside pocket on her right hip, easy to reach with her left hand. The book had its own place against her side. Leaving the forgotten cigarette burning in the ashtray, she walked out into the night, her long strides swift and purposeful.

The bleached skull sat atop a pile of books on Joki's desk. The Healing Arts, Gray's Anatomy, Common Magical Ailments and Afflictions, The Healer's Helpmate - over the past weeks she had read them again and again, hungering for the knowledge that lay within their covers.

She didn't consider how this path would change her.

She wanted this, wanted it as she had as a girl before her childhood dreams were torn away. More, even. This was her dream. Hers, something Alexander and Adam had been no part of.

She crossed her arms on the edge of her desk and rested her chin on them, staring back at the skull's empty eye sockets. Her dream, but they had changed it. And that part she did not grudge. She was what she was, and it would take her places others could not go. She remembered her words to Zane:


The lines of her face settled into a frown as she remembered his response:



Joki forced her mind back to the present and reached for a cigarette. She lit it and placed it in her lips, then reached out to trace the rim of the skull's eye socket with a fingertip.

"Nowhere you can't follow."

_________________
"We are not bound forever to the circles of the world, and beyond them is more than memory."

Joki turned the small book over in her hands. Simple ignorance fed by rumors...or bait? A taunt, perhaps. If that, it was a juvenile effort at best. Anyone who truly knew her would know that the book was pretty much useless to her. Still, given recent events, it had been enough to make her wary.

The February wind blew through the cemetery and cut through her clothes with an unkind edge. She reached up with a long-fingered hand and took the glowing cigarette from her lips, dropping it into the snow and watching as the embers instantly darkened.

They would watch, she and Zane. If this banal game continued, they would hunt. She smiled briefly, her blackened lips twisting upward at the corners. No doubt he had already begun...or never stopped. Joki leaned her head back and closed her feverishly bright eyes. Snow swirled down from the darkened sky and fell softly on her face. This was their world...they would not suffer it to be threatened.

_________________
"We are not bound forever to the circles of the world, and beyond them is more than memory."

Brennan shuffled the deck and spread five cards out on the table in a horseshoe pattern. The single candle on the table shed light on the bright faces of the cards. From Brennan's left to his right, the Three of Cups, Strength, the Seven of Wands, the King of Cups, and the Queen of Swords. He took a moment to look over the cards, his gaze lingering on the Seven of Wands and the Queen of Swords before looking up. "Alright."

Joki sat across the table from him, leaning in to look at the cards. The usual cigarette was held in her black-tinted lips, but it remained unlit. Bren pointed to the Three of Cups.



"This represents your current position. Generally it means a time for celebration, so something has recently occurred that you've had reason to be happy about or to celebrate." He grinned at her and winked. "Like me getting out of prison."

Joki's lips curved into a brief smile around the cigarette and she nodded for him to continue.

Brennan pointed to the second card, which bore the image of a lion being subdued by a woman. "Strength."




"That represents your current expectations. Right now, you're expecting something to come that is going to require a good deal of fortitude or willpower to get through."

When she remained silent, he moved to the Seven of Wands.



"This represents what is unexpected. You're going to be fighting with yourself about something...very likely a decision you'll have to make, or something similar."

Joki's eyes flickered to his face, emotionless, as she took in the explanation. Self-fight...that she was familiar with.

Bren rubbed his chin and pointed to the King of Cups.




"That's followed by the King of Cups, which usually represents someone who wants to be emotionally involved, but at the same time is afraid to, so keeps himself or herself separate. This could represent you, or it could represent someone coming into your life very soon." Brennan moved to the last card, his finger resting on it for a moment. "Finally, the Queen of Swords."



"The long-term future shows that you will eventually find yourself in a period of time where you or someone you know will experience personal suffering. However, whoever it is will get through that period with some dignity." Without further ceremony, Brennan scooped the cards up and placed them in his pouch with a grin. "Learn what you need to?"

Joki started to respond, but quickly turned her head instead as a harsh cough rattled in her chest. After a few moments she caught her breath and nodded, dropping the unlit cigarette to the floor.

