Chapter 72:
– Serafall –
Serafall sat alone behind the enormous desk in her private office, surrounded by towering stacks of official reports she had absolutely no intention of reading right then.
The Underworld would survive another hour without its Leviathan reviewing revised trade agreements, border disputes, or the latest tedious complaints from the noble houses. None of those things were remotely as important as the masterpiece currently taking shape beneath the tip of her glittery pink pen.
She giggled and leaned closer to the script.
Her other hand remained hidden beneath her short pink skirt. Two fingers rubbed slow circles over her clit through the increasingly damp fabric of her panties while she reread the scene she had just written.
It was perfect. No, it was better than perfect. It was going to be the greatest season of Magical Girl Levia-tan ever created!
"Oh my darling, Cassium…" Serafall whispered gleefully.
She giggled at the delightful mental image and began adding another note to the script.
A sudden knock struck the office door.
Serafall froze.
Her eyes dropped to the extremely incriminating screenplay spread across her desk.
"Just a moment!"
She hastily slammed the pages together and shoved them beneath a stack of unsigned budget reports. Her chair nearly toppled backward as she pulled her hand from beneath her skirt and straightened her damp panties. She smoothed down her short pink skirt, adjusted the bow over her chest, and tugged her gloves back into place.
By the time the door opened, Magical Girl Levia-tan was sitting primly behind her desk with both hands folded atop its surface and the grave expression of a responsible head of state.
Ingvild nervously stepped into the office.
Serafall's practiced smile softened at once.
Her newest little sister hovered just inside the doorway as though uncertain whether she was truly allowed to enter. She wore a pale blue dress that complemented her long dark hair, and both hands were clasped tightly in front of her waist. Her unusual eyes moved from Serafall to the towering piles of paperwork and then back again.
"Come in, Ingvild-chan," Serafall said brightly. "You never need to be afraid of visiting your big sister."
Ingvild carefully closed the door behind her. "I'm sorry. I hope I'm not interrupting anything important."
"Nothing important at all!" Serafall discreetly pressed one elbow over the corner of the hidden screenplay when it threatened to slide out from beneath the reports.
Ingvild's gaze followed the movement.
Serafall smiled more widely.
Ingvild wisely chose not to ask.
Serafall tilted her head and regarded the nervous girl standing before her desk.
"What does my new adorable little sister need?" she asked brightly.
Then she reconsidered the description.
Adorable was certainly accurate. Ingvild's lingering uncertainty made her seem terribly precious, especially whenever she clasped her hands and looked to Serafall for guidance. But beautiful might have been the more appropriate word.
Ingvild's extraordinarily long purple hair cascaded down her back like a silken waterfall. Her golden eyes gleamed against her flawless face, and the modest blue dress she wore did very little to conceal the sinful body beneath it. Her breasts and legs were nearly on par with Serafall's own, which was an accomplishment worthy of considerable respect.
It really was a terrible shame that Mama had forced Serafall to promise she would not corrupt this little sister too.
Apparently one corrupted younger sibling was enough.
Serafall still disagreed with that assessment, particularly because Sona had turned out perfectly. Mostly.
Ingvild shifted beneath her attention. "I wanted to ask you something about the Human World."
"Ooh! Ask anything you want." Serafall leaned forward eagerly. "Your big sister is an expert on humans. I've watched thousands of hours of television."
She had also governed diplomatic relations between the Underworld and numerous human magical factions for centuries, but television was clearly the more impressive qualification.
"I haven't been there in almost a hundred years," Ingvild began. "Not properly. I know I saw a little of it before I came here, but everything was so overwhelming that I didn't pay much attention to the way people dressed."
Her cheeks slowly turned pink.
Serafall's curiosity peaked.
Whatever troubled Ingvild was obviously embarrassing, which meant this conversation had just become much more interesting.
"I understand that customs can change greatly in a century," Ingvild continued. "But have human women truly grown so…scandalous in such a short time?"
Serafall's lips twitched. "Scandalous?"
Ingvild glanced toward the closed door as though afraid someone might overhear them. Then she reached into the small bag hanging from her shoulder and withdrew a bundle of shimmering violet fabric.
Serafall recognized it immediately.
She had personally selected the swimsuit for Ingvild from one of the finest boutiques in the Underworld. The family would be traveling to France the following day, and France possessed excellent beaches. The fact that it was currently winter presented no meaningful obstacle. A little magic could provide sunshine, warm water, and ideal beach weather.
There were advantages to having a Maou for an older sister.
Ingvild carefully unfolded the swimsuit and held it up by its slender strings.
It was a beautifully designed bikini in rich violet, decorated with tiny golden accents that matched her eyes. The triangular top would provide just enough support to be technically functional, while the bottoms were cut high over the hips and offered a wonderfully inadequate amount of coverage.
Serafall thought it was tasteful. Very tasteful.
She smirked and rested her chin upon her folded hands. "What's wrong with it?"
Ingvild stared at her. Then she stared at the bikini. "Serafall," she said faintly, "there is hardly anything here."
"Of course there is." Serafall pointed helpfully. "That part covers your breasts, and that part covers everything important below."
She squeaked. "Barely!"
"But it does cover them."
Ingvild lifted the bottoms higher as if hoping additional fabric might materialize beneath them. None did. "The undergarments women wore in my time concealed more than this."
"That's because those were undergarments," Serafall explained. "This is swimwear."
"How does wearing it publicly make it less indecent?"
Serafall opened her mouth, paused, and considered the question. "That's an excellent point," she admitted. "Humans are wonderfully strange."
Ingvild's blush deepened. "You truly expect me to wear this on a beach?"
"Of course. I chose it especially for you."
"In front of strangers?"
"There won't be many strangers. We can reserve a private section of the beach." Serafall's smile widened. "It will mostly be family."
That did not reassure Ingvild nearly as much as Serafall had expected.
The girl lowered her voice. "Harry will be there..."
Ah. There it was. Serafall sat back in her chair and struggled not to look too delighted. Ingvild was no longer staring at the bikini. Her eyes had dropped to the carpet, while her fingers nervously twisted one of the strings around themselves.
"So this isn't really about humans becoming scandalous," Serafall observed.
Ingvild's head snapped up. "IT IS!"
"Mm-hmm."
"It is a very reasonable concern!"
"Of course it is."
"I have no idea why you are smiling like that!"
Serafall's smile became wider.
Ingvild looked away again. She really was adorable. Beautiful, certainly, but also painfully, irresistibly adorable.
Serafall waved one hand dismissively. "You don't have to worry, Ingvild-chan. The other girls in Harry's peerage will be wearing swimsuits that are much skimpier than yours."
Ingvild looked down at the tiny bikini dangling from her fingers. Her expression suggested she found that physically impossible.
"Definitely Fleur and Gabrielle, at least," Serafall added.
Ingvild's cheeks turned scarlet.
Serafall could practically see the sheltered girl imagining what might qualify as skimpier. It was terribly tempting to offer a few helpful predictions. Fleur would probably choose something elegant, expensive, and engineered to display as much of her body as French decency laws permitted. Gabrielle might abandon subtlety entirely and arrive in three strategically placed strings.
Mama's warning surfaced in Serafall's mind.
She sighed internally.
As much fun as teasing Ingvild could be, the girl had awakened after sleeping for nearly a century. She was still struggling to understand modern clothing, modern customs, and a family structure complicated enough to confuse people who had lived through every year she had missed. Serafall did not want to overwhelm her simply because her blushes were adorable.
Not yet, anyway.
She leaned back and deliberately softened her smile. "You don't have to wear it if it makes you uncomfortable."
