Be Careful in the Dark

Hermione woke up in a sweat, gasping for breath and her heart racing. The need to deal with Titov was so strong that her muscles twitched in need. She wiped her hands over her face and threw the covers back. Titov could wait. He could. She needed to introduce Shadow to Harry and Dumbledore. She needed to make sure that they both knew about the rumors about Voldemort’s new follower. She needed to start talking with Harry and Ron about getting their hands on the things they would need to destroy the horacrux. She hadn’t been in her lab for a week and a half. She hadn’t worked out in just as long. Titov could wait. He could.

She considered her current plan for about three seconds, the pressure in her chest building so quickly she almost choked, before deciding, fuck it. Titov couldn’t wait. It had to be now. She had already put everything in place. She just needed to activate her spells. By this time tomorrow, she would be a stone’s throw from Gregory Titov. The idea of that sent a rush of satisfaction through her. She slipped from the bed and began gathering her supplies. The dawn was coming soon and she needed to be ready.

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Hermione chanted the last few words of the spell, her arms lifted in front of her to greet the new dawn. Her skin was quickly absorbing the oily potion she had spread onto herself. As spell snapped into place, dull pressure rose up her body until it enveloped her completely. It felt as if she was underwater and Hermione blinked groggily. She plugged her nose and worked her jaw even though she knew it would accomplish nothing. The feeling was linked to the spell and it would fade in a couple of minutes.

She looked down over her nude form and lifted her eyebrows in surprise. Her skin was pale and creamy and not a freckle to be seen though the pubic hair proclaimed her new shape to be a red head. She would have figured Titov to be into tan, athletic, blonds. The small, pert breasts and rather nicely shaped feet weren’t anything she’d been expecting either. Titov had classier taste in women than Hermione had given him credit for.

She bent over and picked up both her wand and Titov’s sunglasses. The spell had been incredibly complex, requiring both potion and charm. For her own sanity, she’d used a circle and candles to keep her focus. With great concentration, she smeared out the circle, starting at the North and moving westward.

She’d done the spell outside as well and it was bloody cold out. She stepped across frigid stones and shrugged on a robe. Apparating back to her flat, Hermione stepped quickly to the mirror in her bedroom. She was very curious about her appearance. Even though she was expecting it, she was still shocked to see a classic beauty staring back at her, a pixie face with a graceful bone structure and startling green eyes. Innocence and kindness practically radiated from her face. In the mirror she saw a muggle that had attracted as much Light magic as Titov did the Dark. The spell had worked better than she had anticipated.

Hermione shrugged out of the robe and stepped into a soft, green skirt. She matched it with a white top, sleeveless, that showed only a hint of collarbone. White sandals completed the outfit. She left her hair flowing and did not add make-up or jewelry. That felt right. She had known, all the way in her bones, what kind of clothes she was going to need.

Still feeling a little strange, she picked up her small travel bag and took a deep breath. She had a date with destiny.

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The energy of Buenos Aires hit her like a drum beat, low and deep in her belly. She had traveled before but never to such an exotic place. And by herself!

Hermione shook her head, her right temple beginning to throb. What the hell is going on? The underwater feeling hadn’t faded. In fact, she was feeling increasingly fuzzy. She had arranged for a car to pick her up and take her to her hotel though it required to her to walk through muggle Buenos Aires looking like an easy target. A small “notice-me-not” dealt with the predators.

Hermione saw the car up ahead. The driver was already waiting for her. If he wondered why he was picking up a young woman in the middle of a busy city, he didn’t ask as he opened the door for her. She slid into the plush leather seat and took a deep breath.

She knew Titov was going to be at the Faena Hotel in Buenos Aires for the next two days. She knew it just as she had known which muggle to charm, literally, into paying for the extravagances this performance required of her. Hermione didn’t even want to think about the cost of her hotel room.

The car pulled up to the entrance of the hotel with a quiet hum. She waited impatiently for the driver to come around and open the door. She was ready to explore now. She had waited long enough. She barely noticed the enormous red door she entered through and the long hallway flashed by her in an instant.

A thin, dark haired woman behind the front desk smiled at her warmly. “How can I help you, Miss?”

“My name is Genevieve Rallone. I believe you are expecting me.” Genevieve couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across her face. (What? Hermione cried out and tried to speak. Nothing happened. Hermione began to panic, panic which had absolutely no effect on her body.) Her father encouraged her to explore the world but he was rigid about the fact that she always had a security detail with her. Even twenty four hours free of the surveillance was enough to leave her giddy.

