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Chapter Text

The Crow was on his second pot of coffee on the second night, felt a migraine building behind his eyes as he blankly stared into the fireplace. Had to be in the early hours of the morning, not quite ‘sunrise’. If he wrapped things up he might get a couple hours of shut-eye - who was he kidding, there wouldn’t be sleep tonight -

- Blood. Roses. Starched linens.

“Lucanis?”

Rubbing his eyes, holding the door open so that fresh air and light flooded the kitchen, Emmrich appeared. A sleepy visage, yawning politely behind a hand lacking its usual golden bands and gems. The dressing gown was a perfect white, with loose sleeves hanging off his frame, the hem by his ankles lightly jostled by gentle wind. It was closed tightly at his chest, the Crow wasn’t sure how Emmrich had done it but he’d knotted the gown’s silken belt in a flat knot at the base of his spine.

Something about the light caught the fabric, the gap between lanky legs visible to the trained eye. He could see the mage’s bare frame through fabric, and if Emmrich could tell he didn’t say as much. This was new. His entire demeanor entirely went against what Lucanis thought he knew about Emmrich. Appropriately, he looked a bit like a ghost wandering some lost manor: pale and elegant.

Lucanis’ stomach growled. Or was is Spite? Either way, he found a burning, cramping hunger in his gut.

“Oh.” The sound from the Crow light, getting a puzzled hum from Emmrich, “Didn’t hear you coming.”

“I was able to sneak up on the Demon of Vyrantium?” The playful tease came with a grin, “That certainly could fuel one’s ego.”

Lucanis barely caught the words, watching the long fingers attempt to swipe his hair back into place. Emmrich failed, more fell into his face, though he seemed to give up and cease trying. The cramping in Lucanis’ stomach was near unbearable now, something he tried to quell with the last dregs of coffee in his cup.

“Don’t get cocky, Emmrich, it’s because I’m sleep deprived.”

“You haven’t slept?” Even with hair mussed - and bare feet – Emmrich’s word’s carried the weight of a practiced mentor. Lucanis hadn’t expected the Necromancer to enjoy feeling stones beneath his toes. “Troubled dreams?”

Always.

“That, and I can’t find details about my next target.” Lucanis shrugged, “It’s not the time of night for that talk. And you? Why’re you up?”

“At times the dead are persistent in their attempts to speak with me. Even with warding.” Somehow while exhausted Emmrich was regal in the kitchen chair, his spine straight and shoulders pulled back. “In the Fade? It can be far more intense a message.”

“You were woken up by a ghost?”

“Spirit of the deceased.” The Professor clarified, “This one in particular was not aware they had died, and was in their death state. Eternally.”

“Mierda.” Lucanis grunted, taken aback by how casually Emmrich had spoken. “You deal with this? All the time?”

“Frequently.” He had scars on his forearms. They were faint but there were lines following his radius and ulna.

“You need coffee? I’ll cook something -” Lucanis shook himself from the imagining of how far the lines of scars went on Emmrich’s skin.

“- Just tea, please.” As with everything he did, Emmrich’s approach was soft. Even now, as he patiently and silently sat with the Crow, he didn’t cut as sharp a figure. “It would mean a great deal if you would share it with me. The shades of these encounters are hard to shake on one’s own. At times.”

“I can do that.”

Emmrich was happy to remain silent as Lucanis waited for the kettle to boil, reviewing what little information he had. Research was important, yet the subject of his efforts remained a ghost – no pun intended – within the Mourn Watch. There were expenses for components needed, but no sign land leasing, family inheritances, taxes. Hell, not even a record of birth.

By the time the tea was steeped, Emmrich had shut the ledgers spread across the table when the Crow’s back was turned. Lucanis might have been annoyed at that had he not already deduced he wasn’t going to get anywhere tonight. He clasped the cup with both hands, appreciating the warmth, and the company.

All. Over. Rose oil on skin. Smells like warm vanilla. The rumbling was strange, eager as there was strange flitting bursts of deep purple behind Emmrich. Before he sleeps. He bathes. Soft. All over. He’s soft.

“Thank you, Spite.” A sip of tea, a gentle and casual word to a Spirit. Emmrich hummed contentedly at the normalcy achieved for them both. “I do try to stay moisturized.”

“It’s actually a nice change. Not being awake alone.” Lucanis admitted, straight faced despite Spite’s rambling. “I still can’t tell if Spite actually likes coffee.”

“We should drink tea in the dead of night together more often.” Emmrich hummed into his cup. “The scent Spite is enamored with is a body oil I distilled myself.”

See if he tastes like… tea. Cookies. Tevinter Delights. Spite rumbled happily, Bite. Bite him.

“You didn’t say how your dream ended.” The subject was changed rapidly enough to where the Necromancer let out a laugh, though a flush rose to his cheeks at hearing Spite’s demands.

“Oh, I managed to coerce them in a peaceful state once I recited a Chantry psalm.” Emmrich sank into his chair. “Then they left. I found myself too frazzled for sleep. And you?”

“Me?”

“What do you hear, when you sleep?”

“Water.” Lucanis recalled. “Voices. Do you think your corpse whispering makes the Spirits more attracted to you?”

“Yes. At times I wonder if I developed the talent as a child, because I was trying to talk to my parents again.” Emmrich stared into his cup, eyes a bit unfocused as he became distant. “So many things left unsaid.”

Lucanis felt his stomach flip, swallowing thickly as he tried to think of what to say. The floral and somehow warm aroma was making him feel strange. Usually an overabundance of a floral smell would annoy him, but this was pleasant enough to bask in.

“I’m sorry. Excuse my being morose.” Emmrich pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes slipping shut. “I’m not sure how you do it.”

“What, insomnia? Practice.” Lucanis supplied, “Lots of practice. I had a thought about the corpse whispering.”

“Which was?”

“You didn’t have a living father, so you became a father to whisps and ghosts.”

“Spirits.” Emmrich amusedly corrected, lazy in his fatigue. Lucanis could see him slowly sagging and sinking into the chair. “That’s very sweet, my dear.”

“Of all the things to gain from reaching out to your mother and father? I think corpse whispering isn’t the worst thing. We’ve seen people become mad blood mages for far less. Like Hexenkoss, or Aelia.”

“I had my opportunity. Johanna asked me to join her on more than one occasion.” The Professor stood, “If Spite is interested? I’m more than happy to gift you a bottle of my rose oil.”

Emmrich liked flowers, at least from what Lucanis could tell. Alchemy was part of his expertise that didn’t involve the dead. In fact it seemed the opposite, the Professor speaking on how certain distillations could improve bloodflow to the body.

“When one works with the dead, one must ensure that one does not smell like them.” Emmrich pressed the small glass vial into Lucanis’ hands. “After you bathe simply apply it wherever you desire.”

“That’s all?” The bottle was a bit bigger in Lucanis’ hands than Emmrich’s, ornate, and the oil a clear amber hue.

“It’s a dry oil, nothing greasy or sticky.” To demonstrate, he rubbed a few drops on the back of his slender hands, inhaling. “You mentioned your mother’s perfume, I hope it compares.”

“I-It does.” It both was and wasn’t the comforting floral scent, the vanilla adding something that made it uniquely ‘Emmrich.’

Lucanis had to admit, as he walked back to his room with the little bottle in his hand, that Emmrich had seemed overly pleased with himself. The man liked to give a gift, or to assist in some capacity. Oftentimes he went out of his way for it, acts of service being how he liked to show affection.

He. Is. Hungry. Spite rumbled, Lucanis quickening his step as if to ditch his spectral ‘twin.’

“It’s just body oil, Spite.” Defensive, Lucanis put the bottle to the side, kicking his door shut. It slammed in the sneering face, but Spite was sitting on Lucanis’ cot when he turned. “And it’s because you liked it.”

We. Liked it. Spite pointed out smugly, I like. Because. You like.

“It’s to keep my skin from drying out. I’m not discussing this -”

- You know what you want. Want to use. Use on him -

“- Enough.” Maker forbid Emmrich accidentally hear any of this in passing, “It’s a dry oil, not for that. The hell do you want from me?”

We. Hunger. Feed us.

The demon couldn’t make it much clearer than that. Lucanis might not have been experienced but he knew sexual frustration when he heard it. He had felt an unexpected heat upon seeing the Necromancer in a vulnerable and emotional state, but had not expected the ravenous hunger that plagued Spite.

It didn’t matter. He needed to work. They had a job to do, and the very next day he found himself hiking alongside Emmrich. Bellara had found some artifact or other, not that the Crow knew what it was. He took up the rear, noting that the notes of sweat from his lanky compatriot were now noticeably tinged with roses and vanilla.

In combat? When Emmrich practically danced through the battlefield? It was everywhere. Maddening to the Demon. And it felt like every time Lucanis took a step a waft of the scent smacked him in the face. All the while his stomach rumbled.

“-Bellara, I don’t mean to alarm you-”

Emmrich was polite, as always. Too polite, in Lucanis’ opinion, for a man twirling a staff and flinging the ghostly skulls of someone’s grandmothers. Even with the streaks of light and torn Veil flying about as mist - or a suffocating wave depending on the intensity - he was light on his feet in a way Lucanis was near envious of.

Bellara, sweet girl that she was, overestimated the time she had with her artifact. An artifact that was now sparking far worse than it had been when they entered. And had begun to spit out undead, a green and glowing vortex opening up from the apex of the domed ceiling.

“- We’re out of time!” The Crow barked, there was a rasp in his voice, the arcing blade in his hand slipping from the now limp body before him. “We have to fall back, get back to the Veiljumper camp!”

“I can’t just stop what I’m doing!” Bellara worriedly trilled, still hunched over the glittering, jeweled thing. “That alone could cause the harmonic frequencies to raise too high!”

“Oh dear.” Emmrich somehow paid attention to conversation in battle, Lucanis wasn’t sure how he did it.

“We explode?” The Crow guessed, before his dagger sank to the hilt in a crumbling, soft cranium. “Wonderful.”

The noises in the chamber were indescribable, the shrieking traveled up as echoes through the vast caverns they’d clambered down into. They’d found the ruins, as Bellara had predicted, but the silence was what alerted Lucanis to trouble. Usually it got quiet just before they were swarmed.

Lucanis, in the fray of clawing hands and gnashing teeth, could see the ghostly shades of green and white from his necromantic compatriot through the gaps. But his vision whited out a moment as a massive fist struck true, cracking across his nose and causing him to fall back.

“Mierda-”

The swarm was thick and deafening enough that he almost didn’t hear the cries of concern for him, but he was busy trying to not be trodden underfoot. It was stifling, he felt like he couldn’t breathe as it seemed every moving body in the room began to pile on to him -

Can’t let us die! Not here!

Lucanis would have responded to the demon settled in his guts, the prickling and surging heat of the spirit’s presence urged him to do so. Instead his jaw ached, the stars in his eyes becoming a constellation as he was pinned and struck again and again.

Escape!

A familiar demand, normally the power that the Spirit provided would help him slip away, muscle his way outr. Not this time. Half of the urgency in Spite’s tone seemed to be his own helplessness in the situation. A pain in their stomach, a curved claw slipping in like a blade, piercing muscle and fatty tissue. Lucanis couldn’t help but cry out, a sound that was answered by the flash and metallic scent of magic.

Then, there was light.

It smelled like ozone and thunderstorms, fresh air after rain. With it came an echoing voice, the weight upon Lucanis lifted as his body lifted into the air. The blows raining down ceased, and as the pounding in his head lessened over the moments, his savior’s spell grew louder.

“ - By Dust and Void, through Seal and Flame -” The staff was raised, the damned creepy thing was a skull attached to it. It laughed at him, mocking him for his fear, as it saved his hide. “ - Death shall greet you, and beckon you to rest once more!”

With a flash, and a swirling burst of cool air, Lucanis felt himself drop. He hit the ground, winded, but even as he brandished his rapier he found the stinking horde gone. The chamber, and artifact beneath Bellara’s hand, was still again. He let himself collapse back, the cold stone felt nice against him, but he knew he couldn’t tarry long.

A hand was beneath his back, another at his stomach. Something about the pale hand pressing into his wound made him feel vulnerable. Like a beast forced to show its belly. Or maybe it was Spite influencing him, bristling at the helping hand.

“Is he gonna be okay?” Bellara was clambering down off the pedestal she had been upon, sprinting towards the pair beneath her.

“Don’t fret -” The Necromancer’s attempt at comfort was ignored, Bellara’s own glittering magics pressing into Lucanis’ stomach.

“How can I not? This is my fault!”