Ingvild blinked. "I don't?"
"Of course not. I thought it would look beautiful on you, but vacations are supposed to be fun. You can choose something more modest if that makes you happier." Serafall pointed toward the bikini. "You should keep that one too, though. Just in case you feel braver later."
Ingvild studied the violet fabric again. She did not put it away.
Interesting.
Serafall decided not to draw attention to that little detail. Instead, she clasped her hands cheerfully atop the desk.
"So, what kind of fun activities would you like to do while we're in France?"
The change in subject had an immediate effect. Ingvild's embarrassment faded, and her golden eyes brightened.
"We can choose?"
"We can do almost anything you want," Serafall promised. "We'll have beaches, mountains, cities, castles, shops, restaurants, museums—and Harry-tan already promised to listen to you sing."
Ingvild's entire face lit up at the reminder.
That was much better. Serafall smiled. "Well?" Serafall prompted gently. "What does my beautiful little sister want to do first? In fact, how about I help you plan out an entire fun day with my Harry-kun as an apology for all the teasing!"
Of course, Serafall would be there to tease her new little sister even more at the end of it all!
– Harry Sitri –
Coming back to Europe for at least one week of winter break had been a good idea.
My peerage would have followed me anywhere. I knew that without needing to ask. If I had decided to spend the entire holiday in the Underworld, or drag everyone halfway across the world on some ridiculous adventure, they would have come with me without complaint.
That did not mean it would have been fair.
Most of my peerage members were immortal now, or would at least live for an extraordinarily long time. Many of their families were not. Parents would grow older. Human relatives would pass away. Even those with magical blood rarely possessed the kind of lifespan reincarnated devils could expect.
I had forever with my peerage.
They did not necessarily have forever with everyone else they loved.
So we had returned to Europe, and through a combination of Sitri wealth, Gremory influence, and Mother's complete inability to understand the concept of restraint, we had rented several floors of one of the most expensive beach resorts in France.
In the middle of winter.
That would ordinarily have made the beach rather pointless, but the news had spent the past two days breathlessly reporting an unprecedented spell of sunny, warm weather along the French coast. Temperatures had climbed high enough for people to abandon their winter coats, and tourists were already flocking toward the beaches to take advantage of what several baffled meteorologists were calling a once-in-a-century atmospheric anomaly.
Yes, my mother had shamelessly altered the weather across a sizable portion of France so our family could enjoy the beach during winter break.
No, I had not asked what consequences that might have for the surrounding environment.
I was a devil, after all.
Currently, everyone had scattered to spend time with their families or explore the resort. Hermione was in her room with her parents. They had been devoted devil worshippers even before their daughter became one, which continued to create situations I was not emotionally equipped to process.
Fleur and Gabrielle had gone to a nearby café with Apolline. I suspected they were discussing their father. From what little the sisters had told me, their parents' marriage had deteriorated past the point where anyone could convincingly pretend it might recover.
I was fairly sure Apolline intended to divorce him.
Considering how happily she had fucked me several weeks ago, I doubted reconciliation remained especially high on her list of priorities.
That was another subject I chose not to examine too closely.
Instead, I stood in the corridor outside one of our suites, waiting for my newest aunt to finish getting dressed.
I had promised Ingvild that we would spend time together during this trip, and I intended to keep that promise. She had been remarkably patient since awakening from a century-long sleep and discovering that nearly everyone she had known was dead, the world had transformed beyond recognition, and she had somehow acquired a sprawling family filled with Maous, reincarnated witches, magical girls, dragons, and me.
It would have been easy for her to feel forgotten among all that chaos.
I refused to let that happen.
So I stood outside her hotel-room door with my hands in my pockets, listening to faint movement from within while warm sunlight poured through the windows at the end of the corridor.
"...Ingvild?" I called after another minute. "Are you all right in there?"
Something struck the floor inside, followed by a startled little gasp.
"Yes!" she answered much too quickly. "I'm almost ready!"
I smiled despite myself.
Whatever she was struggling with, I suspected Serafall had something to do with it.
The door opened, and Ingvild cautiously stepped into the corridor.
She looked embarrassed enough that my first instinct was to check whether something had gone wrong. Then I noticed what she was wearing, and every question briefly vanished from my mind.
I had never seen her in that kind of outfit before.
A very—very—short purple skirt hugged her hips and left almost the entirety of her long legs exposed. Her matching tank top clung to her generous curves, emphasizing her breasts while leaving her stomach completely bare. The color complemented her flowing purple hair beautifully, while the modern cut made her look utterly different from the sheltered woman who usually favored long, elegant dresses.
Ingvild shifted nervously beneath my stare.
Her fingers caught the bottom of her tank top and tried to tug it lower, but there was nowhere for it to go without exposing more of her chest. She abandoned the effort and smoothed down her skirt instead, only to realize that pulling it lower made it ride higher over her thighs.
She was very clearly waiting for me to say something.
"You look beautiful," I told her.
The tension left her shoulders, although her cheeks immediately turned pink. "Truly?"
"Truly." I smiled. "Purple suits you."
She glanced down at herself. "It was either this or pink. Serafall chose most of the clothing, so there was quite a lot of pink."
That sounded exactly like my mother.
I looked at the amount of bare skin the outfit exposed, then met Ingvild's eyes again. "Are you comfortable wearing something like that?"
Her hesitation answered before she did. "I am trying to become comfortable," she admitted. "Women dress very differently now. I do not want to spend the rest of my life looking as though I stepped out of an old portrait."
"There's nothing wrong with your dresses."
"I know." She smiled faintly. "But I would like to have choices. If I can become accustomed to this, perhaps I will be brave enough to wear something else later."
"What—"
Ingvild made a tiny squeaking sound. "It is a surprise!"
I raised both hands in surrender. "All right. I won't ask."
She studied me suspiciously, perhaps expecting me to tease her or try to guess. When I remained silent, she relaxed and stepped fully into the corridor, closing the door behind herself.
For a moment, she played with the hem of her skirt again. Then she gathered her courage and looked up at me. "May I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"Would it be all right if I had you to myself today?"
The question was so tentative that it made my chest ache. "Of course it would."
"I do not wish to be selfish," she hurriedly added. "You have so many people who love you, and everyone must want to spend time with you while we are here."
"They're all busy today anyway," I assured her. "Hermione is spending time with her parents. Fleur and Gabrielle went to a café with Apolline."
I chose not to mention what I suspected the three Veela were discussing—or my complicated involvement in Apolline's marital situation.
"Lyra and Lyna went shopping," I continued. "Apparently the maid uniforms they already own aren't sufficiently French, so they've gone in search of authentic French maid uniforms."
Ingvild blinked. "Are French maid uniforms actually worn by maids in France?"
"I'm almost certain they aren't."
"Then why—"
"You'll be happier if you don't question Lyra and Lyna too closely."
She considered that advice before nodding solemnly.
"Narcissa took Asia and Tonks to some of the most expensive and exclusive boutiques in France," I said. "I expect them to return with enough clothing to fill another floor of the hotel. Sona is spending the day with her own peerage, and Rias and hers won't arrive in France until tomorrow."
"So no one needs you today," Ingvild said.
Something in her voice bothered me.
She was smiling, but the relief behind it carried an uncomfortable implication: that she believed she could only ask for my company when nobody else wanted it.
I stepped closer and took one of her hands.
"Even if everyone else were standing in this corridor asking me to go with them, I would still want to spend time with you."
Ingvild stared at our joined hands.
"You would?"
"I promised, didn't I?"
"Yes, but—"
"And you're my family," I added. "I don't spend time with you because everyone else happens to be unavailable. I spend time with you because I like being around you."