“Welcome to Buenos Aires, Ms. Rallone. My name is Maria and I’ll be your experience manger while you stay with us. Is your father still joining you in the morning?”

Genevieve nodded. To her left, a man stepped up the desk and asked a question of another man that she didn’t quite catch. She turned her head and found herself caught in the gaze of the handsomest man she’d ever seen. (Titov! Hermione screamed but it didn’t seem to make a difference.) She could feel a blush staining her cheeks and she tore her eyes away. She hated it when she blushed. She forced her eyes to remain on Maria. The immediate flush of her desire took her by surprise and she wasn’t going to make a fool of herself over some strange man. She could feel the heat of his body as he turned and walked away and she shivered.

The presidential suite had a modern edge with its lush, white furniture, blood red curtains and a hardwood floor. It wasn’t her taste but that made the whole thing that much more exciting. Genevieve set her small travel bag down on the king sized bed. She felt momentary confusion about why her father would arrange for them to stay in a suite with one bed but then mentally shrugged. No doubt her father had made the appropriate arrangements.

She decided that her shoes would do for walking. She didn’t know where but she was sure it was going to be fun.

Several shopping hours later, Genevieve returned to the hotel. She had enjoyed shopping but was actually finding her new found freedom surprisingly frustrating. What exactly does one do when one doesn’t have to answer to anyone? Having a schedule, being followed by body guards, had become a lifelong habit and she was less then pleased to discover this fact. She had made a confused and forlorn return to the hotel and as she rode the elevator back up to her hotel room, her irritation with herself grew. She hung her purchases, a rather scandalous top she’d never be allowed to wear and a creamy pair of cream pants, in the closet.

Genevieve lay down on the bed and frowned up at the ceiling. What do I do? (Go the pool, nitwit. Maybe Titov will be there. Hermione didn’t know what was going on but the sooner she could get rid of Titov, the sooner the spell would come to an end). Going to the pool was a great idea. She was so glad she’d though of it. Genevieve pulled her bathing suit out of her suitcase and wriggled into it. She slathered herself with sunscreen. Her complexion meant she burned instead of tanning.

She strolled through the hotel, once again enamored of the feeling that no one watching her. She found the pool and picked out a spot that most appealed to her, enjoying that she didn’t have to consider, in any way, the needs of her security detail. She smiled and stretched out languorously on the plush, red pool chair.

The sunlight soaked into her skin and she let herself doze a little bit, dozing as if she were just a normal girl (Yeah, at a ridiculously expensive hotel, sunbathing in the middle of the day. Totally normal.) Genevieve frowned and shook her head. Her mind was all over the place today. It seemed that freedom was harder to deal with then she had expected.

She woke, knowing that He was staring at her. She could feel it. Genevieve ignored didn’t look, actively ignoring him but her skin had broken out in goose bumps. There was something about him, a static energy that made her whole body feel tight. She didn’t understand it. (You want him.) No. No. That’s not right. (Are you kidding? You’ve been salivating over him since you laid eyes on him.) 6 hours ago! I know nothing about him. He’s a stranger. I don’t know him. I don’t comport with strangers. (Merlin woman, you need to get out more). Genevieve put her hand to head, an awful throbbing starting just behind her right eye. Today had been such a strange day.

Her eyes flickered over to her left before she could help herself. He was sitting in the shade, an iced drink set on the table next to him. He wasn’t looking at her but he knew she was here. He reached out and picked up the glass. Genevieve could almost feel his hands, cold from the drink, trailing across her collarbone, leaving a trail of condensation that cooled tantalizingly on her skin. She jerked her head aggressively to the right, her body almost throbbing. This was completely ridiculous. With sharp movements, she collected her things, securing her towel around her and leaving the pool. She managed not to look at him the whole time. She could almost feel him laughing at her as she left.

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Genevieve went to dinner early. There was an art show that she wanted to check out this evening. Finally acknowledging that freedom was a little scary, Genevieve decided to have dinner in the Bistro in the hotel. Going out to an art show on her own would be her victory for the day.

She entered the room, and stopped in surprise. The room was almost entirely white. Red carpets, bouquets of red flowers, red candles on the tables all served to accentuate the lush starkness of the room. There were actually unicorn heads mounted on the walls, their stone horns jutting into the room. Genevieve flushed a little. Unicorns were creatures of purity but there was something about the room that made her feel raw and exposed. Her simple black dress suddenly felt saucier than she had meant it to, in this expanse of red and white.