Emmrich’s assurance was ignored, Bellara’s knuckles were white as she gripped the strange crystal in her hands. She’d gotten what she needed, Lucanis had finished his contract to her, and that’s all he needed.

Tears, dust, worry. Mm. Bad smells.

Spite liked Bellara, but Lucanis knew the Demon would never say it. Not much of a surprise there.

“I’m sorry Lucanis,” The gem was shoved away, in her pack, as she dropped to her knees to help tend to the Crow. There was a green vial in her hand, something handed to Emmrich. “I thought I could make it stop -”

“- Don’t do that.” Lucanis waved a gloved hand at her, which was quickly swatted and pressed down by Emmrich. “I took the job, I knew what could happen.”

“This wound is dire enough to cause issue.” The Necromancer’s hands were gentle, but Lucanis still winced at their touch.

“Dire. Right.” Was the grunt of pain, and annoyance. “They had me pinned.”

“The strike missed your vital organs, and only penetrated into the fatty layer above your external abdominal obliques.” Emmrich rambled a bit as he worked, Lucanis noticed that Bellara was wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand. “However the blood vessels are not mending as they should, which suggests necrotic magics.”

“Ow.” The Crow knew what that meant: probably had a slow bleed in his gut. Worse than he thought, better than he expected. Few days off of his feet and some elfroot.

“I-I’ll find Strife and Irilen!” Bellara darted up, shouldering her pack, “They have to be nearby, they have other healers to help you!”

“Hurry, dear.” It was soft, quiet, but Lucanis could hear the worry. “I can stabilize him, but it may require additional trained hands for his recovery.”

Lucanis gleaned the meaning: Emmrich could heal him superficially, but it’s likely that if Lucanis moved too much it’d undo their work, and he’d bleed out. Bellara’s footsteps were quick, a jogging run that slowly faded over time, the clanking and jingling of equipment vanishing.

Stuck pig.

Spite didn’t seem to like the silence either.

“You had me worried.” The hands, even covered in blood, were graceful as they wove through the air, “Let the magic work, it’s more difficult if you’re tensing your abdomen.”

“It hurts.”

“Did your grandmother instruct you on breathing techniques?” Emmrich didn’t rise to the complaint, merely smiled. Patient. “Inhale with the sensations.”

The pressure in his stomach was odd, the cramping, painful hunger mixed with the pressure of a slow bleed. And magic. The eye-itching, tingle inducing energies that made Lucanis’ body react in all kinds of strange and embarrassing ways.

“Breathe out with the pain. Slow.” Was the gentle coaching, beneath Emmrich’s hand he felt Lucanis’ chest rise. “Deep. Steady now...”

Smells like… blood on linens. Roses, still. Rain and mud. Sweat. Magic. There was a deep inhalation, Spite savoring the aromas with a grin. Like freedom.

“Mm.” Lucanis repeated, unable to really think of anything else to say beneath the onslaught of sensation. Made him feel conflicted that he enjoyed the combination of scents as well.

“Spite’s chatty, it seems.” Emmrich’s hands danced through the air much like the conductor of an orchestra. Lucanis found that the faint skeletal scarification he’d noticed extended to the necromancer’s left palm. “You took quite the beating, I can see why he’s particularly vocal.”

“I’m fine.” There was a tooth aching in his mouth from the blow to his face, Lucanis tongued it a bit before continuing, “Well… maybe not fine.”

“Worse.” Spite forced him to admit. “Discomfort. Lack of power.”

“Indeed, it’s difficult when one so versed in combat has his personal strengths ignored and stomped upon.”

“Emmrich.” Lucanis sighed, “Please don’t pick apart my brain right now, I’ve had a bad day.”

“I can imagine.” The scars, like on Emmrich’s radius and ulna, followed his skeletal structure. Once more it made the wounded assassin curious about how far they went, even if barely visible. “Allow me to assist.”

Emmrich never spoke with judgment. An over-mothering concern, perhaps, but Lucanis couldn’t say he expected less from a Professor. Half the time he expected the man to pull out a quill and paper to take notes as he watched everything Lucanis did.

“We’re staying here?”

“Only until the Veil Jumpers arrive with a stretcher, I’m sure.” Emmrich was glancing about at the entrances, “Won’t be long, it’s only an hour or so hike.”

“I can walk -” Lucanis was going to attempt to get up, but a surprisingly strong hand kept him on the ground. “ - What if there’s more undead?”

“We can, and we shall. Undead happen to be my specialty.” Emmrich’s hand spread over Lucanis’ chest, mint-green bursts of smoke wafting from the friction of his fingers. “It takes time to mend the fibers of muscle and blood vessels. The more one moves, the more one injures one’s self.”

Lucanis grunted and stilled, huffing out a sigh, but going quiet at the faint touches to his person. It was a comfort, but he didn’t say it. Emmrich was a bit morbid in his academic interests but Lucanis wasn’t sure the man had a bad bone in his body. No pun intended.

Boring. Spite broke the silence, Lucanis saw the visage of him above, crouched above his head like a grinning gargoyle. Use fire. Stops the bleeding. More fun.

“Cauterizing the wound will not be necessary, Spite.” Emmrich’s tone was casual, “If you want to help, I’d suggest you stop antagonizing my patient.”

Like a put-upon teenager, Lucanis saw Spite growl and get up, pacing away.

The sounds of Emmrich’s magic tended to vary. During some encounters Lucanis could only hear the shrieking and wailing of those passed on. In others, it was sheer chaotic combat noise, peppered with the poetic declarations of magecraft, and whispers. Not creepy, infernal things, but loving little sounds, as if murmuring secrets to one another.

They flickered against his ears now, warm, he swore he heard his name within the gentle voices. Familiar ones, that he only recalled in a blur.

“...Do you remember your parents, Emmrich?” The question raised Emmrich’s gaze, Lucanis still staring upwards.

“Small moments, yes.” He was in his armored overcoat now, but the Necromancer suddenly seemed as vulnerable as he had in his dressing gown in the early morning.

“Me too.” Lucanis absently hummed.

“Warm sensations of being held. The scent of my mother’s cooking.”

“Me too. My father when he picked me up, put me in bed after dinner when I was half asleep.” Lucanis seemed to get a bit lost in the pleasant memories. “The cool sheets. My mother’s perfume when she read to me.”

“Ah, the rose scent. My father’s pipe smoke was also very distinct.” Emmrich had to grin. “When Spite is particularly verbose, I often swear I can smell it.”

“Really?”

“Spirits of intent can use one’s own memories of sensation to communicate with us. Often times we simply aren’t sure what it means. As in this instance: I can smell it now.”

Too calm. Too. Quiet. It was spat out, like ill tasting food on Spite’s tongue. It echoes.

“For a long time, I was sure I was going crazy. I swore I could smell the perfume when I was alone in the Ossuary.” Lucanis felt it leaving his lips, couldn’t stop it. “I had Spite, but it’s so strange when you have to hide. Imprisoned even when walking in the open.”

“People never bother to address Spite directly, I take it? Or you, on the occasion when they do acknowledge him.”

“It feels like an invisible dance around him, keeping him bottled up. Either that, or I’m treated like the meatbag he happens to be in.”

“Does it help that I speak to you both?” Emmrich worriedly asked, “Or hinder you?”

“Helps.” Lucanis admitted, the pressure in his stomach began to fade, even if the ache remained, “It does. Something about respecting that he is here? On some level it makes me feel like a person again.”

“Well, you were always a person, Lucanis -”

- Lie. Not a person. Caged in m e a t shouldn’t be s h o u l d n ‘ t b e-

Lucanis could feel the angry barks nearly fly from his own lips, biting them back as Spite reacted like a dog struck. Didn’t like being stuck, Lucanis sympathized to a point.

“Peace, my friend.” The years teaching had served him, able to address the Spirit with a direct but soft approach. “Being bound must be difficult, but you’re not alone, Spite.”

No reply. Just a frustrated growl, a few angry gesticulations, and the Lucanis-like visage of Spite began to pace. But he did so silently.

“I don’t know how you do it that easily.” Lucanis pinched the bridge of his nose, felt his head throbbing. “He believes you. He doesn’t believe me most of the time.”

“Truly? He’s always been a model student, to me.” There was a smile, something soft that split the angular face, laugh lines apparent in the green glow of his healing arts. “Call upon me at any time. Day or night.”

“Thank you, Emmrich -”

“- And I truly mean any time, Spite.” Emmrich didn’t raise his head to the figure now looming over him, “I don’t want to hear any more about you wandering.”

Can’t be in a cage. Huffed out, like a tired child. Not always.

Lucanis drifted after that, and awoke with something folded and soft beneath his head. It was the Necromancers pillow, as it turned out, one of the many creature comforts Emmrich brought in his pack. A blanket as well, warm and smelling of incense.

We did a dance. Was the soft purr, the words spit into the shell of Lucanis’ ear. He led.

They were in the Veiljumper camp, yet Emmrich was on watch as if they were alone in a ruin.

There was a small fire, the Necromancer on alert as he paced about the small space they shared, letting Lucanis rest. Spite was his shadow, staring out at the carvings and cracked mosiacs as the Professor did. Lucanis took a moment to watch, Spite sidling behind Emmrich to peer over his shoulder.

Worries for you. There was a suspicious squint, Thinking. About wine glasses. Hazlenut torte. Can’t get blood off his fingers -

“- Emmrich.” Lucanis was sitting up now, and though he ached, the deep pain in his gut had vanished. He felt bandages beneath his clothes, skin tugging with the stitches now in place. “How long was I out?”

“Hours.” Emmrich hummed nervously, sitting upon a stool by the cot, “Spite grew concerned, upon hearing movement outside. He stood you up and walked you here. Very hard to stop an empowered and possessed vessel.”

“Welcome to my life.” The Crow’s laughter was compounded by Emmrich’s scrunched expression.

“Don’t smile.” Emmrich, a bit flustered and frustrated at the gentle dismissal from the ifuriatingly handsome face. “He left – You left a blood trail!”

We danced. Spite was standing above, the grinning apparition’s gazed fixed on the mage. He led.

“It wasn’t a dance, Spite.” Groused the Necromancer, getting a low growling chuckle, “Ohh, don’t be proud of yourself.”

“Scared Emmrich half to death, thinking I was going to bleed out.” Lucanis was pulling on his belt, sheathing his rapier.

Let him lead. Had too.

“Why, for heaven’s sake?” Exasperated, Emmrich began putting up his pillow and blanket by stuffing it into his pack impatiently. Hammered it into place, which was amusing to see from someone who couldn’t throw a punch properly.

We are not f o o d.

“Whatever the hell that means.” Lucanis didn’t move an inch until Emmrich was ready, lest he risk his good-tempered wrath. “Sure. Not food.”

Walking through the Eluvian and back to the Lighthouse took longer on the return trip, Emmrich vigilant in his mothering, even physically lifting the assassin at one point. Lucanis was stubborn enough to make it without pause. The sight of eluvian was a relief for them both, though Lucanis couldn’t help but be a bit sad upon parting.

When he was alone, with time enough to wash and change his clothes? He could see the damage that had been done. A dark wound, likely to leave another scar, and the bruising around it certainly didn’t help.

Coffee was banned. At least for today. Both he and Spite had looked at Emmrich like he was deranged, but the Necromancer had insisted. ‘Thins the blood’ was the excuse he’d given, though Spite was convinced it was punishment for forcing Lucanis to get up and walk. He’d even hidden his mugs, so he couldn’t simply ignore him.

What did assist was a rolled up letter from Teia and Viago. At first he assumed it would take his mind off things, someone asking something trivial about the villa or work. Then… then there was hope. Not something vapid like changing the seasonal drapery in the lounge.

“Lucanis,

Ilaario found record of the magister we had you looking into, some of his Venatori informants came through for us. Some of his clients were claiming to have placed orders for ‘demon- exorcising’ enchantments and items. Got a name for himself after containing some Demonic force or other years ago, but Templars declared him a fraud.

Former watcher and Alchemist, the name is Garrett Jestenoff, previously employed by a chevalier in Orlais. Go in, get us what you can, keep what you need. On top of that, city guard and hired security details refuse to go into the manor, insisting that it is haunted by the owner.

We’ve had agents in the building, but had no demons or security issues arise while inside.

Think you’re still up for the job? Heard you were wounded but this is turning into a fetch-errand. Maybe you’ll find what we missed.

- T”

It only took a few moments for Lucanis to find a quill and paper, hurriedly scribbling out a reply.

“T,

I may know a contact who can help with the situation. All I need is a location.

