Allen's eyes darted across the first few pages of the human-skin notebook, his brow furrowing deeper with every line he translated from the archaic script. His fingers, still slightly trembling from the adrenaline of the fight, gripped the smooth, oily edges of the book. Suddenly, he let out a string of curses that would have made a sailor blush, his voice echoing sharply against the damp stone walls.
Daisy, her curiosity piqued by his uncharacteristic outburst, leaned over his shoulder. "What? What is it? Did he find a way to come back?"
She only managed to skim the first few sentences before her face went from pale to a deep, indignant crimson. As a woman who took pride in her appearance and held herself with a certain Ravenclaw elegance, the clinical, dehumanizing descriptions of the 'harvesting' process and the Duke's commentary on the 'aesthetic preservation' of his victims were too much. She recoiled as if she'd been slapped, turning her head away with a sharp, disgusted hiss.
"That... that absolute animal," she breathed, her hand going to her throat.
After a long silence, Allen finally closed the book with a heavy sigh. The weight of the knowledge inside seemed to settle on his shoulders. "The Duke of Night wasn't just a monster, Daisy. He was a visionary—a twisted, suicidal one, but a visionary nonetheless. He was trying to complete an ancient Tzimisce experiment, one that most of his kind wouldn't dare touch. Those horrific scars on his face? Those weren't from a battle. They were self-inflicted burns from when he first tried to integrate Phoenix Blood into his dead veins."
"Phoenix Blood?" Daisy asked, her anger momentarily sidelined by confusion. "I thought Phoenixes were creatures of pure light. Why would a vampire want anything to do with them? Wouldn't it... well, wouldn't it do exactly what your spell just did?"
"Exactly," Allen nodded, his expression grim. "That's why he was a genius, or a madman. To the Tzimisce, Phoenix Blood is the ultimate forbidden fruit. If they can successfully 'tame' it within their bodies through blood alchemy, they undergo a transformation. They don't just become stronger; they become masters of space itself. They gain the ability to step through any magical ward, any distance, any barrier."
Daisy's eyes widened to the size of saucers. "Any place? You mean... even through the ancient protections of Hogwarts?"
"Especially Hogwarts," Allen replied. "Think about it. The anti-apparition wards at school are ironclad, yet Dumbledore's Phoenix, Fawkes, can blink in and out of the Headmaster's office whenever he pleases. The Duke wanted that power. He wanted to be the predator that no wall could keep out."
He paused, a strange, almost mocking smile tugging at his lips as he looked back at the book. "But that wasn't all. The Duke's notes get... surprisingly specific about the side effects of a successful 'Phoenix integration.'"
"What else?" Daisy urged, her curiosity scratching at her brain like a cat at a closed door.
"He claims it can keep a vampire's skin as smooth as silk and perpetually clean, regardless of how much blood they spill. It provides a fountain of infinite vitality, eliminates the need for the death-like sleep they usually require, strengthens the skeletal structure to be harder than steel... and apparently," Allen shook his head, looking genuinely amused, "it makes their breath smell like fresh cinnamon and ozone."
He chuckled dryly. "The Duke spent three pages documenting the 'decline of oral hygiene' in the undead and how the Phoenix Blood was the only cure. Even a thousand-year-old monster has his vanities."
"Wait..." Daisy's eyes lit up with a different kind of intensity. While Allen scoffed at the vanity, Daisy was a teenage girl living in a world of magic. The idea of a substance that could guarantee flawless skin, infinite energy, and perfect health was the stuff of legends. "Is there... is there any of it left? The blood?"
She immediately began scouring the small chamber, her hands roaming over the stone shelves and the ritual tools. She looked behind the skulls and under the daggers, her movements frantic.
"I don't see anything! Did he use it all?" she muttered, her disappointment palpable. "If he used it all and still looked like a shriveled raisin, maybe it doesn't even work."
"Unlikely," Allen countered, his voice certain. "The Duke's experiment was clearly a work in progress. He was too meticulous, too paranoid. A man like that wouldn't gamble his entire stash on a single failed attempt. He would have kept a reserve—the 'seed' for his next ritual."
"But where? This room is tiny."
"Think like a vampire, Daisy. For something this precious—something that is effectively their godhood in a bottle—they wouldn't leave it on a shelf. They'd keep it in the one place no one would dare touch. Their sanctuary."
They both turned their heads toward the door at the same time, their eyes locking onto the massive, velvet-lined coffin in the main room.
"The coffin," they whispered in unison.
They hurried back out, the air still smelling of the ozone from Allen's Sunburst. Allen stepped up to the massive oak box, raising his wand high. The tip glowed with a concentrated Lumos, the beam cutting through the shadows like a physical blade.