Her golden eyes shimmered. For a worrying second, I thought she might cry. Instead, she squeezed my hand and gave me a soft, radiant smile. "I like being around you too, Harry."
"Good." I returned her smile. "Then you officially have me all to yourself today."
A lovely blush spread across her face again.
I suspected I had phrased that poorly.
Ingvild did not appear eager to correct me.
We rode the elevator down to the lobby together.
Ingvild remained close to my side throughout the descent, occasionally smoothing her tiny skirt or adjusting the bottom of her tank top. Every time the mirrored walls showed her reflection, she examined herself with the wary fascination of someone who had not yet decided whether her outfit was fashionable or evidence that modern civilization had collapsed.
Personally, I thought she looked beautiful.
The elevator doors opened onto the resort's enormous marble lobby, and we stepped out together.
The reaction was immediate.
Conversations faltered. Heads turned. Several men openly stared as Ingvild crossed the lobby beside me, her long purple hair swaying behind her and her bare legs drawing nearly as much attention as her perfect face. One man walking toward the elevators almost collided with a decorative column because he had stopped looking where he was going.
Ingvild seemed oblivious to most of it. She was too busy taking in the crowds, tropical plants, and sunlight streaming through the towering glass windows.
I noticed everything.
More than a few of the staring men eventually looked at me. Their admiration for Ingvild transformed into envy when they saw how closely she walked beside me.
For once, those jealous glares were completely undeserved.
Ingvild was my family, not my girlfriend.
Considering the complicated relationships within my family, however, I supposed that distinction might not have been as reassuring as it should have been.
Either way, I smirked at them and kept walking.
We were nearly through the lobby when I noticed two familiar figures standing near the entrance.
Dudley wore a sharply tailored black suit that fit his bulky frame perfectly. It was a significant improvement over the oversized shirts and tracksuits I remembered from our childhood. He stood straighter now too, though some of that might have been because Ravel Phenex was holding his arm and looking extraordinarily pleased with herself.
My cousin appeared healthier than he had the last time I saw him. The exhaustion and pallor caused by his imprisonment at Number Four were gone. More importantly, his aura had changed.
He no longer felt human.
Demonic energy flowed steadily through his body, reinforced by the dense physical power of a Rook.
Ravel had done it. Dudley was officially a reincarnated devil and a member of her peerage.
My cousin had become her Rook.
I grinned as we approached them. "Well, don't you look fancy?"
Dudley glanced down at his suit. "Ravel picked it."
"Obviously."
"I have excellent taste," Ravel declared. She looked elegant herself in a fitted golden dress beneath a pale coat, her blonde hair arranged in elaborate drills. One gloved hand remained possessively wrapped around Dudley's arm.
She was practically glowing.
Dudley rolled his eyes, but the fond smile tugging at his lips ruined any attempt to seem annoyed. "Apparently I couldn't wear jeans."
"You could have," Ravel said. "I simply would not have permitted you to leave the suite."
"That means I couldn't."
"That means you made the correct decision."
Ingvild smiled warmly at them. "It is nice to see you again, Ravel."
Ravel's expression softened. "It is lovely to see you too, Ingvild." Her eyes moved over Ingvild's modern outfit with brief surprise before she gave an approving nod.
Ingvild noticed and stood a little straighter. Then she looked between Ravel's dress and Dudley's suit. "Are the two of you going somewhere together?"
"I am taking my new Rook on a date," Ravel said proudly. She tightened her hold on Dudley's arm as she said it, as though worried someone might attempt to steal him before they reached the door.
I looked at my cousin again and allowed my grin to widen. "Your first date as a devil?"
"First proper one," Dudley muttered.
Ravel frowned up at him. "The diner counted."
"I was half-starved, covered in bruises, and had just been disowned."
"You still kissed me." Ravel's pleased smile returned immediately.
I looked more closely at Dudley's demonic aura. The change was recent enough that the energy still seemed slightly unsettled inside him, but his body had accepted the Rook piece without any visible difficulty. He already felt stronger than he had as a human, considerably stronger.
"So it worked," I said.
Dudley nodded. "Last night."
"Any problems?"
"Not unless you count waking up strong enough to break the bathroom door."
"It was a very sturdy door," Ravel added defensively. "His reincarnation was exceptionally successful."
"I barely touched it."
"You will learn control."
Dudley sighed. "She's said that every time I've broken something."
"How many things have you broken?"
He looked away.
Ravel answered for him. "The bathroom door, a chair, two glasses, a wardrobe handle, and part of the bed."
Ingvild's golden eyes widened.
Dudley's face reddened. "The bed wasn't because of the Rook piece."
A brief silence followed.
Ravel's cheeks turned nearly as red as his.
I burst out laughing.
"Shut up, Harry."
"I didn't say anything."
"You didn't have to."
Ravel recovered first. Lifting her chin with as much dignity as she could manage, she redirected the conversation. "What are the two of you doing today?"
Ingvild brightened at the question. "I am spending the day with Harry," she said, sounding quietly delighted by the declaration. "But first, we are going to an aquarium."
"That sounds nice," Dudley said.
"It was Ingvild's choice," I explained. "She wants to see how much humans have learned about the ocean while she was asleep."
"And I would like to see the sharks," Ingvild added.
Ravel smiled. "Dudley likes sharks too."
Dudley stared at her. "When did I tell you that?"
"You mentioned it while you were sleeping."
His expression became wary. "What else did I say?"
"That is private information belonging to your King."
I placed a hand over my heart. "Look at that, Dudley. You've already started revealing your deepest secrets."
"It's sharks, Harry."
"Today it's sharks. Tomorrow she learns your favorite color."
"Violet," Ravel said immediately. "I think it's adorable!"
Dudley looked betrayed. "You promised not to tell anyone..."
While they playfully argued, Ingvild squeezed my hand.
I glanced at her and found her smiling at the two of them. There was something almost wistful in her expression, but it disappeared when she noticed me watching.
"Are you ready?" I asked.
She nodded eagerly. "Yes."
I looked back at Dudley and Ravel. "Enjoy your date."
"We will," Ravel promised.
Dudley gave me a pointed look. "You behave yourself."
I stared at him.
He stared back.
Then I glanced down at Ingvild's hand in mine before looking at my cousin again. "She's my aunt."
Dudley shrugged. "With your family, that doesn't mean much."
Ravel covered a laugh with one hand.
Ingvild's entire face turned scarlet.
I stood beneath the dim blue light of the aquarium, reading a brochure filled with what its author apparently considered amusing facts about sharks.
Fun fact—Sharks have been on the Earth longer than trees have…
We had been wandering through the exhibits for nearly an hour. Ingvild had wanted to stop at almost every tank, and I had been perfectly happy to indulge her. Watching her discover how much humanity had learned about the ocean during her century-long sleep was far more entertaining than I had expected.
I glanced away from the brochure and found her standing before the enormous glass wall of the shark enclosure.
That was when a funny thought occurred to me.
I was very glad Grandmother Selene and Mother had not come with us.
If either of them saw the expression on Ingvild's face right now, Sitri Manor would have a massive aquarium installed before we returned from France. Mother would probably declare that her newest little sister deserved one, while Grandmother would quietly purchase several thousand exotic fish and commission an entire artificial ocean beneath the estate.
Honestly, it might happen anyway.
Ingvild stood close to the glass, bathed in shifting blue light. Her long purple hair spilled down her back, and the tiny modern outfit she had been so nervous about wearing somehow made her look even more striking among the families crowding the exhibit.
On the other side of the glass, a group of sharks had gathered.