A thin man with burnished skin seated her. He was dressed simply and seemed to blend into the room around him. In fact, Genevieve couldn’t remember if they had actually exchanged a single word. A strange feeling swept through her and she blinked, focusing her attention on the menu.

“I seem to be seeing you everywhere today.” A low, masculine voice said. Genevieve looked up in surprise. His dark eyes swallowed her and before she knew what had happened, he had sat down at her small table.

“What are you doing?” She asked, disliking how young and trembling her voice sounded.

“I’m joining you.” He replied, a smug smile spreading across his face. One side of his mouth curled up as he perused her.

“Well, you weren’t invited.” Genevieve pulled herself rigid.

“I rarely wait for invitations, especially from beautiful women.”

“I…” Genevieve opened her mouth. She was insulted and flattered and… and… (You want him.) No! She closed her mouth.

“Three times I have seen you and all alone each time.” He said, looking sleek and dangerous in the gleaming white chair.

“My father will be joining me shortly.” She said, holding the menu in front of her like a knife.

His eyebrows lifted and his mouth curled into that damnable curl again. “And who might your father be?” He asked, sounding almost as if he thought it was funny she thought her father could protect her.

Anger swept through her and she glared at him. It always came back to her father. A normal girl could tell him but Genevieve couldn’t. She was young but not stupid and had known for some time that the father she adored was a dangerous man. No matter how dangerous the man across the table thought he was, her father was more so. She loved him, she hated him, and she had thought that today she would have one moment free of him. (Hermione stopped her attempts to take control of her body and began to worry that she had really screwed this spell up. Who are you?)

The smile on the man’s face faded and he tilted his head, staring at her. His face softened and, for just an instant, he looked vulnerable. Then he turned his head, and when he looked back, the curl was there again. “Women don’t usually look angry when I flirt with them.” He said.

“I’m not most women.” She said, flipping her hair in annoyance before she could stop herself.

“I noticed.” The server appeared, quietly hovering a discreet distance. “I would like to join you for dinner, Senorita. Please allow me.”

It was the please that got her. With a tiny smile, she nodded. He didn’t smile back; he just gave her a look that sent heat flooding through her. He ordered dinner for both of them without taking his eyes of her and Genevieve let a small moue of disapproval pucker her mouth at his presumption. He flickered his eyes closed and managed to tease her in that tiny movement of his face. She frowned at him.

“I like it better when you smile.” He said, as the server backed away and vanished.

“Men usually do.” She said, reaching out to take drink of water so that she could have something to do with her hands.

“And you, with your many years, have so much experience with men?” He asked. He didn’t have an accent but he formed his words in a way she had never heard before. Combined with the rasp of his voice, it was turning her insides to jelly. Why did I agree to have dinner with him? (You want to fuck him. And he said please). Genevieve frowned again.

“That depends entirely on what you mean by experience.” She replied tartly and he chuckled and quirked an eyebrow at her.

“My name is Gregory.” He introduced himself and something clicked inside of her.

The server arrived, setting a crisp salad of micro-greens in front of her. He refilled their waters and made sure that they had everything they wanted. She could feel his question hanging in the air.

Once the server was gone, she sighed. “My name is Genevieve.”

“Was that so hard?” He asked, fork paused above his plate.

She couldn’t stop the grin from spread across her face. “Gregory, that depends entirely on what you mean by hard.”

He turned his head, laughing into his shoulder, before turning his eyes back to her. Heat shot through her every time their eyes met. “Taste your salad, tell me what you think.”

The meal was delicious. He had chosen a number of light dishes, nothing that would weigh too heavily in the languid heat of Buenos Aires but each one was delicately spiced. He asked her questions about herself, questions that she fired right back at him. They both hedged and it was clear they were both keeping secrets. He didn’t flirt, though… at least with his words. There were moments Genevieve almost forgot the looks of desire he had given her and then she would look up and his mouth would curl and she would blush. His words, though, were entirely proper and respectful. Genevieve was surprised to find herself disappointed.

The meal ended with Titov paying for it, casually putting it on his hotel account. He offered her his arm as the exited the Bistro and Genevieve took it without thinking. The heat of his body stole through her and her breath came faster. She struggled to control herself, to hide it. They paused at the elevators.

“I must leave your here, but you will join me this evening. There is a tango performance in the Cabaret. You won’t even have to leave the hotel.” Gregory was looking down at her, so ridiculously handsome and smug.

“Stop bossing me around.” Genevieve said, blushing.