- L”

After the message had been sent, and Lucanis had slept for a few hours, he’d opened his eyes to find himself already getting dressed. He was midway through buttoning his vest, his boots haphazardly knotted. He hadn’t been this active in his sleep for some time, he had thought it had been solved after Rook’s walk through his mental Ossuary.

“Someone’s eager to get out of here.”

Bored! Movemovemovemove -

Spite got bored a lot. Not that Lucanis could blame him. He could see why as he stepped out into the kitchen. It must have been ‘late’, Lucanis found that most everyone was asleep, no one for Spite to observe. Other than Manfred, who had taken to piling up pebbles on the ground just outside. It was an impressive little pyramid, with a tiny leafed twig at it’s top.

“Manfred.” Was always nice to see him, he’d gotten weirdly used to the site of Emmrich’s ward around.

“Crow!” Happy. Always happy. Even Spite found it a bit contagious when he wasn’t annoyed by it.

“Emmrich still awake, by chance?”

Lucanis was used to the enthusiastic greetings of Emmrich’s ward, getting a pleased growling before the lanky thing toddled off. Clunky boots and creaking bones were easy to follow, their destination was the same: Emmrich’s room.

Brightly lit and welcoming even with the contents inside: skulls, embalming tools, and the occasional corpse. Manfred himself was alerting his mentor, gloved hands balled up and eagerly shaking as he gurgled and hissed. There was a cloth tossed over the irritable skull on the table, Lucanis didn’t have the capacity to handle Hexenkoss’ ire today.

“Ah, Lucanis!” Emmrich closed his current book, setting it aside to rise, “You slept soundly I hope?”

“I did.” Dreamless too, just the sounds of water and wind, the scent of roses. “Stomach is better. Perks of being an Abomination, I suppose.”

“Spite was rather vocally active towards me as I attended to dinner, so I had myself and Manfred remain in the kitchen for a time.” He assured him, “He was insistent that I remain awake until you read your letter. Should I have assumed you’ve read it by now?”

“Huh… I’ve read it.” Lucanis had to wonder how Spite knew what was in the letter even before it was opened, “Recently I’ve been assigned to look into a magister that’s gone missing, or is dead. A Watcher.”

“Oh dear.”

“He’s not actively practicing, but I didn’t want to bring it up.” Lucanis cleared his throat, “Haunted manor, rogue Necromancer, possible security to disable.”

“Disable.” There was a brief look tossed at Lucanis, a playful disapproval. “Is that the term you use?”

“You know what I mean.” Lucanis didn’t like the idea of Emmrich disapproving, he interjected quickly. “I need a smaller team than usual, and you more than qualify.”

“Do I? How flattering.”

“It’s likely the home is empty, but I need trained eyes. And I need to know if the item will kill me or not.”

“Oh.” The iota of playfulness that had existed in the mage’s tone vanished, “I am at your disposal.”

“I won’t lie to you: my goal is exorcism.”

“I see.” Emmrich’s hands pressed together as he considered, “A difficult task for both Spirit and host. Even more difficult to perfect a method that can be replicated by enchantment.”

“I need your help for this, Emmrich. On the off chance that something goes wrong -”

“- Of course, Lucanis.” There it was, Emmrich’s soft smile. Reassuring. Quick to assist. “You don’t need to explain. Just say the word.”

The word didn’t happen until Rook returned a few hours later. Concerned leader that he was, Rook didn’t give leave for the assassin to go until he could stretch to touch his toes without wincing. Considering Lucanis’ bag was already packed it was mere hours after his clean bill of health that the pair were hiking their way through the crossroads.

Emmrich was quiet. Odd. Lucanis didn’t like it.

“What’s on your mind?” Lucanis had to remind himself it was a three way conversation, the oddly quiet Mortalitasi perking as he was addressed. “You still worried? I’m healed up. I can touch my toes again if it helps -”

“- No, no…” Emmrich’s soft smile returned, a small glint of teeth as he huffed out a laugh. “I must confess I’m a little concerned for yourself and Spite. Though relieved that you’ll allow me to assist.”

“We don’t even know if the items are legitimate.” Lucanis could see the Eluvian in the distance, sand slowing their pace as they approached. “Or that we’ll be able to use them without some kind of Tevinter blood ritual.”

“Hmm…”

This wasn’t right. There was still a worry, a concern for the assassin that Emmrich wasn’t shaking. Lucanis was certain in that moment he had missed something in his time unconscious. Spite’s growling murmurs grew louder, layers of rambling and incoherent voices as the demon pressed forward. Not for possession, but to simply observe.

Made Lucanis’ eyes feel odd, knowing they were being borrowed to stare at the Professor, almost as if the demon could do nothing else. There was nowhere to hide with Emmrich. He could hear Spite, at times Lucanis swore he could almost see the dark violet visage. Most unexpected of all: he could get Spite to do what he wanted with a few words. Most of the time.

“Didn’t occur to me that you might consider Spite a friend, too.” Lucanis mused, taking a moment to pause just before the glittering mirror. “You met us at the same time.”

“I’ve been friends with Spirits since I was a boy.” Emmrich was thoughtful, as always, “But I also understand what happened to both of you was violating. Whatever way the pair of you find peace is what’s most important to me.”

“And Spite?”

“I’ll look for him in the Fade.” There was a sad smile, “He’s persistent at the very least. I’m certain that if he was freed we’ll meet again.”

Irritating man. Was the affectionate snarl. Sweet. Soft.

Spite was rolling about behind Lucanis’ eyes with heated growling, like a thick smog that threatened to roll out of him. It was scalding, but controlled, held back as if the demon wished to spare the man before them. Though from what Lucanis had a hard time discerning.

“Back to the job at hand…” Lucanis broke the tension, a hard professional mask easily slipped back into place. “If this is timed correctly, we’ll be in Val Royeux as the guards change shifts and settle in. Won’t be too hard for us to get into the house, we just have to avoid gaining anyone’s attention once inside.”

“He’s does what he’s told-”

“-Follow my lead,” Lucanis ignored Spite, even if Emmrich’s eyes narrowed at the statement, “Keep your head down. If we get separated we meet back here in the Crossroads.”

“Understood.” Was the quick and eager reply. One of Lucanis’ favored traits of Emmrich: the man was a professional.

“Good boy.”

They were quiet as they slipped through the mirror, Emmrich’s expression a bit contorted as he did his best not to laugh due to the Spirit’s commentary. Lucanis could only feel embarrassment ripple up and down his body at the fact that it had escaped his lips. It was forgotten as the pair made it to one of the main thoroughfares, quickly walking along a decorative canal garden.

When he was a boy, Lucanis had thought the buildings and walls of Orlais were made of ivory. As an adult he knew that it was the same dull gray stone as anywhere else, slathered in plaster and white paint. Sometimes gold and some gaudy statues of lions. The gardens were always his favorite, and the most welcome fragrances in the densely populated city.

They had small trees, bushes with dense flowers, neatly kept and meticulously weeded flowerbeds. Some of them even had decorative herbs; rosemary, lavender and basil for the scent. A lot of the plants were seasonal, likely to be uprooted and transplanted before long. Betwixt each cluster of flora was a bridge over said canals with streetlamps casting a fiery light over the damp stone underfoot.

“Usually, one might consider idle conversation. ‘Act natural’ in the face of possible persecution.” Emmrich tried to break the silence, only to get a brief huff of rumbling laughter and a smile that made his knees feel like jelly. “No?”

“What spy novella did you get that from?” Had it been from anyone other that Lucanis it might have been a mocking thing to say. Instead he indulged the mage, “A lot of the time it’s understandable when people are quiet while walking. You’re trying to get somewhere, after all.”

“Ah.”

“I like the enthusiasm. You know,” Lucanis glanced both ways down a street before hopping over a wall, down into a side street, “I was thinking about your work with alchemy.”

“Beyond topical oils?” It was Emmrich’s turn to laugh as he leapt down after his compatriot. He still was capable, but had a less acrobatic flare to his movement. “I’ve an elfroot hand-oil for pain relief.”

“You’re in pain?”

“In the right wrist I’ve some arthritis from using my staff, limiting my range of mobility. I’m not a young man anymore, after all.” He gently flexed his gloved hand and wrist, stretching it as if to demonstrate that it was in working order. “Maybe that’s something the Crows would find value in, rather than my poor attempts at subterfuge.”

“I can think of a few Crows who could use it. If you decide you want a change of vocation, or need extra coin? The Crows could use you for more than just talking to dead blood mages.” Loose masonry hidden by thick ivy, all Lucanis had to do was shove a couple of rocks and their way was clear again. “Not that you need the coin, you wear half of your life savings on your wrists.”

“I most certainly do not.” Emmrich gleaned the Crow mark thrown upon the wall, hidden by hanging flowers of the same deep indigo shade. “My savings are well guarded in Nevarra, thank you.”

“Then why wear it like that?” Lucanis hoisted himself through the gap in the ivy-strangled stone wall.

Unthinking he turned, reaching out and taking Emmrich’s hand, bearing his weight momentarily as the mage nearly tripped and fell onto his face. He had grace, but there were moments where it was clear the man was a bookworm on expedition. Not that it was bothersome, the man was a pleasant, warm weight to bear, even briefly.

“A grave dowry!” There was that enthusiasm again. Once he was stood upright Emmrich extended his arms out so he and Lucanis might have a better look at the gold upon his wrists and fingers. “They’re meant to appeal to our emotions. Capture the mind, stir the heart -”

“- And no one has tried to rob you?”

“Not in Nevarra.” It was Emmrich’s turn to chuckle, “Most are aware that Watchers adorn themselves in this way, and they behave accordingly. Those that are unaware are, most often, put off by a few shades-”

“-Or their raised comrades?”

“Depending on how persistent they are, yes.”

Their path was blessedly empty of anything but wet cobblestone. The rain threatened still, what with the thunder and lighting that illuminated the clouds. Lucanis was quick, but had been on assignment with Emmrich enough to know he could keep up. He wasn’t sure how the Professor could stay silent with all the clattering metal.

Little attention was paid to the pair, even Spite’s murmurs were hushed until the sounds of the city guard’s boots faded. The front door to the massive estate was barred, but they easily scaled a few crates in the alley nearby to hop into the overgrown center courtyard.

“My word.” Emmrich was impressed by what had once been a vast and meticulously manicured botanical garden. “I believe I see several genus or flora that could have come from Nevarra.”

Along with the once neatly groomed hedges and shrubberies, there were labeled sections that had been worn down from rain and time. Wildflowers had sprung in the abandoned lawns, long grasses and bushes containing berries and briars. The decorative rose bushes had grown and devoured the back entryway, crawling up over the walls and covering the pale statues of Andraste.

“Marvelous. Have you ever seen such vibrant flowers? I believe the breed of Rose is Andraste’s Kiss... Fitting.”

Emmrich’s quiet observations caused Lucanis to turn, finding him staring up at the fat, red blossoms with delight. With that same soft smile, enamored with the flush petals, touching at the small droplets that had formed upon them.

“...You want me to cut you one?”

It came out a bit more sheepish than expected, the surprised look in return caused Lucanis to pull out his dagger. A wine-red flower scattered droplets of water as the stem was severed, before it could drop Lucanis had caught it in deft fingers.

Emmrich found the rose offered to him, a mundane gesture that strangely left him feeling as though he couldn’t breathe. The leather glove of his compatriot brushing against his own, the thorns pricking at skin... he felt a blush in his cheeks that he hadn’t felt since he was far younger.

“That’s very sweet, Lucanis…” Emmrich took a moment to inhale its scent, his eyes closing in an expression of near bliss.

Bite. Bite him. Make him stop.

Spite’s confused and flustered demands fell on deaf ears, Lucanis grateful for the darkness at the heat in his face. Emmrich carefully touched at the thorns before tucking it into his lapel, glowing with pleasure at his acquisition.

“He. Likes it?”

“I enjoy it immensely.” Emmrich beamed at the Crow and Spirit, “I’d like to get it back to the Lighthouse without damaging it so that I may press it and keep it for a long while yet. Perhaps I can return and attempt to transplant the entire bush -”

“- I can just come back to get you another.” Lucanis was surprised how quickly he interjected, “I don’t mind.”

“They’re quite beautiful, much like yourself. I’d much rather have them close by.” Emmrich assured, “I can teach you how to cultivate them. If you like.”

“Next time. More?” Spite inquired, “More petals.”

“Wonderful, I look forward to it.”

Lucanis was distracted by the scent of roses, as they crawled in through the open kitchen window. He had thought he might be used to it by now, but he was disarmed once again.

Inside was stale, dusty, and empty. He was grateful for the lack of conflict, his stomach was flipping and spinning unexpectedly, Spite roiling around in a pleased but befuddled hum. Made Lucanis’ toes and ears tickle, as well as the heat that spread through him at the compliment.

