Chapter 4: A Whisper in the Archives

The symbol burned in my mind like a brand, its twisted lines refusing to fade even when I closed my eyes. I'd been staring at sketches of it for three days, cross-referencing every magical text in my collection, and I was no closer to identifying what we'd encountered in the Valerius estate than when I'd started.

"You look like hell warmed over, sugar," Esther observed from her perch on my desk, her translucent form flickering with amusement. "When's the last time you slept?"

"Sleep is for people who don't have shadow wraiths trying to kill them," I muttered, taking another sip of coffee that tasted like it had been brewed with regret and desperation. "Besides, this symbol has to mean something. Ancient parasitic entities don't just randomly manifest—someone summoned that thing."

Kelly stood by the window, her cybernetic eyes scanning the street below for threats. Her runic lines had returned to their normal blue glow after two days of rest, but I could tell she was still running diagnostic cycles in the background. Nearly getting destroyed by an impossible creature would make anyone paranoid, even a synthetic person.

"The symbol exhibits characteristics consistent with pre-Imperial magical systems," she reported without turning from the window. "However, my databases contain no exact matches. This suggests either a lost magical tradition or a deliberate obfuscation of the original design."

That was the problem in a nutshell. The Mage Council maintained the most comprehensive magical archives in the known world, but those archives were strictly off-limits to Blanks like me. My expulsion from Silverwood Academy had come with a lifetime ban from accessing any official magical resources, a petty punishment that was now threatening to get us all killed.

"There has to be another way," I said, more to myself than to my companions. "Someone in this city knows what that symbol means."

"Well, darling, if the fancy folks won't talk to you, maybe it's time to visit the less fancy ones," Esther suggested with a knowing smile. "Every city's got its shadows, and shadows have their own sources of information."

She was right, of course. Silverwood's magical elite might control the official knowledge, but they didn't have a monopoly on information. The city's underbelly was home to hedge witches, rogue practitioners, and knowledge brokers who dealt in the kind of forbidden lore that polite society preferred to ignore.

The problem was that dealing with those people came with its own risks.

"The Twilight Market," I said finally, the words tasting bitter in my mouth. "If anyone in the city knows about ancient symbols and forgotten magic, it'll be someone there."

Kelly's posture stiffened almost imperceptibly. "The Twilight Market operates outside legal magical jurisdiction. Engaging with its inhabitants could compromise our investigation and potentially expose us to additional threats."

"Everything about this case is already compromised," I pointed out, standing up and reaching for my coat. "Besides, it's not like we have a lot of other options."

The Twilight Market existed in the spaces between Silverwood's official districts, occupying buildings that were technically condemned but somehow never quite demolished. It operated on a schedule that had more to do with lunar phases than normal business hours, which meant it would be in full swing tonight despite—or perhaps because of—the late hour.

We made our way through the city's darker neighborhoods, past buildings where the magical streetlights flickered with unstable energy and the shadows seemed deeper than they should be. This was where Silverwood kept its secrets, the parts of the city that the tourism brochures never mentioned.

The market itself was housed in what had once been a grand theater, its Art Deco facade now covered in graffiti that moved when you weren't looking directly at it. The marquee still advertised shows from decades past, but the real entertainment was inside.

"Stay close," I warned Kelly as we approached the entrance. "The market has its own rules, and they're not posted anywhere obvious."

The doorman was a troll who went by the name Granite Pete, though I suspected that wasn't what his mother had called him. He looked us over with eyes like chips of flint before nodding us through without demanding payment—apparently, my reputation preceded me, which wasn't necessarily a good thing.

Inside, the theater had been transformed into a maze of stalls and booths selling everything from bottled moonlight to genuine cursed objects. The air was thick with incense, ozone, and the indefinable scent of magic being used for purposes its creators had never intended.

"This place violates approximately forty-seven different magical safety regulations," Kelly observed quietly.

"That's kind of the point," I replied, scanning the crowd for familiar faces. The market attracted a specific type of clientele—people who needed things that couldn't be bought through legitimate channels, or who had things to sell that couldn't be sold legally.

I found who I was looking for in a booth near the back of the theater, surrounded by shelves lined with books that whispered to each other when they thought no one was listening. Marcus Crow had been expelled from the Mage Council for "philosophical differences," which was polite speak for practicing necromancy without proper permits.

He looked up as we approached, his pale eyes taking in my appearance with professional interest. "Well, well. Kael Vance. I heard you were investigating the Valerius situation."

"News travels fast."

"Bad news travels faster." He gestured to the chairs in front of his booth. "Sit. You look like a man with questions, and I'm a man with answers. For the right price, of course."

I pulled out the sketch of the symbol and placed it on his counter. "What can you tell me about this?"

Marcus's expression changed the moment he saw the drawing. The casual interest was replaced by something much more serious, tinged with what might have been fear.

"Where did you see this?" he asked, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper.

