They walk into a room dominated by a large worktable, covered in the detritus of a man obsessed with magic. Jars of powders, rolled parchments riddled with inky words, cuttings from plants, flickering candles and an indisputably pungent aroma. Everything is greyscale, just like all else in Fallow, but to Lowri there seemed to be a glint of something that couldalmostbe an array of colours.
Hellius stirs a small pot on a stove along the back wall. ‘I mix Fallow Fog in with everything now. Would you like some soup?’
‘We’re here about your message, not for soup,’ Lowri says, moving round the table. Her gaze catches on a book, eyes widening slightly before she looks back at Hellius. ‘Tell us about yours and Isaiah’s theory.’
‘And why you have one of my father’s notebooks,’ Eli says.
Hellius holds up his hands, eyes darting to meet Eli’s before settling on the notebook. Back when they’d met this historian of the Shadow War in the Society, he seemed friendly, harmless. But now the spiky beard and the close-set eyes appear a little sly to Lowri, as though he had been hiding a side of himself before. ‘Ah, that. I was keeping it safe. You see, we worked on everything together. We were partners …’
‘And now you’re trying to pass his work off as your own, aren’t you?’ Eli says, folding his arms. ‘I have read my father’s theories, been through his office. My father may have had a unique filing system, but he keptmeticulous records. And you were never mentioned as a partner. In fact, in a note I read this morning, he mentions you as someone who tried to discredit him. Or did that slip your mind when we first met you?’
‘Merely friendly rivalry.’ Hellius titters nervously. ‘Would I invite you here today if I didn’t have the best intentions?’
‘Tell us what you want, and then it’ll be clear what your intentions are,’ Eli rumbles.
For a moment, Hellius maintains his false smile. Then it drops, along with his pretence. ‘Fine,’ he hisses, then points a finger at Lowri, the slyness in his gaze intensifying. ‘I wanted her here. A witch, a creature from another world with light magic?’ He shakes his head in barely concealed hunger. ‘If I were to take her light magic, I could save Fallow. I could save our world. I would be lauded, rich. No one would ever question my knowledge, my authority—’
‘You should have stopped at saving Fallow, Hellius,’ Ethlet says quietly. ‘If it were Isaiah, that would have been enough.’
‘And that’s why he failed,’ Hellius snaps. ‘His ways were too by the book. It’s no wonder the Society wouldn’t believe his theories. No wonder he received no funds, no resources. All theoretical. All too politely requested. Whereas I—’
‘Would kidnap a creature?’ Lowri says. ‘That’s what I am to you, isn’t it? Not human, therefore someone to be controlled, drained of light magic.’
Hellius shrugs. ‘Witches aren’t human. Isaiah told me about your catalyst to call forth the power inside you: creature blood. You’re no better, witch.’
Lowri swallows. ‘That may be.’
‘A trade, then,’ Eli says. ‘Tell us what you know, and we will give you light magic. If that’s what you desire.’
‘But how?’ Hellius says, holding up a finger. ‘That is the real question. One I have pondered on since your arrival. And that answer …’ He laughs. ‘The answer is in you. The two of you. Light and dark, together. Two strands, combined, strong enough to open a portal. Strong enough to right the balance in our world.’
‘You speak in riddles,’ Ethlet says impatiently, ‘and it smells like cabbage in here. Get to the point.’
‘You always were an insolent little—’
‘The point, Hellius,’ Eli says with deceptive softness.
‘Isaiah had a theory,’ Hellius says quickly, a grin flickering on his lips. ‘A theory of how to draw light magic out of a witch, and bottle it. So that it could be consumed, or it could be contained to grow and grow, until it could be released into the fog, and the shadow would dissipate, beginning the cycle of renewal, of healing.’
Lowri narrows her eyes. ‘An extraction?’
‘Precisely.’
‘And why was this theory not in any of his notebooks, Hellius?’ Eli asks, thunder gathering in his voice. Then his eyes widen, sliding to his father’s notebook that Hellius has on the table. ‘Did you … steal that?’
Hellius frowns, all pretence dropped. ‘He would have done nothing with it,’ he hisses. ‘And when I saw you in the Society building – a witch! A creature carrying light magic! – I asked for a private audience with the head of the Society. I pleaded with them to allow me to carry out one of your father’s theories—’
‘They said no?’ Ethlet asks.
Hellius’s mouth twists. ‘They said no. You were guests of our world and the theory was unproven. But if you were to offer your blood willingly, if you gave some to me, I could prove the theory …’
Lowri leans her head to the side, considering. ‘How much blood?’
Eli looks sidelong at her. ‘No, Lor.’
‘We have little choice.’
‘I won’t risk you.’