“I will, just as soon as you want me too.” He reached down and lifted the hand resting on his forearm delicately by the fingertips. “8:30, Genevieve.” His warm mouth brushed over her knuckles and waves of heat shot through her body. He left her standing there, gaping at him. The elevator doors opened and she stepped through on automatic. She could still feel his mouth on her.

She made it back to her room before she realized she didn’t have anything to wear. (Yes, you do. You bought it this morning.) She opened the closet and stared at the sparkly, black scrap of fabric. She’d bought it on a whim, because she could. I can’t actually wear this. (Of course you can.)

She stepped back, fanning her face with both her hands. She’d never worn anything so… sexy… before. She paused and took a deep breath. If I am going to do this, I am going to need better shoes.

She grabbed her purse and headed towards the door. In for a penny, in for a pound. She giggled to herself. This whole thing was crazy. She was not going to go out with a man she’d never met. (Come on, you’ll be in the hotel. You’ll be safe.) She shook her head. She wasn’t safe around Gregory, no, she was so very much in danger.

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She found herself standing outside of the Cabaret at 8:30, even though she tried to talk herself out of it the whole evening. It hadn’t helped that she had found the perfect shoes, red stilettos with only a scrap of fabric across the toe and around her ankle to hold the shoe in place. She told herself this was lunacy while she got a manicure and pedicure, painting her nails a sheer, nude color. She told herself she was behaving like a wanton slut as she slipped the cream slacks up her legs.

She couldn’t wear a bra with the black top. That had almost been the end. But then, she’d decided to just try it on and see. The front dipped low and, even though Genevieve had considered her bust to be less than impressive, showed off an amazing cleavage. She craned her head around, peering over her shoulder to see the back of the top. Not that there was much of a back, just enough at the bottom to hold the rest of the top in place.

She twisted her hair up off her neck and then paused, staring at her reflection in the mirror. She had decided to skip make-up and jewelry. She wanted to look sophisticated, not slutty.

And now she was standing, waiting impatiently. If he was even one minute late, she was leaving. This was madness. She looked up and her breath caught. He was walking towards her, wearing linen pants and white button down, open to the second button. A little bit of chest hair peaked out of his shirt. He looked, he looked… (edible). Yes. Edible. My god.

He saw her and stopped. When he started walking again, his eyes pinned her where she stood. She couldn’t even swallow nervously. He stepped close to her, one hand coming to rest on her lower back. She arched her back at his touch and his gaze dropped to the swell of her breasts. He leaned in, whispering in her ear, “You look amazing.” He brushed his lips lightly against the juncture of her neck and shoulder.

Genevieve finally managed to swallow convulsively and it sounded loud and awkward to her. She looked at him nervously but he didn’t seem to notice. He offered her his arm again and this time she took it, conscious of the strength of his arm. The Cabaret was dark, small pools of light coming from the candles on the tables. Genevieve only caught glimpses of the people already seated in the cabaret, a flash of long leg, a cuff of man’s dress shirt, watch gleaming. Their faces were in the shadows though and she couldn’t make out any actual words in their murmurs to one another. Gregory guided her to table that was front and center to the stage.

She had barely settled into her seat before the waiter was there, setting large wine glasses on the table and pouring a small amount into one glass for Gregory to taste. The dark red wine glimmered in the candle light as the waiter began to pour and Genevieve suppressed a shiver. The wine looked like blood as it splashed into the glasses. (Just so you know, that’s not what spilled blood looks like.) Genevieve put her hand back up to her head. She wondered if she had a migraine coming on. She’d never had one before but there is a first time for everything.

The show began almost immediately and she was grateful. She felt so nervous and didn’t think she could maintain witty conversation just yet. Once the show began, however, she felt less grateful. Sex oozed off the stage. Barely clothed women strutted arrogantly across the stage with dark, knowing eyes, the men with such rough, sexual aggression. She could almost smell their want and it made her uncomfortable but the tightness between her legs was undeniable. She was glad it was dark and that Gregory couldn’t see her blushing furiously.

When the performances were done, Titov stood and took her hand in his. He didn’t say anything as they left the Cabaret and Genevieve fidgeted nervously. Should I say something? (Keep your mouth shut. Let’s see what he’ll do.) A pang of disappointment shot through her as he pressed the elevator button for the floor her suite was on.