They were not swimming past her.
They were staring directly at her.
At first, I thought it was a coincidence. Then more sharks approached. One after another, they slowed and turned toward Ingvild until nearly every predator in the enclosure had assembled before her.
The other visitors began to notice.
Ingvild lifted one hand and gently placed her palm against the glass.
The largest shark lowered its head.
The others followed.
They bowed to her.
Did you know sharks could bow?
I certainly hadn't until that moment.
Ingvild smiled so radiantly that I forgot about the ridiculous brochure in my hands. Something ancient and powerful stirred beneath her gentle exterior, reaching through the glass and the water without any deliberate spellcasting. The sharks must have felt the blood of Leviathan flowing through her veins.
A little boy passing with his parents stopped so suddenly that his father nearly walked into him.
The child stared at the bowing sharks. Then he looked up at Ingvild with enormous eyes. "Are you a secret mermaid?"
Ingvild blinked.
The boy's mother looked mortified. "I'm so sorry—"
"It is quite all right," Ingvild assured her. She lowered herself slightly so she was closer to the child's height. The movement made several nearby men stare for reasons that had absolutely nothing to do with sharks, but I resisted the urge to freeze their shoes to the floor.
"Would you promise not to tell anyone if I were?" Ingvild asked solemnly. The little boy nodded with the absolute seriousness only a child could manage. "I promise."
"Then perhaps I am."
His mouth fell open.
I covered my laugh with the brochure as his parents hurriedly led him away. The boy kept looking back at Ingvild until the crowd swallowed him.
Technically, he had not been far from the truth.
Ingvild was not a mermaid, but she was probably the devil equivalent. She was the direct descendant of Leviathan, the primordial ocean monster so powerful that God himself had needed to fight it three separate times merely to drive it into the Underworld…
The sharks clearly recognized royalty when they saw it.
I stepped beside her and looked through the glass. Several of them turned toward me, but none bowed. One opened its mouth and displayed several rows of teeth.
"Apparently they like you more," I observed.
"They know you are teasing them."
"I haven't said anything to them."
Ingvild looked at me with quiet amusement. "They can sense it."
"That seems unfair."
She placed her hand against the glass again. The largest shark drifted closer until its blunt snout nearly touched her palm from the opposite side. "They are beautiful," she whispered.
There was such wonder in her voice that my chest tightened. To everyone else, this was an ordinary aquarium exhibit. To Ingvild, it was a reunion with a world she had lost before spending a hundred years trapped in sleep.
"You could probably swim with them later," I said.
Her golden eyes widened. "Would they permit that?"
"I don't think permission is the problem." I was also thinking about her swimming with the sharks in the ocean, not the aquarium…
"Oh." She considered that, then looked hopefully at me. "Could we ask?" She sounded completely innocent and yet serious at the same time.
I was about to let Ingvild down gently and explain that aquariums generally frowned upon visitors climbing into their exhibits when I heard a gasp behind me.
"THAT'S HARRY SITRI!"
I turned toward the familiar voice.
Two young women stood several paces away, staring at me with equal recognition but very different expressions.
The first was a cute Japanese woman with brown hair tied into twin tails. Her eyes had widened with delighted surprise, and an enormous smile was already spreading across her face. Beside her stood a strikingly beautiful woman with short blue hair and a much cooler expression, although even she looked less wary of me than she had the last time we met.
Irina Shidou and Xenovia Quarta.
Both women were wearing the skintight, scandalously impractical combat outfits the Church apparently issued to its female exorcists.
I still had no idea why an organization so deeply concerned with sin insisted on dressing its women like that.
Not that I particularly disapproved.
Irina recovered first. She hurried toward us with enough enthusiasm that her twin tails bounced behind her and the tight fabric of her uniform emphasized every movement of her athletic body.
"Harry!" she exclaimed, stopping directly in front of me. "It really is you!"
"Irina," I greeted, still somewhat startled. "Xenovia."
Xenovia approached at a more measured pace. Her yellow eyes moved over me, then shifted toward Ingvild and briefly narrowed as she examined the demonic energy surrounding her.
That reaction did not escape Ingvild's notice.
The sharks behind the glass lifted their heads almost in unison.
I subtly stepped between Ingvild and the two exorcists before either side could misunderstand the other. Our previous meeting had ended peacefully enough, but Church-trained warriors and powerful devils were not traditionally known for greeting one another with hugs.
Irina, apparently, had missed that lesson.
"What are you doing in France?" she asked excitedly. Her attention jumped to Ingvild, and curiosity immediately replaced surprise. "And who is the cute devil girl with you?"
Ingvild blinked. "Cute?" she repeated softly. A blush spread across her cheeks.
Xenovia's gaze narrowed. "Irina."
"What?" Irina looked back at her innocently. "She is cute!"
"You should not casually approach an unfamiliar high-class devil and comment on her appearance."
Technically, Ingvild was way more powerful than a high class devil, but it didn't surprise me that these two couldn't sense the true depths of her power.
Irina pouted cutely. Her twin tails shook as her head whipped between Ingvild and Xenovia. "But I complimented her!"
"That is not the point."
"It should be."
While they argued, I glanced at Ingvild. She remained close beside me, one hand still resting against the aquarium glass. The sharks had stopped bowing and were now watching Irina and Xenovia with considerably less friendly interest.
Xenovia stopped arguing with Irina and glanced toward the sharks crowded behind the glass. "Are they supposed to be doing that?"
"They like her," I said.
One of the sharks lowered its head toward Ingvild again.
Irina stared. "Did that shark just... bow?"
"Yeeah..."
"Can all sharks do that?"
I shrugged. "Apparently..."
Irina immediately moved closer to the glass and waved enthusiastically at them.
None of the sharks bowed. One swam away.
Her shoulders sagged. "It ignored me."
"You lack royal ocean-monster blood," I told her. "Try not to take it personally."
Xenovia's attention returned to me. "You still haven't explained why you are in France."
"My family is spending part of the winter break here. Mother rented several floors of a resort and changed the weather so we could use the beaches."
Xenovia slowly turned her head toward the brilliant sunlight shining through a nearby window. "That explains a lot."
"The news says it's an atmospheric anomaly," Irina added.
"The news is lying. And I suppose introductions are probably in order." I gestured toward Ingvild. "This is Ingvild Sitri, my aunt."
I deliberately did not mention her true surname.
Ingvild was a direct descendant of the original Leviathan, which made her lineage dangerous enough on its own. More importantly, she had inherited a truly absurd amount of power from her ancestor. Ingvild was not merely descended from a Satan—she was already Satan-class herself.
Heaven did not need to know that the Sitri Clan had acquired another Satan descendant who could potentially command the oceans to flood the Earth.
Besides, I was not technically lying. Grandmother had performed a blood-adoption ritual after Ingvild joined our family, so she really was a Sitri now.
Ingvild offered the two exorcists a warm smile. "It is lovely to meet you."
"I'm Irina Shidou!" Irina said cheerfully. "And this is Xenovia Quarta."
"Xenovia is fine," the blue-haired woman said.
Ingvild inclined her head. "It is a pleasure to meet both of you."
Xenovia's eyes lingered on her for a few seconds. I wondered whether she could sense the depth of Ingvild's power. My aunt was not actively concealing her demonic aura, but she had spent so long suppressing herself during her illness that restraint seemed to come naturally to her.
Hopefully, Xenovia would merely assume she was another powerful Sitri noblewoman.
Irina, meanwhile, still looked far more interested in the sharks still gathered behind Ingvild.
"Are they all staring at you?" she asked.
"I believe they like me," Ingvild replied.