"Answer my question first."

He stared at the sketch for a long moment, then looked around the market as if checking to see who might be listening. "Not here. This conversation requires... privacy."

He led us to a back room behind his booth, warded with privacy spells that made the air feel thick and muffled. Once the door was closed, he turned to face us with an expression I'd never seen on his usually smug face.

"That symbol belongs to the Crimson Covenant," he said without preamble. "They're a cult that was supposedly wiped out three centuries ago during the Purge Wars."

"Supposedly?"

"Cults like that don't just disappear, Vance. They go underground. They adapt. They wait." He poured himself a drink from a bottle that definitely wasn't labeled with anything the local authorities would approve of. "The Crimson Covenant specialized in bloodline magic—corrupting entire family lines to serve their purposes."

The pieces clicked together with disturbing clarity. "They're targeting the Valerius family. Not to destroy them, but to control them."

"More than that." Marcus took a long drink before continuing. "The Covenant believes that certain bloodlines carry echoes of the original magical source—the primordial power that existed before magic was codified and controlled. They think they can harvest that power, use it to break the barriers between our world and... other places."

"Other places like where that shadow wraith came from?"

"Shadow wraith?" Marcus set down his glass with a sharp click. "You encountered an actual shadow wraith? Those things haven't been seen since—"

"Since the Covenant was supposedly destroyed," I finished. "Yeah, I'm starting to see the pattern."

"This is worse than I thought." Marcus stood up and began pacing, his usual composure completely shattered. "If they're manifesting shadow wraiths, it means they're close to completing their ritual. The Valerius bloodline must be the final component they need."

"What happens if they succeed?"

"The barriers between dimensions weaken permanently. Things that were never meant to exist in our reality gain permanent footholds here. The balance of magical power shifts toward chaos and entropy." He stopped pacing and looked directly at me. "In short, Vance, it would be very, very bad."

I felt Kelly tense beside me, her combat protocols no doubt running through threat assessment scenarios. This had escalated far beyond a simple murder investigation.

"How do we stop them?" I asked.

Marcus laughed, but there was no humor in it. "We? There is no 'we' in this, Vance. You've stumbled into something that's been centuries in the making, orchestrated by people who make the Mage Council look like children playing with toys. My advice? Take your fee and disappear. Leave the city, change your name, and hope they don't consider you enough of a threat to hunt down."

"That's not going to happen."

"Then you're a fool." He moved to his desk and pulled out a leather-bound journal, its pages yellow with age. "But if you're determined to get yourself killed, you might as well do it with proper information."

He tore out several pages and handed them to me. "Those contain everything I know about Covenant ritual practices and their historical methods. It's not much, but it might help you understand what you're up against."

I pocketed the pages. "What's this going to cost me?"

"Nothing." His expression was grim. "Consider it a public service. If the Covenant succeeds, we're all dead anyway."

As we prepared to leave, Marcus grabbed my arm. "Vance. There's something else you need to know. The Covenant doesn't work alone—they have allies within the legitimate magical community. People in positions of power who believe that the current system is too restrictive, too controlled."

"Are you saying someone on the Mage Council is involved?"

"I'm saying be very careful who you trust. The Covenant has had centuries to place their people in key positions." He released my arm. "And Vance? They already know you're investigating them. That shadow wraith wasn't a random encounter—it was a message. They want you to know they're watching."

We left the Twilight Market with more questions than answers, but at least now we had a name for our enemy and some idea of what they were planning. The walk back to my office was tense, every shadow potentially hiding another supernatural assassin.

"The information Marcus provided suggests we are facing an organization with significant resources and planning capabilities," Kelly observed as we climbed the stairs to my office.

"Yeah, and they've had three centuries to perfect their methods." I unlocked my door, half-expecting to find another wraith waiting for us. Instead, I found Esther floating near the window, her expression more serious than I'd ever seen it.

"Boys," she said without her usual cheerful greeting, "we've got company coming. Three vehicles, approaching fast. And sugar, they don't look like they're here for a social call."

I moved to the window and peered through the blinds. Three black cars were pulling up outside my building, their occupants moving with the kind of precision that screamed official authority.

"Mage Council?" I asked.

"Worse," Esther replied. "Those are Enforcement Division badges. The kind they send when someone's been practicing magic without proper permits."

Or when someone's been asking too many questions about things they weren't supposed to know about.

"Back exit?" Kelly asked, already moving toward the office's rear door.

"Already blocked," Esther reported. "They've got this place surrounded tighter than a tick on a hound dog."

I sank into my chair, suddenly feeling every bit as tired as Esther had accused me of looking. The Crimson Covenant wasn't just targeting the Valerius family—they were systematically eliminating anyone who might interfere with their plans.

And somehow, a washed-up Blank with a ghost secretary and a synthetic bodyguard had made it to the top of their list.

The sound of boots on the stairs echoed through the building, getting closer with each passing second.