Wicked Hunt

Chapter Eleven, Part II

Victoria: Rosemary, Thyme, and Wolfenite 

She heard muted voices outside her door. Several sets of footsteps. Then, a loud banging. "Victoria!" It was Lorik, sounding panicked. Without thinking, she flung the tapestry back over the mirror just in time. The door burst open, and Lorik flew into the room, panting and wild eyed. His teal eyes roamed frantically from her bed to her window. He took in her overturned table. Then, slowly, he rotated. His eyes met hers.

"Yes?" she inquired meekly. She pursed her lips and flicked her lashes, trying to seem unperturbed by what she had just seen.

"You screamed," he accused. She glanced at the knife he held in his hand.

"Put that away before you poke yourself," she said snidely. She ignored the hammering of her heart. "Where is-"

"See?" Gemma butted into the room, shuffling with an aged walking stick. "I told you there was nothing to worry about. Just women's nonsense." She felt around blindly in front of her, and Victoria, grabbed her outstretched hand.

"My mother," Victoria finished, catching Lorik's eye once more over Gemma's fair head.

"I need to speak with you," Gemma told her. "Alone." Now, Lorik pursed his lips. The knife was shoved back into his pocket. Victoria's eyes lingered there monetarily. He had rushed in to save her after he heard her scream.

An act, she assured herself. And what could he have done when faced with the Black Stag? My mother would have been more useful. Lorik is but a mortal man. Her eyes snapped up. She ignored the heat rushing onto her cheeks.

"Oh?" Lorik pressed. He took a step closer, eyeing the covered mirror suspiciously. The sun had finally made itself known. The light permeated the darkness, but the room still felt cold. She could see that he was fully clothed, lithe in a grey buttoned tunic and black breeches. The muted tones made his red hair stand out vividly. His face was covered in several days' stubble, and she found that this one flaw only accentuated how handsome he really was.

"I'll just be going then," Lorik said resignedly, making it a point to look at Victoria expectantly.

"Very well then," she replied coolly. Lorik glowered, huffed, and stormed from the room. The door was slammed dramatically. She felt the need to rush after him. She watched him go, holding her breath and flinched when the door shut.

"Not a good idea," Gemma chastised, and Victoria snapped her head back to her mother.

"I'm not," she tried.

"Please, Victoria." Gemma held her hand up to stop her. "I'm old but not that old." She pushed her daughter's hand away and went to the mirror. "Now, I can sense you've been scrying." Her hands went to the tapestry. She tugged a little.

"No!" Victoria's hand shot out, holding it firmly in place.

"You've scried," Gemma pressed, clawing at Victoria's fingers. "There is still great magic in the air, and it must be reduced."

"I have not brought it back down yet," Victoria confessed, and Gemma shook her head in disappointment.

"You know better than to cover the mirror without the proper departing rituals," she hissed. Victoria swallowed. Scrying was supposed to be her strong suit, something Gemma could not take or debase her with. Yet, she had gotten frightened and messed it all up. She had made mistakes that she normally would never have committed. She released her hold on the tapestry, and Gemma flicked it off, revealing the mirror.

It was not the obsidian it should have been. The hazy grey still swirled about beneath its surface, but neither Michael's nor the Black Stag's face stared back at them.