The largest shark bowed its head again.
Irina gasped. "That's amazing!"
She pressed both hands against the glass and smiled expectantly.
The shark stared at her. Then it turned around and swam away.
Irina slowly lowered her hands. "It still doesn't like me."
"You're taking this rejection surprisingly hard," I said.
"I like sharks!"
"Apparently, the feeling isn't mutual."
She puffed out her cheeks at me.
Xenovia ignored our exchange. "You said your family came to France for the winter break?"
"Most of us did." I glanced between their skintight uniforms and the weapons they carried. "Why are the two of you here?"
Irina immediately brightened again. "We're on a mission!"
Xenovia released a quiet sigh, presumably because Irina had revealed their supposedly private assignment without the slightest hesitation.
"We're tracking down a crazy stray priest," Irina continued.
"A stray priest?" I repeated.
That was never good. Stray priests were former members of the Church who had abandoned its authority without necessarily abandoning its weapons, training, or murderous enthusiasm.
Xenovia folded her arms beneath her chest. "Father Morris can be rather…extreme in the way he enforces his faith."
The hesitation before extreme told me that she was choosing the most diplomatic word available.
"What does extreme mean in this case?" I asked.
"He believes anyone who associates with devils deserves to be eradicated," Xenovia said bluntly. "Regardless of whether they have committed any crime."
I went still.
Father Morris…?
I had heard that name only a few days ago.
Petunia had mentioned him while explaining the absurd death trap hidden inside Dudley's bedroom. The explosives had been designed to detonate if any devil other than me attempted to break Dudley out of Number Four.
At the time, I had been too furious about what my relatives had done to their son to dwell on every detail. Now the pieces clicked together inside my head.
Was Father Morris the lunatic who had rigged Dudley's bedroom to explode?
The priest had apparently been willing to kill Dudley merely to destroy whichever devil came to rescue him. If Ravel had entered that room without me, the entire house might have been reduced to rubble—with both of them inside it.
My pleasant mood vanished.
"Harry?" Ingvild asked softly.
I realized that demonic power had started gathering around me. The sharks behind the glass scattered, fleeing into the darker reaches of the enclosure.
I forced my aura back under control.
"Where was Morris before he came here?" I asked.
Irina's cheerful expression faltered at my tone. "England."
So it was him.
Xenovia's eyes narrowed. "You recognize the name."
"My aunt mentioned a Father Morris a few days ago," I said. "He helped turn my cousin's bedroom into a death trap."
Both exorcists stared at me.
Irina's mouth fell open. "He did what?"
"The room was rigged to explode if a devil tried to enter it. Dudley was locked inside."
Xenovia's face hardened. "Was your cousin aware of the explosives?"
"No."
"Then Morris knowingly endangered a human life!"
"He did more than endanger it," I said coldly. "If the trap had worked as intended, Dudley would have died along with whoever tried to rescue him."
Irina looked sickened. Whatever doctrinal reservations she might have held about devils, she clearly had no trouble recognizing attempted murder.
"That wasn't in our briefing," she said.
"It should have been," Xenovia replied.
"Dudley survived," I added. "He's safe now." I chose not to mention that he had become Ravel's Rook. If Heaven did not know about his reincarnation yet, I saw no reason to provide a helpful update.
Irina worried her lower lip. "This makes the timing even stranger."
"What timing?"
"Father Morris was supposed to remain in England," she explained. "That was where the Church had last placed him. But then he suddenly crossed the Channel and came to France."
I stared at her.
My family had arrived in France.
Then a fanatical priest who had already attempted to murder one of us had abruptly followed.
That was one coincidence too many.
Xenovia appeared to reach the same conclusion. "How widely known was your family's trip?"
"Not very," I said. "But we rented several floors of a luxury resort, and Mother changed the weather across the coast. We weren't exactly subtle."
Ingvild stepped closer to me. "Do you believe he came here because of us?"
"I don't know." That was the honest answer. It was also not remotely reassuring.
Irina's hand settled on the hilt of her sword. "If Morris is targeting your family, then we need to find him quickly."
I studied her. "You understand that if he tries to hurt anyone under my protection, I'm not waiting for the Church to arrest him."
Xenovia met my gaze without flinching. "If he attacks innocent people, we will stop him ourselves."
"And if you don't?"
"Then I expect you will." There was no threat in her voice. Only acknowledgment.
A tense silence settled between us until Ingvild gently took my hand.
I glanced at her.
The excitement she had displayed a few moments earlier was gone, replaced by concern, not for herself, but for the rest of the family.
I squeezed her hand reassuringly.
Morris was dangerous, but he was only a stray priest. Ingvild could probably destroy him by sneezing too hard, and my mother was close enough to erase half of France if anyone threatened her family.
Unfortunately, Mother erasing half of France was one of the outcomes I wanted to avoid.
I squeezed Ingvild's hand again. "Don't worry," I told her. "I'm not letting one crazy man ruin our day."
Her concern did not disappear entirely, but the tension around her eyes eased. "Even if he came here because of your family?"
"If he did, then he made a very poor decision." I smiled reassuringly. "Morris is dangerous to ordinary people. He isn't dangerous to us."
That was probably arrogant.
It was also true.
Almost every member of my immediate family could destroy a stray priest without significant effort. Ingvild herself could likely reduce Morris to a damp stain on the floor if he frightened her badly enough. The greater danger was that he might target one of our human relatives, or cause Mother to respond with enough force to alter the geography of France.
"I'm still going to warn everyone," I added. "There's no reason to take chances."
Ingvild nodded. The answer seemed to satisfy her, because she moved another small step closer until her bare arm brushed mine.
I noticed.
I very deliberately did not examine why I noticed.
Pulling out my phone, I opened the enormous group conversation containing my peerage, most of my family, and several people who had been added by Mother for reasons no one understood. The conversation was usually a chaotic stream of pictures, invitations, magical-girl merchandise, Lyra and Lyna arguing about maid uniforms, and Gabrielle sending increasingly suggestive photographs until Hermione threatened to confiscate her phone.
I typed out a warning.
Father Morris, a stray priest who helped rig the trap at Number Four, has been sighted in France. He probably followed me or Dudley…I hesitated, then added another sentence. Mum, please do not destroy any part of France...
Irina leaned over to read the message. One of her twin tails brushed against my shoulder. "You needed to specify that?" she asked.
Xenovia studied me with a perfectly serious expression. "Would she actually destroy part of France?"
"She changed the weather across half the coastline because Ingvild wanted to visit the beach."
"I didn't ask her to do that…" Ingvild protested softly.
"I know. That's what makes it concerning."
My phone began vibrating before I had even put it away.
Hermione answered first, assuring me that she and her parents were staying together. She also demanded every piece of information I had about Morris, which was not surprising. Hermione considered ignorance a personal enemy and usually responded by researching it to death.
Sona acknowledged the warning less than ten seconds later. She had already ordered her peerage to regroup and offered to coordinate security around the resort.
Narcissa informed me that she, Asia, and Tonks were safe inside a boutique protected by private security and enough wards to survive a minor siege. Tonks sent a photograph of herself wearing an enormous hat immediately afterward, apparently to prove they were fine.
Fleur's response was considerably less restrained: If this priest threatens Maman, I will burn him alive.
Gabrielle followed with: Can I help? She sent back an innocent angel emoji.
That was never reassuring when it came from her.
Lyra and Lyna confirmed they were together, although they appeared more offended by the possibility of their shopping trip being interrupted than frightened by a homicidal priest. Rias promised to warn her peerage before they traveled tomorrow, while Rossweisse and my Queen Lilja immediately began asking several sensible questions about Morris's known weapons, magic, and possible allies.