He hoped there was nothing here, he needed to bring Emmrich back through the eluvian, to Treviso, and get something to eat. He was starving. It was the only way to explain the ravenous hunger that now plagued him. They’d sit and talk, that was the only thing that ever seemed to help.

“Our target is in the basement.” He finally snapped out of it, Emmrich’s uncertain gaze pulled back to his guide. “With how quiet it is? I’m guessing he’s either dead, or on his way to it.”

“Lucanis, there is a layer of dust here that would be an adequate quilt for expedition. The man is deceased.” Emmrich seemed unimpressed with the dark halls and decrepit furniture, drawing a line in the gathered dust with a clean forefinger. “I detect no warding, I see no Spirits discontent with their current lot. Didn’t other Crows clear this home?”

“They got spooked, but between the two of us a demon or spirit is nothing. Maybe there’s no items here after all.” It was said with disgust, Lucanis’ nose wrinkled at the information. “We may get out of here faster than expected.”

“Just in time for dinner and the Orlesian opera.” Emmrich shook his head at his surroundings, doing a quick glance and turn around. Was the rare moment where Lucanis saw him being visibly judgmental. “Not so much as a whisp? Color me surprised.”

“It’s a little too squeaky-clean.”

“The Veil is well-warded here, I have to agree. Do we have a general idea of what item you need?”

“Inventory list in Jestenoff’s office. We’re meant to grab that, and anything else is designated as items for the Crows.” Lucanis knelt upon the dusty rug, the lockpick in his hand as he made short work of a weighty door. “Though they did say I could take what I need. Feel free to grab whatever interests you.”

“You’re too kind.” Emmrich didn’t seem interested in physical reward, at least not in the moment, “Should we encounter a rogue Watcher’s work I also expect traps. Or summoned undead - I’m surprised we haven’t seen so much as a discarded butler.”

“Too empty here.” Spite’s words made the hair on the back of Lucanis’ neck stand on end, as they left his own lips. “Too many eyes watching.”

“But where?” Emmrich pressed the Spirit, “Surely you can give us a direction? I find myself at a loss, my friend.”

“Down.” Lucanis’ voice bit out, the charming violet glow of Spite in his eyes. “Why?”

“Why?”

The question was parroted back at Spite, Emmrich tipping his head curiously at the inquiry. He knew in these instances it was a moment when Lucanis and Spite were singular in intent: something they were both interested in.

“Appropriate?” The cocked head was mirrored, somehow Lucanis he stepped closer with a smooth an unseen motion. “Andraste’s Kiss.”

“A-ah…” Emmrich found himself flushing at the question, “W-well, I was considering actions one might take in a romantic garden -”

“- First basement.” The Demon’s grin was smug, “Then. Roses. Dancing.”

The basement hatch stank. Not of dust but of rot. Flesh? Plant material? Lucanis couldn’t tell. At a certain point, he began to see stains upon the wall, streaks, splatter, and the foreboding hand print or five. It became less of a stain as they descended, and a fine coating that smeared the walls. The shadows became heavy, oppressive.

“Ugh…” Emmrich gagged and simultaneously confirmed Lucanis’ observation, “Someone has begun to decay. Under violent and strange circumstances, given what’s before us.”

Only Emmrich’s stave gave off light in the space, reflecting off the smoothed white stone. Even at the base level there was nothing, just an ichor on the floor that came off on the bottom of their boots. It was putrid, and brown, Emmrich cringing at the sight.

“He. Dances?”

A hand kept Lucanis from proceeding, Emmrich’s eyes flitting about the room knowingly.

“...We’ve found our magister.” He motioned to the thin layer of material on the floor, causing his comrade to recoil a few steps, “And one of the traps you were rightly concerned about.”

His hands lifted, moving, as if weaving in the air, dancing with the pale green mist as the room began to illuminate. Unseen before, Lucanis could see the geometric patterns on the floor, and the circle of glowing gems pressed into the ceiling. It was a familiar, stinking like heated metal.

The Crow turned to Emmrich, surprised to find the man angry, teeth bared and scowling.

“Didn’t we see this same kind of spellwork in Blackthorne?” The question pulled the Necromancer out of his angry thoughts, Lucanis nudging him as he gave a wary glance about.

“There are tormented souls bound here.” Carefully, ever so carefully, Emmrich’s hand lifted to acknowledge the cluster of gems in the ceiling. “We who would pass call upon the dead to relinquish their rage. May you find your rest, as your bonds release.”

It fought back. Lucanis wasn’t expecting that.

A strand lashed out, latching onto the extended hand with a growling hiss. Yet the Necromancer didn’t falter, he stood his ground with an answering flash of power. The sound of the room rose, the tension of the ethereal threads grew tighter, more heated, a ringing howl building -

“Relent!”

Something about the word shuddered through Spite, and Lucanis by extension. It felt like his body consisted of water, rippling endlessly like an echo through every muscle fiber. There was a crack, the scent of copper as the gems above burst, shrieking and wailing. The sound deadened, faded to nothingness as Emmrich adjusted his collar.

“Right then. Shall we?”

“And you wonder why I suggest freelancing for the Crows.” Lucanis nudged Emmrich again, “That was impressive. Terrifying, but impressive.”

Whatever ritual ward was planted failed to glow as the pair strode into the room ahead. Lucanis was reminded of the elven chamber from a few days before, he had to crane his neck back to see the ceiling. It was carved out of the solid rock, far enough into the bedrock to avoid the roots of trees and the garden above.

“It’s certainly more memorable beneath the manor.” Emmrich sighed, “No opera tonight, I assume?”

“Rain check.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

A single candle sat upon the altar, Emmrich couldn’t help but feel his eyes drawn back to it consistently. In curiosity, his fingers pinched the wick, rubbing together until a small veilfire flame sparked to life. He felt the shift of energy, something as subtle as a change of pulse in his ears, or a muscle twitch. But the Veil seemed stable, no fluctuations.

Grinding stone, Lucanis’ blade was drawn and pointed to the wall that shifted open, revealing a doorway. It was carved into the stone, the thin hallway leading along only to end in a small office. Judging by the pinched look on Emmrich’s face? This was their target.

“Everything feel normal?”

“To me? Never.” The Necromancer huffed out a wry laugh, “Now that the wall has shifted, I can observe with great humility that Jestenoff’s specialty is keeping his work unseen. There are items attuned to the Fade here. I recommend we don’t linger, we don’t know what else he’s hiding.”

“Humility, huh? It’s refreshing to see someone admit they were wrong.”

“I don’t particularly savor the idea of failing in my duty.”

“Emmrich, you didn’t fail.” Lucanis’ heart was hammering, his chest was tight for various reasons as he hurriedly knelt to unlock the desk. The drawers were empty, apart from the singular false bottom and angry spiders that fled. “Nothing has happened -”

“- Yet.” The worried mage was firm, but cautious. “Nothing has happened yet.”

“What’s happened is I learned you like Orlesian opera.” Lucanis found his lower lip between his teeth as he picked at a heavy and rusted secondary lock.

“I prefer Antivan, if I’m being honest.” Emmrich sighed happily as he got lost in thought, “La traviata Violetta.”

“That’s an Antivan opera about an Orlesian.”

“I like it.”

“I’ll have to go and see what the fuss is about.” The lock popped apart, the false bottom of the drawer swinging back and open. “You’ll join me, I hope.”

“I’d be delighted.”

The box that sat inside was singular, heavy, but no bigger than Lucanis’ hand. The wood sturdy, heavier than it shoulder have been. There were gems on it, dulled green stones from the fade that glittered when Lucanis blew the dust away. The symbol burned into the top, familiar and oddly comforting for the Crow now, was Mourn Watch’s scarab beetle.

“From the Necropolis.” Lucanis glanced up, handing it over without a second thought. “Mourn Watch has exorcists?”

“Perhaps Jestenoff’s work is about containment, rather than simple secrecy.”

Emmrich took the box, with a gentle wave and graceful green mists, the box popped open. The scarab beetle necklace was weighty in Lucanis’ palm, but barely the size of a peach pit. It had a strange sensation to it, like it made the pit of one’s stomach drop as if they might retch.

Wedanceheleadswedanceheleadswedanceheleads-

The presence in the room changed, dimming as the sensation of calm, stale air was replaced with scalding pressure. It was weightlessness for a moment, before the yanking sensation against their bodies was too much to bear. Emmrich fought to grip at the walls, instead dragged along the uneven stone as Lucanis slid along the floor.

“w h o i s i n m y h o m e.”

The voice did not boom, echo, or rasp. It was quiet. Cold. Calm. Lucanis knew the sound of a predator who was too brutal to have a natural enemy.

“Mierda.”

They were deposited in the center of the ceremony chamber, the grip on the amulet had released letting it tumble across the paved slabs.

“d e a t h m a g e.”

It chipped at stone, but remained unscratched, the obsidian surface gleaming. Emmrich scrambled to get to it, quickly snatching it up, before Lucanis saw his hands clench, his head thrown back. But he didn’t let go of the necklace.

“y o u c o m e i n t o m y h o u s e.”

Lucanis felt as though he was invisible, stumbling to his feet as he sprinted across the chamber. Emmrich’s kicking boots scraped over dusty stone, dragged further from the Crow’s hand as his voice choked. Deadened in his throat.

“y o u t a k e w h a t d o e s n o t b e l o n g t o y o u.”

Spite’s wings burst forth, extending as Lucanis reached, leaping forwards as Emmrich left the ground. With a flash of green, he was shoved backwards, Lucanis snarled in panicked irritation at realizing it came from the Necromancer’s hand.

“Don’t be a hero Emmrich, don’t-”

“Y o u b e a r t h e s c a r a b.”

Lucanis’ voice died in his mouth as his eyes were able to focus, the massive being now attached to the Professor held him aloft with ease. It bent to fit into the already cavernous room, limbs hidden beneath ghastly cloaks of mist. Apart from the hand around Emmrich’s throat.

“I w i l l a c c e p t t h i s v e s s e l.”

Cage is open. Eyes upon us. Escapeescapeescape-

Trinket and escape be damned, Lucanis found himself moving against the Demon’s words. The pressure and heat of oppressive magic pushed at him relentlessly, painful. He couldn’t imagine what was being done to Emmrich at close range.

His dagger sank into still-solidifying flesh, as if the mist was condensing before his eyes, but it was enough. The massive wraith recoiled with a shriek, her prize crumpling to the floor. Lucanis didn’t wait, and he felt Spite’s terror push him, gripping the back of Emmrich’s jacket. With another burst of bright wings threw them both out of the casting circle and against the basement steps.

Too late.

Lucanis was certain he heard his ankle snap, the grip upon it tight enough to crack bone. An involuntary cry left his lips, enough cause the Necromancer’s eyelids to flutter. Something had snapped outwards from beneath tattered white robes, grabbing him painfully. He could see endless amounts of hands clawing and pulling this...thing across the ground.

The hand on his leg was bitterly cold, as if to pull the heat from his body, and Lucanis was dragged backwards, lifted away from his incapacitated comrade. His rapier clattered and skid across the smooth floor, only a dagger in his hand while he was inspected like the runt pup in a litter. Lucanis was held aloft, upside down, blood rushing to his head as multiple voices thundered through it.

“Ripyouopenfromtheinside-”

Spite felt like an inferno in moments when they were singular in their intent. He figured it was the closest he’d ever get to feeling like a dragon, with the heat and smoke rolling from between his teeth.

Lucanis’ skin was too hot, his nerves dancing as if he’d been struck by lightning. His teeth bared, parting in an enraged roar as the ghastly visage’s maw dropped open. The pit had teeth, and many reaching hands as if to swallow him whole, Lucanis resigning himself to cutting his way out of this thing. Until the hissing shrieks and whispers began to call out again.

“Eternal currents pull you forth.” Emmrich’s voice was hoarse, hair falling messily into his face after the fray, but upright as the amulet sat in his palm. “From the Void you come, and in the Void you shall rest!”

Lucanis felt the air knocked out of him as he hit the ground, head spinning and Spite chattering endlessly. Wave after wave of pressure washed over him, pressing him further into the ground, as if pulled into the casting circle’s surface. Spite focused intent split, as if dragged away, the Crow becoming aware of an agonizing ache behind his eyes.

Stop him!

“Through Flame I command you!” Emmrich’s words were sharp, so unlike his normal cadence, the amulet gripped tightly, chain clasped around the thin neck. “Relent!”

There was the sound of rushing air, the pained roar of Spite, and then… darkness.