He swept the light across the interior. The purple velvet was plush and pristine, a stark contrast to the dust and rot of the rest of the manor. As the light hit the foot of the coffin, something caught the reflection—a sharp, sapphire glint that seemed to pulsate with its own internal rhythm.
"There," Allen whispered.
Nested deep in the velvet was a small, cobalt-blue glass bottle. It looked like a teardrop frozen in time.
Daisy, driven by a mix of excitement and the lingering desire for that "eternal beauty" the Duke had described, reached past Allen and snatched the bottle up before he could warn her. She held it up to the light of his wand, her eyes reflecting the deep blue of the glass.
The bottle was heavy for its size, perfectly round and capped with a matching blue glass stopper.
"It's not empty," she said softly, feeling the liquid slosh inside. It didn't move like water; it was thick, viscous, and seemed to generate its own heat. "Look, there's a label."
She held the bottle inches from Allen's face. The paper was yellowed and frayed, the ink faded by centuries of darkness. Allen squinted, adjusting the angle of his wand. The letters were written in an ancient, jagged Runic script that seemed to shift if you stared at it too long.
"It says... Phoenix Blood," Allen confirmed, his voice low. "Pure, concentrated, and probably highly unstable."
He turned his light back to the coffin, wondering if there was a manual or a warning, but there was nothing else. The velvet was smooth, inviting, and horribly silent.
Suddenly, a sharp hissing sound filled the room.
Allen snapped his head toward Daisy and felt his heart drop into his stomach. She had her thumb hooked under the glass stopper and was already twisting it.
"Daisy! What the hell are you doing? Put that down!" Allen yelled, reaching for her hand.
"I just want to see it! I want to know if it really glows," she argued, her blue eyes flashing with stubborn defiance. She was tired of Allen knowing everything, tired of being the one who just watched. "If it's as powerful as you say, we need to know what we're dealing with."
"Daisy, don't! Stop! You don't know what—"
POP.
The stopper came free with the sound of a pressurized seal breaking. For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then, a jet of brilliant white vapor erupted from the mouth of the bottle. It wasn't like normal smoke; it was dense, hot, and moved with a predatory speed.
"AH!"
Daisy's scream was cut short as the scalding mist hit her full in the face. It wasn't just heat; it was the sensation of a thousand needles of pure sunlight piercing her skin. She stumbled back, the bottle slipping from her numbed fingers.
Allen lunged, his reflexes honed by Quidditch and combat. He caught the bottle inches from the floor, while the stopper skittered away into the darkness.
The room was rapidly filling with the white mist. It smelled like the world's most intense summer day—dried grass, hot stone, and blinding light. For Daisy, it was agony. She felt like she'd been plunged into a vat of boiling water, her lungs seizing as the 'living' air scorched her throat.
"I... I can't... hot..." she gasped, clutching at her face, her eyes squeezed shut as tears of pain leaked through.
Allen didn't waste time. He found the stopper near the leg of the coffin, jammed it back into the bottle, and shoved the artifact into his magically expanded pocket.
"Vento Solis!" He barked, waving his wand in a wide arc. A gust of chilling wind swept through the chamber, carrying the scorching Phoenix vapor out through the ceiling cracks and into the night.
Within seconds, the air cleared, leaving Daisy panting on the floor, her face flushed a bright, angry pink.
"Is my face... is it burned? Am I scarred?" she sobbed, her hands hovering just above her skin, afraid to touch it. Her tongue felt like she'd swallowed a hot coal, and her eyes were stinging with a dull, throbbing heat.
Allen knelt beside her, checking her pulse and the state of her skin. "You're fine, Daisy. It's a reaction to the positive energy. To a living human, it feels like a severe sunburn because your body can't process that much 'life' all at once. It won't leave a mark."
He stood up, his expression hardening as he looked at her. "I told you to stop. This isn't a game, and this isn't a beauty parlor. These are the leftovers of a vampire lord. If you'd inhaled any more of that, your lungs would have blistered."
Daisy didn't argue. The bravado was gone, replaced by a desperate need to be anywhere else but this cellar. "Allen... let's just go. Please. I want to leave."
She didn't care about the smooth skin or the infinite energy anymore. She just wanted a cold bath and a dark room.
"Alright," Allen said, his voice softening slightly as he saw her genuine distress. "We're done here anyway."
Daisy scrambled to her feet and practically bolted for the door. She didn't look back at the coffin, the ashes, or the secret room. She sprinted through the endless, twisting corridors of the manor, her footsteps echoing like drumbeats against the oppressive silence of the house. Allen followed close behind, his hand resting on the pocket containing the Phoenix Blood—a treasure that had nearly cost his sister her sight, and one that he knew would change everything.