Then Mum replied. WHO DARES THREATEN MY BABIES?!The message was followed by several furious magical-girl stickers and an animated image of Levia-tan obliterating a villain with a beam of pink light.
No one has been threatened yet, I quickly wrote. This is a precaution.
Should Mama come get you? She replied.
No! I typed back very quickly.
Are you sure? Mama can be there in ten seconds! She replied.
Stay at the resort. Please… I had to double check over my shoulder to make sure she wasn't here already…
There was a lengthy pause before she responded with a deeply unhappy sticker of Levia-tan reluctantly lowering her wand.
Ingvild watched the stream of messages appearing across my phone. The fond disbelief on her face suggested she was still adjusting to the sheer number of people who now considered themselves her family.
"They all answered very quickly," she murmured.
"Threatening one member of this family tends to upset the rest of it."
Her expression softened. She pressed a little closer to my side again.
Then Dudley's name appeared.
I had been trying not to worry about the fact that my newly reincarnated cousin was currently wandering around France with only a single night of experience using his demonic powers. Ravel was with him, but Morris had already demonstrated a willingness to kill Dudley just to catch another devil in the explosion.
His response loosened the knot that had formed in my chest.
I'm fine. Still having fun on my date with Ravel. If that asshole tries to ruin it, I'll put him through a wall with my new super strength.
I stared at the message.
A few days ago, Dudley had been imprisoned in his own bedroom, malnourished, exhausted, and terrified of what his parents might do to him. Now he had devil powers, a beautiful girl clinging to his arm, and enough newfound confidence to threaten the homicidal priest who had helped rig his death trap.
I chuckled.
"What is it?" Ingvild asked.
I showed her Dudley's response.
She read it, and a small smile appeared on her face. "He sounds very brave."
"He sounds brave now that he has super strength."
"That still counts."
"I suppose it does."
Another message arrived from Ravel. Please do not encourage him. He has already broken enough furniture.
I wisely chose not to respond.
Once everyone had checked in, I put my phone away and turned back to Irina and Xenovia.
I studied them both for another moment. Irina could be scatterbrained, but she was not weak. Xenovia looked as though the idea of being cautious caused her physical discomfort, although she was at least sensible enough to recognize that Morris might be more dangerous than their briefing suggested.
They could take care of themselves. Probably?
"Well, it was nice seeing both of you again," I said. "But Ingvild and I should continue our date."
Ingvild smiled immediately!
I realized what I had said. Ah, dammit…
"Our outing," I corrected quickly. "Our completely ordinary outing between a nephew and his aunt…"
The brightness vanished from Ingvild's face. She pouted. It was not an overly dramatic pout. Her lower lip only moved slightly, and her golden eyes briefly lowered toward the floor, but I saw it.
I ignored it for the sake of my continued sanity.
Dudley's comment about relationships within my family had done enough damage for one day.
I started to turn away.
Irina suddenly reached out and seized my free arm. "Wait!" Before I could react, she wrapped both arms around it and hugged it tightly against her slender body. The skintight material of her exorcist uniform did absolutely nothing to soften the sensation of her chest pressing into me.
Ingvild looked down at Irina's arms. Then she looked at Irina. A shark drifted back toward the glass behind her.
I was fairly sure it was the same one that had ignored Irina earlier.
"What is it?" I asked cautiously.
Irina tilted her head and looked up at me through her lashes. The movement made her twin tails sway behind her.
"Do you really need to leave already?" she asked. "We haven't seen each other in ages. We could catch up some more!"
It's been less than two weeks…
"We've spoken for almost twenty minutes..." I told her. "We've caught up pretty well at this point."
"That isn't enough time to properly catch up!"
"You're supposed to be hunting a murderous priest," I pointed out.
"Yes but all this hunting has made me hungry now!"
I narrowed my eyes.
Irina smiled more sweetly. "We could all get food together," she continued. "There must be dozens of nice restaurants nearby. We could have lunch, talk about what everyone has been doing, and discuss our mission somewhere more private." Her voice rose slightly at the end, turning the statement into a hopeful question.
Something was wrong.
Irina had been pleased to see me, but she had gone from a friendly reunion to clinging to my arm with suspicious determination the instant I tried to leave. She was also trying much too hard to look cute.
Unfortunately for my ability to interrogate her properly, Irina did not need to try very hard.
I looked down at the two arms wrapped around mine. "Why do I feel like I'm being manipulated?"
"I don't know what you mean."
"You're pressing your breasts against me."
Irina glanced downward as though she had only just noticed. "That was an accident."
She pressed closer.
I turned toward Xenovia. The blue-haired exorcist had spent the entire exchange staring at a point somewhere over my shoulder. The faint blush spreading across her cheeks told me everything I needed to know.
"Xenovia," I said.
She continued studying the aquarium wall.
"Xenovia."
Her shoulders stiffened. "...Yes?"
"What happened?"
"Nothing happened!"
Irina tightened her hold on my arm. "Exactly. Nothing at all."
I stared at Xenovia.
She lasted approximately four seconds. "Irina spent all our money on the aquarium tickets," she admitted.
Irina gasped. "Traitor!"
I looked between them. "All your money?"
Xenovia nodded reluctantly. "All of it."
"You're in another country on an official Church assignment. How did you spend all your mission funds on aquarium tickets?"
"I believed Irina understood the currency," Xenovia said.
"I did understand it!" Irina protested.
"You purchased the most expensive tickets available."
"They included access to the special exhibits!"
"We did not need access to the special exhibits."
"But there are penguins!"
"We are hunting Father Morris, not penguins."
"He might visit the penguins…"
Xenovia stared at her.
Irina's pout became more pronounced. "Everyone likes penguins."
I rubbed the bridge of my nose with my free hand. Ingvild still held the other, while Irina remained attached to my opposite arm. Somehow, in the span of several minutes, I had become physically trapped between a Satan-class descendant of Leviathan and a broke exorcist.
"Let me make sure I understand," I said. "You spent every euro the Church gave you buying premium aquarium tickets."
"They were very expensive tickets," Irina admitted.
"And now you have no money for food."
Neither woman answered.
"Or transportation?"
Xenovia looked away again.
"Or a hotel?"
Her blush deepened.
Irina gave me her most hopeful smile. "That is why having lunch together would be such a wonderful opportunity to catch up."
I stared at her.
She batted her eyelashes. It was shameless. Worse, it was probably going to work.
Ingvild gently tugged on my hand. "We could at least buy them lunch." I turned toward her. She regarded the two exorcists with open sympathy. Of course Ingvild wanted to help them. She was too kind to abandon anyone who claimed to be hungry, even if their predicament had been caused entirely by Irina's inability to resist premium penguin access.
"That's where it starts," I warned her.
Ingvild blinked. "Where what starts?"
"You feed stray cats once, and then they follow you home."
Irina's mouth fell open.
Xenovia's cool expression cracked.
Both women pouted at me.
Even Xenovia somehow managed it, although hers looked more like a restrained glare with a faint downward turn of her lips. Irina's was considerably more dramatic. She puffed out her cheeks, widened her brown eyes, and hugged my arm even more tightly.
"We are not stray cats," Xenovia said.
"That is extremely rude," Irina agreed.
"You're homeless, hungry, and currently clinging to me because you want food."
Irina glanced at Xenovia. Xenovia glanced back at her. Neither appeared able to produce a convincing counterargument.
I sighed…
– Jasmine McKinnon Potter –
"...Your magical attacks lack power, your aim is atrocious, and your movements are so sloppy that I could kill you three times before you finished waving that ridiculous little stick. Drop and give me one hundred push-ups!"