Chapter Text

He heard the screams, were they of Emmrich? Of his spellcasting?

Such a heavy heart.

Lucanis could smell smoke. It was pungent, mixed with a coppery stink that was overly familiar to him after years in the business of assassination. The crying no longer was otherworldly, or echoing. Instead of terrifying Lucanis it broke his heart.

A child’s voice quietly wept, amongst the scent of fire, blood, and smoke. Lucanis’ body was heavy, unable to move anything but his own gaze. There wasn’t pain, pressure replaced what should have been searing agony. He felt it in his spine, his skull, his hips. As if his body had shattered entirely and he was forced to watch silently. Like a broken marionette.

Antivan. Puppetry.

This dream-state was too close to his own personal hell, he felt the pain of the stone and wooden beams pressing him down. It was a memory – not his own – yet he felt himself choking and struggling to breathe. The residual and remembered urge to reach out was there, but he was unable, the weeping boy frantically clambering to escape.

Small fingers were bloodied as he dug his way through the fallen stones, impeded as flames caused the beam above Lucanis to collapse further. There was still hope, a gap that had appeared he could easily crawl through. And perhaps, in the moment the memory recreated? He had.

Yet the boy stilled himself here. The air quieting, cooling, when the unnerving and twitching turn to the pinned Crow. The grin on the thin face was wide, and though the house around them crumbled a sound was born in the boy’s throat.

It was laughter, but not the shrill tones of a child. Something darker, more frantic -

- The darkness broke suddenly, blindingly. Lucanis found himself sitting up in his cot as if from a night-terror, the same incense scented pillow and blanket thrown upon him. His knees nearly buckled as he stood, not bothering to put on his boots as he hurried.

No one in the kitchen, no one in the courtyard. Good. No interruptions or interrogations.

“What was that dream?” He pushed at the heavy wooden doors, raced up the ramp, past the Dread Wolf’s murals. “Where the hell is the Demon? What did you do?”

No prison. No home. Nothing. No bite to the voice, it was pained. Exhausted. We danced.

“Emmrich.” Lucanis demanded of the air, unable to see the mocking copy of his face, “Where?”

The infirmary was stagnant. Spite often complained about how stale it was, dreamless. This was no exception, even Bellara’s bright presence couldn’t set it right. She was on her feet before Lucanis was fully through the door, body-blocking him from the bed beside her.

Nevarra. Has dragons. Hunters.

“How is he?” Lucanis was impressed by Bellara’s body-blocking ability, her hands clasping at his arms. “Why’s he here and I don’t have a scratch -”

“-Easy, easy. Everything is okay, I promise!” If it was anyone else, Lucanis would have snapped at them to move. But not her. “Or maybe ‘okay’ isn’t the word, but nobody’s dead!”

“The details are the issue, Bella.”

“The manor collapsed, Professor Volkarin managed to drag you out. He saved your life!”

Emmrich was not himself, it was apparent even when lying in bed unconscious. He was in his dressing gown, beneath covers propped up on pillows, his already thin face was gaunt. He was covered in a sheen of sweat, hair unkempt and some shade of stubble beginning to show on his cheeks. His breathing was labored, and his neck was bruised, but otherwise he seemed whole.

“What is this? Fever? Infection?” Lucanis’ mind was spinning.

“Fever.” Bellara sat again, a damp cloth pressing at the Necromancer’s cheeks and forehead, “He’s been like this for a full day, and it’s starting to settle down. Davrin, Taash, and Rook went to the Necropolis to try and identify what was left of the amulet -”

“- What was left?” Lucanis’ heart dropped, “It… It’s broken?”

They killed them all. The dragons.

“It is. Emmrich had the inventory list in his fist, but all that was left was the chain around his neck.” It was terribly to see Bellara’s face twisted with worry, he hated to be the cause of it. “I’m sorry, Lucanis.”

“No.” He shook it off. This went as terribly as it could have, and no one died. Yet. “No apologies. Emmrich’s alive after the contract I gave him almost killed us. This is on me.”

“On Illario.” Bellara corrected gently. “He’s the one who got the intel, didn’t he? And he’s the jealous type.”

Storied tradition. Of hunting.

“Yes. Him.” The calloused hands scrubbed over his face, Lucanis taking a deep breath. “I need coffee. I’ll take over for you now -”

“- The coffee can wait. You need to sit.”

It was a firm tone, still kind, but Lucanis didn’t want to risk the elf’s adorable ire. When he did sit, it still took a moment for her to start speaking. In the meantime she gently dabbed sweat off Emmrich’s brow with the cool cloth, lips twisted with worry.

“It was lucky that Viago was the one who found Emmrich; they know each other. If the guards had found him? Brought him to the Templars?” Bellara’s hands were in her lap, nervously picking at her nails. “Viago said Emmrich was acting strangely. I wasn’t sure what he meant until last night. He woke up… loudly. Angrily.”

WedancedIledwedancedIled- Spite wasn’t an inferno, he was sluggish, occupied as his words twirled around one another.

“Lucanis, I’m pretty sure I was talking to… something.” She shook her head, “But not the Professor.”

Ripped. In. Half.

“What did he say?” He didn’t want to know. Lucanis didn’t want the pieces to fall into place, but they had.

“He…. He kept ranting about being torn in two.” It distressed her, her eyes becoming unfocused as the memory played out in her mind. Bellara was, in all likelihood, the smartest person in the Lighthouse. She knew exactly what had occurred. “Do you think -”

“- Yes.” Lucanis confirmed. “I do.”

Beautiful. It was a purr, but rather than echo in his mind, Lucanis felt the heated breath of the word coast against the back of his neck. He called. Us. Beautiful

There was a sensation against the shell of his ear, like a whisper. He very nearly froze, but found himself turning to acknowledge where his sneering twin ought to have been. Guilt twisted in his gut, the thin face above him twisted in a grin, hair mussed, falling into empty, ghostly eyes. Not Emmrich’s physical self, but rather a doppleganger that mocked him.

Am I. Beautiful?

It wasn’t the same smile. It was like a jackal was seated inside the deep violet visage of the Necromancer. Not in his button down shirt and vest, but the torn and battered funerary vestments that he’d worn in Orlais.

“What have you done?” Lucanis’ chair fell backwards at how quickly he stood.

Wept. Spite spat, hair further falling into wild and glowing eyes. Unkempt, bleeding, agitated. She did this. To. Us.

“Give me a name.”

Vengeance. Retribution. Retaliation. Judgments. S i s t e r s. Spite’s spectral teeth bared, She did t h i s. To. Him.

In a blink, the space was empty, Lucanis’ eyes falling to the slumbering mage. The way the light fell over his face now made him seem almost peaceful. Almost.

“What did he say?” Bellara reminded him of her presence by taking his hand, he fell back into his seat with a dazed expression. “Any change?”

“Torn in two.” Lucanis’ head spun. It made no sense: he certainly didn’t feel different. “The amulet fractured Spite.”

“I’ve heard of Spirits breaking into different aspects, but never possessing two people at once.” Bellara worriedly bit at her thumbnail for a moment, “H-how do we help you? What do we do? He’s a mage, what about his life? His work -”

“- I don’t know.” The Crow finally managed to stop her. “Get some rest. I feel as though we’re going to need you, Bella.”

The silence was unnerving. Emmrich’s normally chatty, informative self quieted. Even Spite was muffled and weary from whatever had transpired. Lucanis couldn’t read, or pace, he simply sat and waited. And waited. And waited.

They’d forgotten to take off his rings. Lucanis found himself with a bit of rose oil on his hand, gently slipping off the gold bands and massaging the lengthy fingers. It was something he remembered from when he was a boy, when he was ill and feverish he recalled the gentle touch to his hands. His mother, more than likely. The idea of her made him wonder if Emmrich’s own mother had done similarly.

Minutes became hours, Lucanis lost count of the times he dabbed the sweaty brow and cheeks. His fever had broken, but beneath the thin blanket his body seemed to fight against an unknown. There was bruising on Emmrich’s skin, a split lip, and dark marks slowly disappearing around his neck. Markings like multiple fingers.

“Choked. Beaten.”

Lucanis recoiled, rising from the chair to pace away. He felt echoes of sensation, pain, his throat working against something sharp and too-large -

“- Don’t.” Shaking his head, trying to clear it, Lucanis braced himself against a wall. “Don’t do that -”

“- Forced.” Spite shoved his way through, Starving. But not for p o i s o n -"

“- Relent!”

The loud ‘crack’ coincided with a thunderous rumbling, the stave in Emmrich’s gloved hand twirled as he brought it about. Another burst of the bright green power, the obsidian scarab in his palm gained a scorching heat.

“p i t i f u l.”

Emmrich felt the solid stone fracture in his fist, the secondary piece clinging to the silver chain around his neck. Despite the bubbling skin on his palm Emmrich raised the fragment high, though he found he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the limp Crow.

“I know not why you are here, but you shall not have him!”

A moment of consideration, time for Emmrich to register the silver chain snapping, falling to the floor. The mass of white fabric, the thin funerary shrouds that endlessly fluttered, lifted, giving way to a writhing form. Endless hands reached, grabbing, clawing.

The stone cracked in her wake as she surged forwards, length and mottled hands outstretched. Emmrich’s breath left him, winded, a chill seized his insides, he felt phalanges gripping his ribs. It was as if this creature – a demon born of vengeful intent he would surmise – had reached into his organs.

Not physically, as there was no blood or viscera, but the magical energies around her appendage crackled and popped. Her arm vanished at the wrist against his abdomen, pulling at the heat and vitality in his form. His Invocative Scarifications – healed over, something he’d received during his Rite of the Marrow when he was barely a grown man – burned as if doused in a cold river.

Fingers curled, lifting him upwards and upwards once more. This must have been what she had done to his neck, why his voice felt choked and near broken. His staff was useless, though he tried to conjure up any kind of defense Emmrich found it struck from his hand.

Lucanis was meant to run, when he’d pushed him away. Rather Spite was. Then an exorcism would take place and ideally his friends would be free. It wasn’t meant to end this way.

The endless limbs gripped his wrists, when he kicked his legs were pinned together. She crowded him, pressing him with crushing pressure into the wall. It was as if he was being smothered by a burning star. Vengeance pulled the amulet from his clenched fist, which he swung at her, loathing boiling over in him at hearing her laughter.

“L i t t l e m a g e.”

Another hand gripped his face, squeezing until his jaw popped and an involuntary cry left him. Upon parting his lips, Emmrich gagged, choking, the sharp and uncomfortable fragment cut at his throat, but it was pressed down regardless. He felt the painful knuckle of her finger, the withdrawal causing him to gag and retch.

“Y o u f r e e m e. I g r a n t y o u r w i s h.”

Her hands released, Emmrich aware of wind whistling past his ears before his back hit the ground. Winded entirely, his throat aching and coughing raggedly he did his best to stand. It was as if an inferno built in his chest, he considered that he might be going into cardiac arrest until he felt the familiar pressure and smell of tin. Maybe it was a bit of both.

It was as if he’d been hit by a bolt of lightning, his muscles didn’t feel like his own, burning, a haze of violet tunneling his vision with a pain at the back of his eyes. Lucanis was motionless, and yet Emmrich could hear the low chittering and growling of the Spirit he harbored. He could feel the pulse and breath of the unconscious man before him.

With every inhalation, he felt the heat rise, Spite’s presence growing, and upon the exhale he could smell only iron, bracing himself against the floor. He was hammered down again, struck, sent rolling and unceremoniously bouncing across stone, colliding with Lucanis as he came to a stop. He hadn’t felt this terrible since his Harrowing.

He should have seen this coming. Spite had w a r n e d h i m and he didn’t listen. What a fool he’d been -

“Y o u w i l l l e a r n.”

Vengeance had a multitude of limbs, hands that stretched out and upwards towards the dimly lit ceiling. The low rumble became a steady roar, masonry cracking as the stone began to crumble around them. One moment she reached towards the apex of the ceiling, and the next Emmrich found himself alone.

He, Lucanis, and the cavernous room coming apart above their heads.

The burning lump of rock in his stomach grew more scalding by the moment, cuts and burns in his throat from when he had been forced to ingest it. Yet the heat was something new, indescribable as he struggled to lift Lucanis, gripping the back of his cloak.

“Shit!”

Emmrich felt the rush of air from above in time to lift his arms. A burst of power, a grunt of effort, and he found himself supporting a massive piece of masonry that had come loose. Dirt felt from above into his face, Spite fuming and barking behind his eyes.

It felt wrong in so many ways, his head too full, too chaotic and full of pain -

- Too heavy!