Still, he said nothing, though he threaded his fingers through hers as the elevator rose. After they had exited the elevator, he didn’t stop at her door. Gregory kept walking and Genevieve let her protest die on her lips. He glanced at her over his shoulder, the curl of his smile visible, and Genevieve almost stumbled. He opened the door to another room and let go of her hand as he flipped on the lights.

An enormous living room opened up before her, dark wood burnished until it gleamed, a long, leather couch on the left and splashes of red here and there. There was a wide space open on the right, the indentations of the furniture that had sat there previously still visible in the carpet.

Gregory picked up a small remote from the small table near the door and pressed a button. Tango music poured into the room and Genevieve could almost feel it sliding across the floor.

“You planned this.” She said, her voice sounding soft in the beat of the music. He smiled then, a real smile, and held out his hand. Genevieve shook her head. She had learned formal dances, her father insisted, but it had always felt so awkward.

He crossed the few steps between them and lifted her hand from her side. “I planned this, remember?” He pressed his lips to the back of her hand and then tugged her into the open floor space.

Gregory pulled her body close to his, his hand splayed on her lower back, pausing while he caught the rhythm of the music. He moved into her and Genevieve stumbled. She pulled back, trying to pull her hand free of his. This was never going to work.

He laughed, a rumbling sound in his chest, and pulled her back. This time, he leaned into her until his mouth was close to her ear, his warm breath sending shivers down her neck, and said, “Relax, my sunshine, I will show you the way.” She turned her head to look at him, her eyes meeting his, and this time, when he moved, so did she.

It didn’t feel real, this woman wrapping her leg around her man, her hand sliding up his chest as he pulled back, turning her roughly. She laughed, a throaty, sexy sound she’d never uttered before. There was nothing but him, the heat and scent of his body rising up towards her, like the smell of the earth after it rained.

When his mouth pressed against hers, the moment cracked and she pulled away, startled. (What are you doing?) I don’t know! (Don’t stop now!) No. I can’t. I just… I can’t. She turned and fled, leaving Gregory standing there, one hand extended and his eyebrows raised in surprise.

Even hampered by the ridiculous height of her heels, it only took her a moment to reach her door. She had the door open and shut before she even knew what had happened. This crazy! This is all crazy! Genevieve reached down, unstrapping the heels from her feet and throwing them across the room. Her hands were trembling and she almost felt nauseous.

She was pacing back and forth, her hands on her belly, when the demanding knock came at her door. She froze. Just ignore it, just ignore it. The knock came again, not as loud or fast… asking instead of demanding. She wanted his hands on her so badly she couldn’t think straight. She walked over to the door and opened it.

Gregory was standing there, his hair wild and looking as if he’d run his hands through it. His eyes pinned her for just a moment and her heart beat sped up even more. She could feel the thrum of her heart in her flushed skin… and then his mouth was on hers, greedy, as he buried his hands in her hair and pressed her against the wall.

The scrap of her top parted before his seeking hands like butter before a hot knife and when his mouth closed on her nipple, she almost sobbed with the pleasure of it. He pulled back for a moment, scooping her up into his arms to carry her into the bedroom. Genevieve put her arms around his neck and held on for dear life. The cool air of the room brushed across her slick nipples and she shuddered.

The only illumination in the room came in through the windows, city lights and moonlight shattered across her bed. He set her down on her feet at the end of the bed, his hands dropping to her slacks. She had started unbuttoning his shirt before she’d even gotten her balance. Finally, she could touch the muscled expanse of his chest, the thatch of chest hair trailed down between chiseled abs. She bent forward, putting her face close to his skin, letting the smell of him fill her. She closed her mouth over one nipple, and then the other, and he groaned under her ministrations.

With a sharp movement, he pressed her to the bed. He tugged off his own pants while she had been teasing him and he was hot and heavy against her belly. She squirmed, feeling something building inside of her, something wicked and wanton. He bit down at her throat and she arched her back into him, the sting making her pulse between her legs. He laughed and let his hands and lips trail his way down her body, achingly slow.

His mouth closed on her sex and she cried out, waves of heat rolling through her. She panted and she thought she was going to break open. Again and again he moved his mouth on her until she cried out, the pleasure breaking through her. Gregory moved up her body and Genevieve shifted back, making room on the bed for him. He paused between her legs and the concern that had begun to niggle at the back of her mind vanished as she saw the condom he had somehow managed to get on while she… while she was… (orgasming). Yes, yes, yes!