Jasmine immediately threw herself facedown on the dark earth. There was no hesitation. No complaint. No attempt to explain that wands were supposed to be waved, because that was rather the point of having one.
She had made that mistake on the first day…
Scáthach had responded by knocking the wand out of Jasmine's hand, sweeping her legs from beneath her, and pinning her to the ground with the blunted end of a crimson spear before Jasmine could blink.
Then she had made Jasmine run until she vomited.
Jasmine had learned several important lessons since arriving in the Land of Shadows. The most important was that when Scáthach told her to do something, she did it.
"One," Jasmine grunted as she pushed herself up.
Her arms were already trembling.
"Lower."
Jasmine lowered herself until her chest nearly touched the ground.
"Two."
The earth beneath her palms was black, rough, and unpleasantly warm. A crimson mist drifted across the training field, moving against a wind Jasmine couldn't feel. Mountains loomed in the distance, their jagged peaks cutting into a sky that never seemed to decide whether it was night or day. There was a moon overhead, but also a dim red sun hanging on the opposite horizon.
Neither had moved since Jasmine arrived.
That might have been yesterday.
It might have been last month.
Time in the Land of Shadows didn't make any fucking sense.
"Three."
Her teacher paced around her with the leisurely grace of a hunting cat.
Scáthach was beautiful. Impossibly beautiful, in fact. She had long purple hair, crimson eyes, flawless pale skin, and the kind of figure that would have made half the boys at Hogwarts walk directly into a wall.
She was also the most terrifying person Jasmine had ever met.
Voldemort had murdered her father and tried to kill Jasmine while she was still a baby. Bellatrix Lestrange could reduce grown Aurors to trembling wrecks with a smile. Jasmine had once watched Serafall Leviathan threaten to freeze an entire city because someone had made Harry upset.
Scáthach frightened her more than all three of them combined.
The immortal witch simply looked at Jasmine as though every weakness she possessed was a personal insult that Scáthach intended to beat out of her.
"Four."
Pain burned through Jasmine's shoulders.
How had she gotten into this situation?
"Five."
Oh, right. THIS WAS ALL DUMBLEDORE'S FAULT!
A few days before Hogwarts closed for winter break, the headmaster had invited Jasmine and her mother to his office for a private conversation. That hadn't seemed especially alarming at first. Dumbledore regularly invited students to his office for discussions, and Jasmine had spent enough time around the old wizard that entering his tower no longer felt particularly mysterious.
There had been tea. There had been biscuits. Fawkes had been singing quietly from his perch.
It had all seemed perfectly harmless.
That should have been Jasmine's first warning.
"Six."
Dumbledore had started by asking about Harry Sitri.
Harry was Jasmine's not-brother. And then he became more.
Jasmine and her mother both loved Harry.
That was the only reasonable term for him.
Jasmine was also looking forward to the day Harry finally invited her to become a devil and join his peerage.
She knew it would happen eventually. Harry had never directly promised, but Jasmine had seen the way he looked at the people he loved. He wanted to protect them. He wanted to keep them close. More than that, he hated the thought of outliving them.
Joining his peerage would make her stronger. It would dramatically extend her life. It would make her part of Harry's family in a way no one could question.
Jasmine had already decided she would say yes.
Her mother supported the idea too. There had been discussions about the dangers of reincarnation and the obligations that came with joining a devil's peerage, but neither of them distrusted Harry. If Jasmine became his servant, it would only be in the most technical sense. Harry would sooner cut off his own hand than use his Evil Pieces to control someone he loved.
Everything had been settled.
Then Dumbledore had smiled at her over the rim of his teacup and asked her not to accept immediately. Having to tell Lilja "no" had been one of the hardest things Jasmine had ever done.
"Seven."
Jasmine's arms shook.
Scáthach struck the back of one of her knees with the shaft of her red spear.
Jasmine's entire body collapsed.
"That one did not count," Scáthach said.
Jasmine clenched her teeth and pushed herself up again.
"Seven."
The headmaster hadn't asked Jasmine to reject Harry's offer. He had been very careful about that. He'd only requested that she delay her answer until they could explore another possibility.
Dumbledore wanted Jasmine to become his successor.
Not merely as headmaster of Hogwarts, although he'd mentioned that possibility too. He believed Britain would need someone capable of uniting the fractured magical world after Voldemort's defeat. Someone who understood both ordinary witches and wizards and the much larger supernatural world beyond them. Someone who had connections to devils without being politically bound to the Underworld.
The Leader of the Light.
Jasmine had nearly laughed when he said it.
She was still a student. She occasionally forgot to finish her homework. She had once spent an entire Transfiguration lesson trying to determine whether Professor McGonagall could sense someone drawing spectacles on a picture of her in the textbook.
Dumbledore wanted her to inherit his political position.
Possibly more than that.
He had told Jasmine that she possessed the potential to become one of the greatest witches Britain had ever produced. She had assumed he was flattering her until her mother became very quiet.
Then Dumbledore told them about the Deathly Hallows.
"Eight."
The story was real.
Mostly.
The Cloak of Invisibility that Jasmine had inherited from her father wasn't merely an unusually powerful family heirloom. It was supposedly the Cloak of Death, passed down through the Potter family from Ignotus Peverell.
Or at least that was what Dumbledore believed at the time.
Jasmine had worn that cloak while sneaking into the Hogwarts kitchens.
She had hidden beneath it to avoid Filch.
She had once used a legendary artifact belonging to Death itself so she could steal treacle tart after curfew.
That realization should have been the strangest part of the conversation.
It wasn't.
Dumbledore had then drawn his wand, placed it on his desk, and instructed Jasmine to disarm him.
She and her mother had both stared at him.
Dumbledore calmly repeated himself.
Jasmine had raised her wand, cast Expelliarmus, and sent his wand flying across the office. Dumbledore didn't attempt to block. He allowed the wand to spin through the air before catching it with his other hand.
Then he offered it to Jasmine.
The wand was made from elder wood. Its core was a Thestral tail hair. It had passed through the hands of some of the most powerful and murderous wizards in history.
The Elder Wand. The unbeatable wand.
Dumbledore had arranged for Jasmine to defeat him so its allegiance would pass to her, then handed over the physical wand as though he were giving her a spare quill.
Her mother had nearly hexed him.
Jasmine still thought that would have been a perfectly reasonable response.
"Nine."
"Your back is bending."
Jasmine straightened it.
Every muscle in her body protested.
Then Dumbledore had taken her on an adventure.
He had called it an expedition.
It had been an adventure.
A terrifying, miserable adventure that had involved sneaking away from Hogwarts, Apparating across England, and entering the crumbling remains of the Gaunt family home. The old shack had been filled with foul magic. Jasmine had felt it pressing against her skin the instant they crossed the threshold, like greasy fingers searching for somewhere to dig into her body.
Dumbledore had found the hiding place beneath the floor.
Inside was an ugly golden ring bearing a cracked black stone.
The ring itself had been protected by a curse powerful enough to kill almost anyone foolish enough to touch it. Dumbledore had prevented Jasmine from going near it until he dismantled the surrounding protections, and even then, the dark magic within the object had made her almost pass out.
It was a Horcrux. A piece of Voldemort's soul. Jasmine hadn't known a soul could vomit, but if one could, hers had come very close when Dumbledore explained what the ring contained.
The headmaster had destroyed the soul fragment.
Then they discovered what the stone set into the ring actually was.
"Ten."
The Resurrection Stone.
The actual Resurrection Stone.