Spite was closer now. Clearer than he’d ever been, as if the Spirit was standing right beside him. He dared not look, lest he see the doppleganger that Lucanis had often spoke of. As it was, the long forgotten marks on his skin began to become scalding, casting a faint violet light along his bones.

“I am aware!”

It was growled out from between bared, bloodied teeth. Emmrich felt his boots skidding back, forced downwards by the sheer volume of rock above his head. How was he doing this? He could only hold so much, his magical focus wasn’t on kinetic forces -

Run!

“You got him to the Veiljumper camp before!” Emmrich couldn’t tell if Lucanis was breathing, as he glanced down at him between his feet. “Do it now! Get him out of here!”

Cannot. Not without you.

“You pick a fine time to be choosey, Spite!”

Not without contract.

A contract.

Keep you safe. Keep. Us. Safe.

Emmrich was frozen staring upwards, found the light dimming, room collapsing inwards around them, the entire estate coming down on their heads as it became pitch black -

My contract.

Was the pleased purr, Emmrich could swear he felt strange sensations licking up and down his body. As if the Spirit was caressing every tense muscle that held the room together. What would the other Watchers say? Rook? Any of them -

We dance.

“Yes!”

The Necromancer knew better. He knew better than to let a Spirit take control in this way. But as he saw blood trickling from Lucanis’ nose and mouth? He didn’t care.

“I accept-”

- A scream left the once unconscious body, blankets kicked aside, the thin body wedged in the corner of the room.

Wild eyes, heaving chest, flushed, afraid. But alive. His hands gripped the fabric of his dressing gown, tightened into fists as he struggled to breathe. With a quick movement he was streaking from the room, a blur of soft white linens and gentle perfume.

Lucanis found himself snatching up Emmrich’s blanket and breaking into a full sprint to keep up. There was a moment of panic when he realized they were both bounding for the Eluvian, especially with Spite’s proclivity for escapism. Hell, he’d witnessed the nightmare second-hand, and he had wanted to run too.

The Crow hopped through in time to see Emmrich collapse. His knees hit the stone at the edges of the cobblestone island, hands bracing him against the ground. He was speaking into the empty space before him, softly, repetitive, as if to soothe himself.

“I’m outside…” He huffed. He began to gather himself, inhaling through his nostrils and out through his mouth. “I-I’m outside…”

“Mierda.” Lucanis’ fear of the Necromancer plummeting into the Fade vanished. When Emmrich’s gaze lifted to him, he could still see mind-numbing fear. “Are you all right? Thought Spite was going to take you off the side -”

“- No.” An elegant finger pointed, his gaze wild as it searched the assassin’s face. “Desist with deceptions, Spirit! You can’t imprison me in this dream -”

“- Easy!” He kept his distance, even when the mage faltered, and the pointed finger – a notched arrow pointed at him, considering the magical talent – began to lower. “There’s no dream. We’re out.”

“We… we did.” Emmrich did his best to comb his hair out of his face, glancing about in an uncharacteristically distracted manner. “Didn’t we? I-I kept dreaming that… this is real, isn’t it?”

“It’s real.” Carefully, gently, the blanket was draped over the thin shoulders. “We’re here. We’re out of that damn house.”

“What happened in Orlais.” It moved over his face like a wave, realization as a thick swallow sent pain radiating through his chest. “That was real.”

“It was.” Lucanis fell into a crouch beside him, “Silly question: how do you feel?”

“Awful.” Emmrich’s hands scrubbed over his face, one of which was wrapped in bandages. “Over forty years late, but I failed my Harrowing.”

“You didn’t fail. That was forced on you -”

“- You don’t need to make me feel better about it.” It was probably the harshest Emmrich had ever become towards Lucanis. Then he caught himself, softening his tone considerably. “I allowed a Spirit to take even partial possession. What’s done is done.”

“Why?” Lucanis knew why, but somehow he couldn’t fathom the idea of someone giving enough of a damn about him to take on the burden of a Demon. “Why do that to yourself?”

Emmrich remained on his knees as he pulled the quilt tightly around his chest, head tipped back, as if to remind himself that there was nothing but open sky above him. Not crumbling masonry, or falling stones. Just cool, clear, open air.

“I couldn’t do it alone, and I wasn’t going to let us die.” A frown, then a shake of the head, “Not like that.”

“Bella said the house collapsed.” Lucanis bluntly inquired, “Was that you, or the Demon?”

“Bellara is being generous.” Emmrich snorted, faintly and foggily recalling the panic he’d witnessed when topside. There wasn’t rubble so much as a great hole where the manor had been. “Vengeance caused it to implode. Spite needed me to escape and I don’t recall what he did to accomplish as much.”

“He needed a mage.” Lucanis plopped down on the ground beside his friend, who reached and gripped his hand tightly. The bandage was scratchy, thick, but it didn’t stop the grip from making his hand ache. “I’m so sorry I left you alone, Emmrich.”

The job wasn’t supposed to go this way. They were supposed to break in, separate Spite from him. Then he and Emmrich could do whatever the hell they wanted without the jackal looking over their shoulders.

“She fed me half the amulet.” Emmrich’s eyes didn’t open as he continued, knowing the look of disgust on Lucanis’ face. “Rather force-fed me. I’m not sure where the other half went. Then, when she tried to tie up loose ends, Spite assisted me.”

“How?”

“He kept us from being crushed with whatever connection has been made. I have never been able to utilize a kinetic force on that scale before.” At Lucanis’ patient stare Emmrich chuckled, “I was able to keep us from being crushed. It wasn’t enough, and so Spite and I made the decision to enact a contract.”

“With Spite? You don’t know what it is you’ve -”

“- I know perfectly well what I did.” Indignant, Emmrich’s manicured brow raised. “We’re alive, aren’t we? That was – is - the contract.”

They were. Apparently the decision kept them from becoming two more corpses in a pit. Spite was pleased with himself at their proximity, his low growling chatters more apparent while Emmrich’s eyes remained closed. After some time, the Necromancer’s knees began to complain, and he allowed Lucanis to pull him to his feet.

The scarifications did go down his legs, Lucanis noticed. Good to know.

“You keep saving me.” The Crow was frowning, “And now you’re stuck with my fucking demon.”

“I chose my fate, darling. Would it be wrong to say I’d do it all over again, for you?”

There went that feeling in Lucanis’ chest. Felt like something flipping and flopping about, a tingling in the tips of his toes all the way to his ears. Felt almost like when Spite made his eyes glow, like a burst of power, but this was less electric and more comforting. More like Emmrich.

“I won’t say you’re wrong.” The Crow let out a laugh, something loose, relieved. “Insane, maybe.”

“I’m in good company, I hope.”

The Watcher was borderline irritable until he was allowed to bathe, it gave Lucanis a moment to leave him and down a cup of coffee. Emmrich was barely dressed by the time he returned, clean, in his nightclothes and dressing gown. More like himself.

Soft. Spite spoke as if he was gazing at a marvel, then caught himself. Stinks of roses. Again.

As if it was still that night in the kitchen, and the fragment Demon of Spite wasn’t crawling around his guts. This was how Emmrich might appear in the wee hours of the morning, just before he drank his tea and began his morning stretching. Lucanis had often watched from afar, once or twice he’d even joined in. Today? Who the hell knew.

“Feeling better?” Salivating, Lucanis could pick up the distinct and familiar odor of roses, elfroot and vanilla. Spite didn’t know what to do with himself, felt like a live current webbing betwixt the pair of them. “It’s been a pretty intense morning.”

“It helps me think, not to feel the previous day on my skin.” The clean shaven mage hummed happily. He had a night shirt on beneath the closed gown, loose clothes that were tailored to compliment the fit and thin frame. “Early morning bath does one good.”

Hate baths.

“You didn’t hate the soap bubbles, did you?” Emmrich began to pull his grave dowry back on, his gold rings looked over appreciatively as the Spirit growled. “He was convinced they’d taste good. They did not.”

Bahhh…

Emmrich was taking notes by the time he’d sat down at his desk, humming as he tiredly scrawled out various questions and hypothesis’ to ponder when he had full control of his faculties. Lucanis could relate to this, needing work to focus and avoid thinking about the literal beast hovering over your shoulder. Which there was.

“Does he always do this?” Emmrich eventually couldn’t stand his incorporeal twin breathing down his neck, frowning deeply at Lucanis’ nod, “Ugh.”

Want to see.

“I require space, so a compromise must be made.” Emmrich commanded, making it Spite’s turn to grimace, “Two paces back.”

Can’t see!

“You can, I have absolute faith in you. Two paces.”

With a growl, and a vast amount surprise from Lucanis, Spite took two small steps backwards.

“Can you still see?” Emmrich waited patiently for Spite’s stubborn nod, “Very good. Would you like to know what it is I’m working on?”

Me? Spite hopefully tried, bouncing on the balls of his feet, Things for me.

“Correct… Ah! Thank you, Manfred.”

Manfred, ever helpful a reflection of his sweet mentor, was holding out a tray with tea. It was a comfort to see him, especially around Emmrich. Lucanis trusted him and Emmrich’s sway over Spite enough, he gave himself more leave to follow Emmrich’s example and bathe.

It was just more time alone to ruminate. He was good at that, an expert on cyclical thinking after a year of on and off torture. He blocked a lot of it out, and if he made the bathwater scalding it was enough to distract him from the flashes of memories. Of pinches, poking, tearing, burning, ripping. Most of the time.

Fucking Illario.

Lucanis took a deep breath, sank beneath the bubbles.

Illario had set them up. Again. Or the Venatori ‘contacts’ had taken advantage of him and set his cousin up for the fall. Either way, it confirmed that he was a permanent liability. Maybe he wasn’t the total villain – something Lucanis hoped for, for the sake of their grandmother – but it was clear he couldn’t organize to save a life. Compromised. Useless, at least as a Crow.

We were right. Spite leaned against the side of the tub, black leather gloved hands idly playing with the suds. Should have killed him.

He surfaced in the tub, exiting, toweling himself off. Then, as Emmrich had instructed, slathered himself with the oil. Felt odd at first, then pleasant with how soft his skin was.

Smell like Emmrich.

He dressed himself and maybe stole a Halla cake to try and stifle the hunger. It didn’t work, but he could think a bit clearer.

Pieces. Two halves. Not a whole.

“Are you in pain from all this? Or hurt?”

No. Spite impatiently snarled and waved the concern away, Broken apart. So many times before.

The Necromancer’s room was laced with a gentle smoke, Manfred busy setting incense cones in their holder while his mentor worked. At first nothing seemed amiss, but the way the thin back hunched as he scribbled eventually tipped Lucanis off. That definitely wasn’t the posture of a refined academic.

Emmrich had mentioned not wanting to sleep, but he must have dozed off considering the assassin found Spite writing madly with a quill. He hardly regarded Lucanis, lips twisted in concentration as he added to a pile of different geometric patterns and sequences. Somehow the ink avoided fabric, but it was only a matter of time.

“Mmm. Questions.” Spite lifted his current working, squinted at the strange glyphs before slapping it down and adding more, ink smeared on his fingers. “Them out. Us in. Quiet. But still. More questions.”

“Have you been talking to Emmrich while talking to me?”

“Yes.” Spite continued to work, “Always talking. So much talking both inside and outside.”

“Emmrich can be pretty chatty, that’ is true.”

“Endless.” Was the baffled confirmation.

“He does pause to take a breath. Sometimes.”

“They’ll stop?” Spite’s head lifted, brows pulling together with concern.

“Not for a long while.”

“Good.” Spite set back to it, smearing spilled ink on the page before shaking his head. “Bored.”

“Bored!” Was the cheerful echo from the skeletal ward, who dutifully kept rapt attention to the open book in his hands.

“Doesn’t matter if you’re bored.” Lucanis couldn’t help but gloat a little bit at the Demon. “You’re not getting him into any more trouble with that ink.”

“No trouble.” He pointed at the small table that Hezenkoss sat upon, Lucanis noting a box had been overturned and set over her. “I eat this.”

“You cannot eat the half-lich skull, Spite.”

Lucanis couldn’t lie, he wasn’t even going to bother uncovering Johanna until Emmrich inevitably noticed. But he had to wonder where the hell Spite or Manfred got the empty apple box from.

“Can.” Was the informative and stubborn reply. “Very possible.”

“Not for Emmrich.” Lucanis had seen the glare and scowl quite a bit, but it didn’t have as much of an impact with Emmrich’s face. “It’s time for you both to sleep.”

“Hm.” An inky partial handprint was pressed into the wood of the desk. Something that Emmrich would being annoyed at later, the Crow was certain. “No.”