He pressed down on her and tangled his fingers in her hair spread across the pillow. She pressed against, she wanted, she needed, she didn’t even know but it needed to happen soon. He felt her impatience and needed no further encouragement, positioning himself at her wet opening and pressing himself inside. The sharp stab of pain surprised her even though she’d been expecting it and she cried out. Gregory froze, fully sheathed inside her body.

“You… this is… oh Sunshine, I have rushed this.” Genevieve wasn’t sure but Gregory sounded embarrassed. As he pushed his torso up, the cool air hit her and she felt bereft without the weight of him. “Wrap your legs around my waist.” Genevieve did as he instructed and he shifted back onto his heels. He put his thumb in his mouth and then pulled it free with an audible sound. She shuddered as he dropped his hand and began working her nub with it. His other hand reached up and he trailed his fingers over her belly and breasts. Her muscles jumped and quivered under his touch.

How long did he touch her… she didn’t even know. She didn’t care. He touched her until the feel of him inside of her felt right, until she ached for more, until she cried out, “please, Gregory, please.” Only then did he lean forward, the weight and smell of him back. He kept a slow rhythm, pushing in and out of her, until she thought she would go mad. She dugs her nails into her back, scratching him a little, until he moved a bit faster and tension inside of her rose and rose and rose.

As the orgasm broke inside her/them, Hermione finally tore through the fog that had held her back and she arched her back, gasping, feeling here but not here, as if this were the first time she was truly in her own body and yet split, shimmering above herself. She was two women. Genevieve Rallone was an actual person and tomorrow she would be getting on a plane with her father to fly to Buenos Aires. Hermione could see the moments of Genevieve’s life, laid out before her like pearls on a string.

The incredible and passionate love affair she would have with Gregory would span a decade and end when she took her own life. Hermione could See that Gregory would suck the Light from her even though he didn’t mean to. He would become a broken, bloated version of a man and bury his grief under a mountain of bodies.

And their daughter, oh their daughter, would succeed where Voldemort failed. Hermione could see her, shining before her with her mother’s coloring and her father’s mouth. Her charm, sex appeal, and innate magic would take the wizarding world to its knees. They would hand her the keys and by the time they realized their mistake, it would be too late.

Hermione’s body throbbed in time with Gregory’s strokes and she buried her head in his shoulder as another vision assailed her: the life Genevieve would lead if she never met the love of her life. She would turn her back on the life her father had chosen for her and dedicate her life to helping others. She would lead a life that made the world around her better.

She would marry a good man and if, from time to time, she awoke in the middle of the night, aching with lust and crying for something she couldn’t name, well, the sun would rise and another day would begin. Her children would still be wizards but they wouldn’t be as powerful, as dangerous, as steeped in the Dark. Genevieve would have a good life, a safe life.

Most people had several moments where the possibilities of their lives branched out, key moments that affected the rest of their lives. Sometimes, the moment was obvious, other times, it wasn’t. Genevieve Rallone had one and only one. It hurt to see the paths of Genevieve’s life laid out before, to feel them as if each path was her own life. Part of Hermione turned to ash to steal such a passion from a girl she had never met but the choice was no choice at all.

Hermione choked out “Gregory, my love, I’m so sorry,” and meant it, even as she reached into his chest, gathering the dark magic in her hands and TEARING it out. The magic scattered, snapping out of her hands with stings that feel like thick rubber band snapping. Gregory, in the midst of his orgasm, cried out in pain and slumped down, dead.

She came rushing back to herself, aching empty and blissfully alone in her own mind. She slid out from underneath the corpse of Gregory Titov and stumbled to the bathroom. She was listing badly, first to the left and then to the right. She clipped the bathroom doorjamb with her shoulder, the dull ache barely noticed as her body absorbed an unexpected backlash of magic. A band of pressure clamped down around her head, the pain spreading down her body. Something wet splattered on her chest and she looked down. There were droplets of blood on her chest. Her nose was bleeding. She looked up into the bathroom mirror, there were also rivulets of blood streaming from her eyes and ears. The world swam and she dropped to her knees. She reached up, grabbing a toweling to try and stop the blood. The capillaries were breaking on the backs of her hands and up her arms. She sprawled out the cold tile floor, desperately trying to cool her body which bucked and trembled against her will.

This had not been part of the plan.

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A world away, Genevieve Rallone awoke in tears. She’d had the most detailed dream she’d ever had, a dream of a steamy day and night in Buenos Aires, free of her father, free… and she knew, through and through, that the love of her life was dead. Dead before he could ever put his hands out and make her cry out like she had in that dream. Genevieve Rallone curled into a ball and wept the tears of the inconsolable.