Dumbledore had stared at it with a naked longing Jasmine had never seen on his face before. For one terrible moment, she'd worried he might refuse to give it to her. His hand had trembled as he held the ruined ring, and his blue eyes had gone distant behind his half-moon spectacles.
Then he closed his eyes, exhaled, and placed the stone in Jasmine's palm.
The Cloak.
The Wand.
The Stone.
All three Deathly Hallows had belonged to her.
For approximately twelve seconds, Jasmine had believed that becoming the Mistress of Death would be impressive.
Perhaps she would gain some incredible power. Perhaps she would be able to command ghosts, raise the dead, or simply become impossible to kill. At the very least, she had expected a dramatic burst of magic and an ancient voice proclaiming her title to the world.
What she had not expected was for the universe to grab her by the spine and rip her away from Earth!
"Eleven."
One moment she had been standing in the Gaunt shack with Dumbledore.
The next, she had fallen out of an empty sky.
Jasmine had plunged through a layer of crimson mist, screaming loud enough to awaken the dead. Unfortunately, the dead in the Land of Shadows were already awake, and several of them had tried to eat her before she finished falling.
She had survived only because someone intercepted her halfway to the ground.
Scáthach had caught Jasmine with one arm. For a few dazed seconds, Jasmine had thought she'd been rescued by some impossibly beautiful goddess.
Then Scáthach threw her at a monster and ordered her to fight it! The BITCH! That had corrected the misunderstanding.
"Twelve."
After Jasmine narrowly avoided being eaten, Scáthach finally explained the truth.
The Deathly Hallows were NOT gifts from Death. They were a test. One of many, apparently.
Long before the modern magical world existed, Scáthach had left trials scattered throughout her homeland. Weapons. Relics. Challenges. Paths that only someone with the necessary power, cleverness, fortune, or sheer bloody-minded determination could complete.
The three Hallows were one such test.
Their story had become distorted over time. Three brothers had become the center of the legend. Scáthach had been replaced by Death. The nature of the artifacts had been misunderstood, and their original purpose had been forgotten.
But the condition remained.
Unite all three, claim their allegiance, and the chosen successor would be brought to the Land of Shadows.
Jasmine had done exactly that.
Entirely by accident.
She had stared at Scáthach for nearly a minute after hearing the explanation.
Then she asked a very sensible question. "...Can I turn down the training and go home?"
Scáthach had smiled. It was a beautiful smile. It was also the smile Jasmine imagined a dragon might give a particularly plump sheep. "No."
That was the moment Jasmine's week of hell began.
Assuming it had only been a week.
"Thirteen."
She had slept six times since arriving. That suggested six days had passed, but some periods of training seemed to last for hours while others stretched on until Jasmine was certain entire days had vanished. She once spent what felt like an afternoon learning to sense the invisible boundary between life and death, only for Scáthach to tell her three weeks had passed.
The following morning had lasted approximately twelve minutes.
Jasmine had stopped asking.
"Fourteen."
Her elbows nearly buckled.
Scáthach's spear flashed.
The blunted shaft stopped beneath Jasmine's stomach, preventing her body from sagging by the simple method of threatening to impale her if she lowered herself another inch.
Jasmine hastily tightened every muscle she possessed.
"Do you intend to collapse after fourteen repetitions?"
"No," Jasmine gasped.
"Then why are you slowing?"
"Because my arms are on fire!"
"They are not."
"It feels like they are!"
"Pain is merely your body complaining that it has grown accustomed to weakness."
Jasmine glared at the ground.
She hated it when Scáthach said things that sounded profound enough to be carved into a statue.
"Fifteen."
The worst part was that the training worked.
Jasmine was already stronger than she had been when she arrived. Her magical reserves recovered faster. Her reflexes had increased. She could sense things around her without looking directly at them, and yesterday—or possibly four months ago—she had cast a Blasting Curse powerful enough to tear a crater through solid stone!
Scáthach had called it inadequate. Then she had demonstrated the correct technique by pointing one finger at a distant hill. There was no incantation. No wand movement. Hardly any visible magic at all.
The hill had ceased to exist…
Jasmine had spent the rest of the lesson reconsidering every definition she possessed for the word powerful.
"Sixteen."
Scáthach expected Jasmine to reach that level. Not eventually. Soon.
The immortal witch had no patience for the limitations of ordinary magical education. She considered wands useful tools but despised witches and wizards who depended upon them. She thought Hogwarts dueling practices were ceremonial nonsense, modern physical education was an insult to the human body, and the British Ministry of Magic was apparently so incompetent that hearing about it had rendered her speechless for nearly ten full seconds.
Afterward, she had laughed for an uncomfortably long time.
Jasmine's immediate goal was considerably less ambitious than destroying hills or reforming magical Britain.
She merely wanted to survive until she could go home.
Then she was going to find Dumbledore.
She didn't know what she would do once she found him, but it would involve shouting.
Possibly violence.
Definitely several rude words her mother would pretend to disapprove of.
"Seventeen."
Harry was never going to let her live this down.
Her not-brother would become unbearably protective the instant he discovered what had happened. He would demand to know why Dumbledore had taken her anywhere near a Horcrux. Then he would probably gather his entire peerage, invade the Land of Shadows, and attempt to rescue her.
That thought made Jasmine hesitate.
Harry coming here would be disastrous.
Scáthach would take one look at him, sense whatever ridiculous collection of powers he had accumulated lately, and decide she wanted to train him too.
Worse, Harry might enjoy it.
He possessed a deeply concerning tendency to become excited whenever beautiful, dangerous women tried to kill him.
Jasmine's arms trembled as she lowered herself again.
Perhaps she could omit certain details when she returned. She would tell Harry about the Hallows and becoming Scáthach's successor. She would not describe the immortal witch as beautiful. She would definitely not mention the skin-tight outfit. That would only encourage him.
"Eighteen."
If Harry invited Jasmine into his peerage after this, she might still accept.
Becoming Dumbledore's successor sounded important. Becoming Mistress of Death sounded even more important. Becoming Scáthach's student sounded like something that should have come with a warning written in blood.
None of those things changed how she felt about Harry.
Still, she understood why Dumbledore had asked her to wait.
Reincarnating as a devil might alter her magic. It could complicate her relationship with the Elder Wand and the Hallows. It would certainly affect how the British magical world saw her if she eventually tried to replace Dumbledore as its most influential leader.
She needed time to understand what she had become before making that decision.
Unfortunately, the Land of Shadows appeared determined to give her far too much time.
"Nineteen."
Jasmine's thoughts drifted toward home.
…Her mother had to be worried. Dumbledore had probably returned from the Gaunt shack without her and attempted to explain that Jasmine had vanished immediately after claiming three legendary artifacts.
She would have paid an unreasonable amount of money to see that conversation.
Mother might have killed him.
If she had, Jasmine supposed that would save her the trouble.
"Twenty."
A shadow fell over her.
Jasmine froze.
Slowly, she raised her eyes.
Scáthach stood above her, resting one hand on her hip. Her crimson spear lay casually across her opposite shoulder. The witch's expression was calm, but her red eyes held a familiar and terrible amusement.
Jasmine's stomach dropped.
"If you have enough energy to become distracted by your thoughts," Scáthach said, "then you have enough energy to perform more push-ups."
Jasmine stared at her.
Scáthach's smile widened.
"One hundred more."
"What?"
The spear struck the ground beside Jasmine's head hard enough to split the earth.
"One hundred more," Scáthach repeated. "Begin again."
Jasmine lowered herself on shaking arms.
She decided that if Dumbledore was still alive when she returned, she was going to murder him herself.
"One…" she gasped.
XXX