“Spite.” It was a warning growl, but it was difficult to maintain his ire at the mage. “You can come with me to the kitchen, let him rest while I cook.”

“Refuse.”

“You can lick the spoon if I make cake.”

“Want to work.” Spite insisted, motioning to the disorganized array of glyph-scribbles. “Want to answer. He asks things. We haven’t considered for millenia.”

“You have time to answer when he’s not wearing all white and you’re playing in ink.” Lucanis’ eyes remained fixed on the splattered palms and fingers. “I could make you coffee, like we do sometimes. Or you could play with Neve’s whisps.”

Considering it was something both Emmrich and Spite liked to do, Lucanis tossed it out there. It seemed to work, as Spite looked thoughtful rather than indefinitely annoyed.

“...No whisps. Can’t talk to whisps.” Spite was clearly disappointed, but relented. “Sleep.”

Like herding a fucking cat, which Lucanis had done due to the amount of strays around his favorite cafe. Spite grunted, gave a bit of a fuss before Lucanis got him to stand. He managed to herd him halfway up the staircase before the Demon took initiative and marched upwards. His library was intact, but along his windows the curtains were drawn.

It was a private area, recently Emmrich had put up a partitions – gifts from Viago - in addition to the tailored insulating curtains – gifts from Teia. Most if not all of the new furniture was due to Hexenkoss’s vexing commentary. Kept out the drafts from the Fade, as well as made it a bit quieter for sleep. Because of some of the books and trinkets Emmrich had placed and hung near the bed against the wall, Lucanis had to admit it was homey. All it lacked was a door.

“Expected something else.”

“Oh?” It was so strange to hear the bitten out and gruff statements in the normally melodic tones. Lucanis couldn’t help but feel selfish for being grateful that he wasn’t alone in this any longer.

“No. No.” Spite stalked away beyond the curtains. “No. Starving. Same fears. Same hunger. All the same.”

Lucanis hated that he knew what Spite meant, because he could still feel the strange hunger and empty void in his body.

“Noted.” Bitterly, he spat it out, “Now let the man go to bed. He can’t drink coffee for days at a time like I can.”

“Can.” Spite challenged, stubbornly standing beside the twin-sized wooden bedframe. “Slept enough. Can.”

“Won’t.” Lucanis shot back, arms folding across his chest, “It’s bad enough I can’t get him to eat meat. I barely got him to start eating cheese and honey, you’re not destroying him with coffee.”

“He dreams. Better than you.” The sneer was so foreign on Emmrich’s face, and the short words lacked their usual grace. “Wards. Contract. Very, very specific.”

“Just go to bed you pain in my ass.”

“Not. Alone.”

“You want me to read to you?” Lucanis made the mistake of mocking the demon, dark smoke escaping from between the perfect, bared teeth of the mage-host. “Is that it?”

Emmrich was taller than Lucanis had expected, especially when the Necromancer was crowded into his space. Spite was very strong in this state, able to move quickly and crowd against the Crow. With a choked sound, Lucanis found himself pinned, a thin knee knocking apart his thighs, and two lengthy arms caging him in.

“Hungry.” Spite’s teeth bared at the curve of Lucanis’ neck, causing goosebumps to rise on his skin. “Like. You.”

Apparently the Demon was tired of the timid flirting and plans for nights at the opera.

“- You can’t do this to him, Spite. He has to be awake to agree -”

“You. Did this.” Accusatory, frustrated, Spite snarled in Lucanis’ face. “Made it w o r s e. You did this. To. Me.”

The statement coming from the twisted and near-angry face of companion was enough to make Lucanis falter a bit, but he shook it off. He reached, found the Necromancer’s jaw in his hands as he cupped his face.

“Emmrich.” It was stern, loud. “Wake up.”

“No. No!” Spite’s body tensed. Lucanis could see his pupils dilating in and out as his host fought him. “Both of you! You did this! Trapped in meat -”

“- Fuck.” With a shake of his head, and gritting of his teeth, Spite was silent. Or at least not commandeering Emmrich’s mouth.

Not that his language dictated as much. Lucanis couldn’t help but let out a laugh at the curse, never having heard it from Emmrich. The Necromancer sagged into Lucanis’ touch, really only standing due to his arms bracing him against the bookcase behind. It was a comfortable weight, something warm and welcome without being a strain.

“I’m not sure I’ve ever heard you curse before.” Lucanis didn’t know what the hell to do with his hands other than bear the weight of the mage, especially considering he wanted to grip the fabric of Emmrich’s loose night shirt and rip it open. “You’re surprisingly good at it.”

“I prefer not to.” Emmrich’s head lifted from where it had rested on Lucanis’ shoulder, “Though being considered an Abomination it seems an appropriate time to do so.”

“Hate that word.” Lucanis growled.

“I do as well.”

“Neither one of us are abominations, Emmrich. I refuse that word.”

There was a beat when their eyes met, it felt like one of the cliché moments in one of Bellara’s serials. It was strange, magnetic, a pull between them that felt like the room had grown to a scalding heat. Lucanis felt something against his lower lip, Emmrich’s thumb brushing across it, a gentle caress. It was absent, the mage’s eyes moving about the assassin’s face, lost in it for a moment.

“Emmrich?” Lucanis could hear his own pulse. Had that ever happened before? He wasn’t sure.

The Necromancer started a moment, almost as if realizing his actions, before he surged forward to claim his lips. It was possessive, heated, molding against him as if it was made for him. Fingers threaded into Lucanis’ hair, not quite a tug, but it was still a possessive hold.

B i t e.

The assassin’s arms were around Emmrich’s waist, gripping his shirt as he found his equilibrium in the surprise affection. The mage was like a furnace, it was as if he generated heat that Lucanis clung too. His mouth was claimed over and over, Emmrich greedy in his kisses, like he was a starving man and Lucanis was sustenance.

Then, suddenly, it halted. The heat didn’t fade, but Lucanis nearly gasped with the sudden lack of contact, sobered by Emmrich’s absence. He didn’t withdraw far, just enough to let them breathe, sharing the same space against the bookshelf.

“Please forgive me.” Though he did his best to compose himself, Emmrich failed, “I should have gone about this differently.”

“I-It’s fine -”

- I t ‘ s n o t f i n e – Spite’s tantrum remained internal, his snarling frustration rolling like heavy humidity through their every nerve.

“- I should have spoken to you, first.” Emmrich still spoke, but Lucanis was distracted as he noticed the hardness pressing against his leg. “I’ve always been fond of you, Lucanis. After nearly dying with you? It seems foolish to hold back.”

He knew exactly what Emmrich meant. Whether it was Spite’s influence or something else entirely? He wasn’t sure. And he no longer cared. They were bonded on a unique level now, beyond their faint flirtations and conversations about Spirits in the Fade. The two of them had almost died for each other multiple times, and that was just within the last week.

“- I need this. You.” The Crow was short of breath, his cheeks flushed as he felt whatever resistance within him vanish. “Whatever it is you want? I’m alright with giving. I promise.”

The deep, hazel eyes lingered upon the assassin’s lips, swallowing thickly before he found himself claiming them in a kiss once more. It felt somehow like a crushing emptiness extinguished, and a burning flame ignited. The dressing gown dropped, fluttering to the floor.

Y e s.

Touching the Necromancer was lightning beneath his fingertips, Lucanis following through with his desire of popping open Emmrich’s night shirt and slipping his hands within. Likewise his own vest and shirt were opened, a welcome breeze across his overheated body. Daring, but gentle, his nails began a quick drag down Emmrich’s lengthy back

In response, the knee between Lucanis’ legs lifted, pressing harder against the flushing member trapped in in the black breeches. In the same moment he felt Emmrich’s teeth bite and hold his lower lip, bracing his lower back with a single hand to slide him just a bit closer. Lucanis would deny the sound he made, if asked, but Emmrich was decidedly smug about the moan and near whimper.

“Not too loud, darling.”

It was gentlest of admonishments, coinciding with a slender hand slipping past Lucanis’ undone belt and trousers. The Crow was hard, judging by how he had to steady himself the fearsome assassin was nervous putty in the hands of the Necromancer.

Emmrich had drawn him from his trousers, found the assassin to be the length of his palm and forefinger, impressed by the weighty thickness of him. Lucanis hardly gave a damn about that as he was being gently stroked, squeezed, a thumb gently teasing the head. It took so little to get him flushed and panting, twitching in Emmrich’s fist.

“Would it be terribly forward of me to confess something?” Emmrich’s heated breath coasted over his skin, “That I’ve wanted to devour you since the moment we met?”

Lucanis would have responded but Emmrich placing a solid bite on his neck got a small, bitten-back inhalation instead. Emmrich could see a light, violet, that lit up behind the soft gelatin of Lucanis’ eyes at the painfully pleasurable stimulation.

It was hard to think with so many simultaneous sensations, which didn’t get easier as Emmrich continued to stroke him. It was firm, not tugging but squeezing and massaging the soft tissues, working them up and down. His thumb circled the flushed head, pressing ever so slightly as he bit at the shell of the assassin’s ear, tugging gently.

“I-I should tell you,” Lucanis warned, “I’m not what one would called ‘experienced’ in this regard.”

A flicker of intrigue in the mage’s gaze, amusement and affection, Lucanis’ head spinning at the deep, reassuring kiss he received. It wasn’t all tongue and teeth as before, certainly not chaste but it was softer.

“You are in the safest of hands, my dear.”

The low, purring growl hummed along their spines, Spite’s heated pleasure at their actions was apparent and palpable. But Lucanis didn’t feel the strange, cramping emptiness as Emmrich sank to his knees. Instead it was just heat, and lust, amplified beyond anything he had ever felt-

“-Emmrich-”

-The loose, wet kisses to the underside of his cock almost caused him to come undone, instead biting his lower lip painfully as Emmrich found a comfortable position with a pillow on the hardwood floor. It didn’t matter, Lucanis knew he wasn’t going to last long, at the very least it meant it’d spare the mage’s knees.

There were hands on his hips, holding him steady, fingers hooked into fabric to keep it parted and open. Involuntarily, Lucanis’ fingers tangled in the silver and black hair, choking into his fist as his length was engulfed in a wet heat.

At first it was a gentle friction, but Emmrich began to pull back, then slip forward again, swallowing Lucanis over and over. It was a deep, steady suction, stroking and teasing at the already compromised length.

“Mm…” Said mage didn’t seem to mind at all, flushed and enthusiastic in his work. Hungrily he continued, felt the tugging against his hair and gentle little thrusts against his lips.

Emmrich didn’t stop at hearing the desperate whispers, rather he seemed to quicken his pace. His eyes were shut, blissful, his lips flushed, slick with saliva. The tighter Lucanis’ grip on his hair, the quicker the pace, until he felt the pleasurable sting from his scalp as he was tugged. He was shoved against the tensing abdomen, nose buried in the dark hair.

It whited out Lucanis’ mind, even for just a moment, peaceful and warm oblivion. He heard nothing, not even Spite, at least not until he came down just a bit. A purr seemed to surround them, like the sound itself caressed their skin.

Lucanis felt the mage’s lips working their way back up his stomach with biting kisses, following the trail of hair until he was standing again. By the time he was on his feet, Lucanis was reaching for him, his kisses loose and lazy in his afterglow. Emmrich’s lips did taste differently, the Crow realized he was tasting himself on the mage’s tongue.

Unlike his kisses, the Necromancer’s cock tasted like vanilla, and a vague hint of elfroot. Something about the oil that slicked Emmrich had the herbal aftertaste of the potions the scarfed in combat. Ingenious, really, to put a healing salve in the lubrication. He’d have to compliment Emmrich for it later.

“Touched himself. In the bath.” It was a satisfied snarling that left the mage in a deeper blush than he already was, “Thought of you. Used his f i n g e r s, used the o i l , pretended it was u s -”

“- Slowly…” Emmrich instructed as he tore control of his mouth back from the Spirit, laid back on the pillows of his bed. He was watching Lucanis’ head dip, the slick warmth stroking him. “Take your time.”

It wasn’t too foreign a concept, sucking a cock. Lucanis had certainly fantasized about it enough and it mostly had to do with maintaining a steady rhythm. That and making sure his teeth didn’t scrape against skin. What he hadn’t anticipated was being so devastatingly turned on while doing it. Or that he’d actually enjoy the sensation of someone in his mouth and petting at his head.

Emmrich was long as well, he was tempted to try and swallow the whole thing down but knew he’d probably choke. Lucanis liked the work, the way his partner’s breath hitched. How the perfect white teeth bit at his lower lip upon every downward stroke, and upon the withdrawal upwards let his lips part ever so slightly in a silent moan.