"Enough. Thank you."

_________________
"We are not bound forever to the circles of the world, and beyond them is more than memory."

They had beaten the illness...each in their own way, she supposed. The flash of anger and fear that accompanied the thought burned bright for a moment, then faded as she listened to the breathing of the boy asleep beside her. The mistake was hers. She had been careless, so focused on achieving a result that she had grown lax in the screening of her subjects. It was an act she would not repeat. She could not afford to. Curling against the warm body at her side, she let her thoughts wander down a dozen different paths, immaterial lines that she would eventually shape into actions.

Tillery's trial...Joki had left before it ended. She didn't know what had bothered her more- the evidence of the Ministry's increasing activity at Hogwarts, or the memories that that courtroom held. Everywhere she turned there were ghosts, and drink was no longer enough to silence them. In the end the girl had been freed, but it was all too close.

Seville. He had once brought her low, left her crawling on her stomach in the desert as her blood stained the sand. She had learned- grown- gained much from the gory encounter, but she had never for a moment forgotten it. Such things went beyond simple insult and the desire for revenge. A deep, enduring enmity lay within her, and with his increasing presence in the school, it was waking.

Elders and Crest. The whole situation bordered on ridiculous. She had done right to distance herself from the strange boy. Was it love, tempered by selfishness and turned to madness...or something else entirely that had led to his actions? She had spent long nights poring over the remnants of the research Terry had done for her, searching for some clue to satisfy her own curiosity. Thus far...nothing.

The thoughts made her restless, hungry. She remembered again Bren's reading, the prophecy of "a time of personal suffering." Lifting her right hand in the dim light, she spread her fingers apart. The dark scarred line across her palm still stung as the skin stretched. Her frown returned, but soon curved into something like a smile. She slipped quietly from the bed, toes curling in protest as they touched the cold floor. Reaching for the cloak draped over the back of a chair, she wrapped it around her shoulders and went to the window.The landscape was blanketed in white, icy crystals catching the first rays of the rising sun and reflecting back the vibrant hues. Ice...and fire.

"Personal suffering no longer exists."

_________________
"We are not bound forever to the circles of the world, and beyond them is more than memory."

The driving music could be felt reverberating through the ground beneath her feet, even a block away. The sound of voices, laughing and calling, blended into the hedonistic beat and drifted out into the night as she drew near to the club.

The Green Door.

Joki’s lips twitched in a smirk. She had to admire their choice in colors.

Inside the place was already alive, even at nine o’clock at night. She paused a moment to take in the pulsing lights, the deafening music, the raucous partiers who filled the room. Hardcore ravers and the alcoholics mixed blissfully with kids just looking to have a good time. She noted several of her fellow students in the throng, but made no move to approach them. Tonight she did not belong to their world, or they to hers.

Joki had been to such places before. Not from any inclination to join the sweating, frenzied throng on the dance floor, or to partake in the various substances that were readily available if you only knew whose eye to catch, whose direction to grace with a smile...

She was here to watch...to learn.

To maintain a level of anonymity, she had dressed for the place. Leather pants hung low on her slim hips, a short black top hugged her torso and long sleeves nearly hid her hands. Even with her dark and unusual appearance, her identity was safe. The motley array of strangers would grow more strange as the night went on. And indeed, that is what she had come to see.

Automatically she took a glass from a passing barmaid’s tray and began to move through the press of bodies. Pulsing life surrounded her...revelry, debauchery, lusty youth and liquor-laced blood. It should have been heady, stimulating, intoxicating. Instead she found herself strangely unmoved by any of it, calmly sipping her drink as she made her way to a corner couch.

A smile curved her black-painted lips as she settled against the padded velvet and watched the room through half-lidded eyes.

Now there was only the waiting...waiting for the show to begin, for the human to slip away and the base and animalistic to emerge. That was truly the feast for senses such as hers. The silver ring on her finger caught the fleeting gleam of a strobe light, and her smile widened. She would bring her Beast to this place...here the prey would be plenty.

_________________
"We are not bound forever to the circles of the world, and beyond them is more than memory."