“I daresay you’re a natural at this.” Was the surprised and breathless chuckle, “N-now, start with just the one, and we’ll work our way up.”

It was easy to coordinate between the two, the pad of the lubricated finger gently circling the tight ring of muscle. When pressing in, Spite crooned in victory at the already present slickness, confirming the Emmrich had indeed been busy in the bath.

Lucanis felt the body above him rock down against his hand, almost breathing out a sight of relief at the sensation of being penetrated. Taking Emmrich’s needy cue, Lucanis carefully added another finger, his middle and ring finger slick with lubrication as they made a slight curve.

He used his fingers in a similar way on himself, but Emmrich didn’t need to know that yet. They sank into the mage, it wasn’t lost on the Crow how desperate he’d become beneath his ministrations. The curtains around them only did so much, it was clear in the low light of Emmrich’s elven lantern that he had to cover his mouth to quiet himself considerably.

A pillow was snatched up, held tightly as Emmrich bit down upon it, thighs tensing and releasing, rocking down against the working fingers. The pads of Lucanis’ fingers found the tell-tale bundle of nerves, and it was far easier to locate than on his own person.

Upon slipping in the third finger, the tight sheath gently constricted as Emmrich involuntarily reacted. The assassin had mentioned not being practiced, but he was a fast learner at the very least. Not to mention he knew how to touch himself.

“H-harder, please…”

Emmrich was polite, as usual. Lucanis fingers found a quick but firm rhythm, fingers rocking upwards as his head dropped, noting how very little instruction the mage had given up until this point. Instead he seemed more focused on not being caught, or simply trying not to give them away.

“-Harder-” His legs spread just a bit further, a wanton gesture that Lucanis obliged.

Emmrich was controlled to a point, but he would blurt out little words, despite his desperation for quiet. Lucanis was fairly certain - by the soft, muffled sounds and gentle rutting against his hand – that the Necromancer was close -

“- Wait.” It was a gentle order, but the urgency in it even seemed to catch Spite off guard.

“What’s wrong?” Slightly confused and staggeringly hard again, Lucanis halted. Secretly? He was relieved, considering his neck was starting to hurt.

“Nothing.” Emmrich’s head rested back upon his pillows, a near-dizzy grin on his face as his thumb gently caressed one of Lucanis’ flushed lips. “I’d like to do more for you, please.”

Emmrich seemed like he barely weighed anything, but despite his vegetarian diet there was muscle enough to him. As he straddled Lucanis on the mattress, it was more apparent than ever in the best way possible. Something about being pressed into the soft cushions, able to run his hands up the scalding hot body above him.

“You’re burning up.” Lucanis felt a soft sheen of sweat beneath his palms. “I thought your fever broke?”

“I-I’m told that is a side effect of possession.” Emmrich certainly felt overheated in the moment. “As are occasional heightened states of arousal -”

“- Which is explains why Spite’s been tormenting us.” Lucanis had to wonder how Spite would react to this. How Spirits experienced this kind of intimacy.

“Spirits merely exacerbate what is already there.” Emmrich kept his eyes on Lucanis’ face, the Crow’s lips slackened, his eyelids sliding shut as he savored the sensation of oil slicking his cock. “They take away inhibitions at times, but we influence them just as much as they influence us -”

- T o u c h. Was the desperate, reverberating sound from the demon that Emmrich recognized from his time in the bath. It disrupted the purring growl around them. P l e a s e.

Calloused fingers followed the soft, scarred, discolorations in Emmrich’s skin, along his ribs, the crests of his hips, his spine. His fingers danced, exploring, felt a practiced hand stroking him, the scent of elfroot and vanilla causing him to salivate further. Lucanis dug his heels in, knees bending as he felt Emmrich begin to settle onto his cock.

“What are these?”

“Th-they’re scarifications. Watchers c-can elect to participate in the Rite of the Marrow – ah -”

There was a moment of pain, a brief embarrassed wince on Emmrich’s face before Lucanis felt the muscles shift and slip around him. Carefully, ever so carefully – and maddeningly slowly – Emmrich impaled himself on the thick length.

“Keep going.” Lucanis pressed, curious as he continued to investigate the lines.

“I-It is a voluntary ritual.” The mage tried to focus, it was difficult to think in the moment. “It means that we are trained in combative healing arts.”

“I like them on you.” Lucanis continued to distract Emmrich with the soft, tickling touches.

“They haven’t been this sensitive since I received them.” Even now he was taking mental notes.

“Need me to stop?”

“Please don’t.” Emmrich’s own hands flew to Lucanis’, keeping them pressed against his skin.

Emmrich clearly wanted to go faster than his body or his environment allowed: couldn’t hurt himself by simply rutting it out roughly, couldn’t be too loud and have Johanna screaming or distracting Manfred from his studies.

Patient, as always, Emmrich slowly sank down on the slickened cock, until he felt his lover’s hips against him. He felt Lucanis’ hands gripping his thighs, giving an experimental rock forwards, rewarded with a burning sting. It wasn’t total discomfort, but a satisfying stretch to him, something he hadn’t felt for some time.

Emmrich forgot himself for a moment, uncaring as his eyes fluttered shut. He gripped the headboard of his bed for leverage. He was encouraged when he felt the Crow’s fingernails dig into his hips, rocking upwards into him. He almost yelped as he felt a sharp slap, felt their hips meet harshly in a hard thrust that he instinctively rocked down against. Lucanis rewarded him with another, and another.

They found a quiet, quick pace, Emmrich’s hips snapping downwards against the carefully timed thrusts. Hair mussed, night shirt unbuttoned and half fallen off his shoulders, still adorned in gold as his skin flushed -

“- Lucanis…” Eyes closed in a breathy prayer, something whispered as Emmrich worked himself greedily on the thick length. “Lucanis…”

“Maker…”

Lucanis cupped and squeezed at Emmrich’s cock, thumb pressing and rubbing gentle circles at the tip as the mage had done for him. The Necromancer’s moan of pleasure got a hand over his mouth, but he didn’t seem to mind being silenced. If anything the secondary and rough touch seemed to arouse him more, quicken his pace into Lucanis’ hand.

The soft sheath around Lucanis’ cock was slick, heated, and perfect. He had to bite back all the filthy promises and praise, instead hearkening back to the beginning of their encounter and dragging his nails down Emmrich’s back.

“Oh-”

Lucanis’ hand slapped back over Emmrich’s mouth, though it was difficult to reach this time considering his back had arched. Lucanis’ rasping whisper at his ear brought him to reality, a shiver moving through him at the sound.

“You thought about me inside of you, earlier?”

“Yes…” It was a soft admission, he could hear the sounds of their bodies against one another, felt the thick, blissfully scalding length inside of him. “I-In the bath -”

“- So warm…” Rumbling, heated, and needy, Lucanis felt the Demon’s words rolling out of him like dragon fire. It was easy for Spite to express, considering it was all the Crow could think of. Emmrich’s body felt perfect. “So soft -”

“- I’m close, Emmrich.” Lucanis felt the tingle and ache of Spite behind his eyes. Not unpleasant, more like a headrush of the demon demanding a presence. “Come with me...”

“Inside me…” Breathless, desperate as the mage’s pace quickened, but quiet in his need. “Please, come inside me...”

Heat built in their bodies, a tension, like a cord that pulled into an ever snug slipknot that could come undone with any moment. Lucanis canted his hips upwards, stroking Emmrich, and as he felt that burning knot come undone he heard a faint gasp from his partner. He swore, as his fingers traced over the lines of faint scarring, that tiny bursts of violet drifted from beneath his fingers.

The Necromancer bit back his cry as he began climax, spilled over onto his lover’s chest and stomach as he desperately rode the assassin. He was clenching, twitching around Lucanis as he came, it felt like he was kissing up and down the length of his cock.

For a moment it was that same heated oblivion. A rush of pleasure that scrambled both himself and the growling Demon. Every muscle seized a moment before releasing, Lucanis’ nails digging into skin as his hips hammered upwards.

Emmrich was content to use his chest as a pillow, though Lucanis wasn’t certain how comfortable that actually was. Still, he didn’t mind sharing the small bed as much as he though he would. It smelled of the mage, of their lovemaking and the oils used. It was quiet too, muffled and cozy.

“I meant to ask.” Lucanis absently spoke, merely thinking out loud. Emmrich could hear his voice rumbling in his chest. “Spite always calls what you do ‘dancing.’”

There was a sleepy hum of acknowledgment, Emmrich too comfortable with his cheek mashed into the Crow’s pectoral to move. Lucanis liked to see him disheveled, without a chance to put himself together and conduct himself with poise.

“Does he mean how you move?” The assassin pressed, turning his head on the pillow to watch Emmrich try to puzzle out an answer in the sleepy haze. “I’d understand that. Or does he mean something else?”

“Mm… There are particular patterns and remembered choreographies to certain rituals.” The mage sleepily supplied, idly playing with some of Lucanis’ curling, dark chest hair. “Or perhaps it’s the glyphs appearing and moving? We’ll have to discuss it. It could be any number of things, seen or unseen by us.”

“Hands.” Was the contented purr provided to Lucanis, from his own mouth no less. “They dance.”

They were buried beneath blankets now, as well, which only made it less likely that Lucanis was going to move in the near future. Instead he found his fingers moving up and down the lines on Emmrich’s forearm, dozing, legs tangled with Emmrich’s. It was warm, and secure, with eyes of varying perception all around him it was strange to not feel like he had to be on alert.

Boneless, and sated, they sank into a deep slumber. For the first time in months Lucanis slept longer than a few hours at a time. The Necromancer was thin enough to where having someone sleeping under the cover with him was comforting, kept him warmer than usual.

Emmrich was surprised, when he awoke to shoo Manfred away, Lucanis was still sound asleep. His eyes moved beneath his eyelids, typical of dreaming. Which was strange to think of, considering they were already in the Fade.

“Naked?” Manfred excitedly pointed at Emmrich, thankfully he’d been able to pull on the loose dressing gown and cover Lucanis with a blanket beforehand. “Crow!”

“Manfred, in moments such as these? Discretion is of the utmost value.” A finger pressed to Emmrich’s lips, “And quiet. Remember: Lucanis doesn’t sleep often.”

“Quiet!” The theatrical whisper came with a mimicked motion, Manfred’s gloved finger to his teeth. “Tea!”

“Yes please. Is there something you needed, my dear boy?”

“Davrin!” The skeleton pointed down over the bannister, “Here!”

“Ah! Please, can you get him some refreshment and let him know I’ll be down momentarily?”

Manfred had barely vanished before Emmrich was darting back into his personal space, stripping again, pulling on proper pajamas and his closing his dressing gown before descending the staircase. Hurriedly, he combed his fingers through his hair, trying to right everything that he’d allowed Lucanis to muss.

“Davrin!” He beamed, much to the surprise of the Warden. “You’re back. The trip went well, I trust?”

“It did.” The confirmation came warily, it occurred to Emmrich that he wasn’t entirely sure just how much Davrin knew about the situation. “Myrna and Vorgoth send their regards.”

“How did Taash fare?”

“Same as always: hated it.” Davrin shrugged but didn’t hide his amusement. “Didn’t cuss out Curio this time.”

“There’s an improvement.”

“Rook’s taking a moment to eat, but I figured I’d fill you in.” Davrin, even with his lack of understanding of Necromancy, was always kind to Manfred. He took the teacup from the tray offered, entirely trusting. “We came back with some homework for you. Neve and Bellara are already taking a look but a lot of it would make more sense with you explaining it.”

“Of course, I’d be happy to.”

“From what it seems, your fever broke.” Davrin looked Emmrich up and down, it was a common evaluation from a suspicious individual, “You’ve got a new passenger.”

“Ah. Well.” Emmrich cleared his throat, “Yes. Unexpectedly sharing the burden with Lucanis, so to speak -”

“- Jealous.” Spite began to manifest, the mage could see the doppleganger leering from over Davrin’s shoulder. It was almost as if the Spirit had gained a second wind. “Bloodied. Blighted. Righteous.”

Davrin leveled an unamused stare at him.

“I didn’t do it on purpose.” Emmrich huffed defensively, entirely embarrassed by Spite’s sudden interjection. “Though, admittedly, I need to teach him manners before attending classes.”

“Not like anyone gets saddled with a demon purposefully. Bellara mentioned a Scarab amulet.” The warden agreed, “Walk me through this, Emmrich. How’d two of the most careful people I know get into the same Demon mess?”

“It began with the subject of Antivan opera.” Was the weary sigh. “If you can believe it.”