Avery
Glamours were deceptively simple spells that every creature was required to learn before passing through the Twilight realm to this one. Most were small, such as changing features. Avery’s natural features—being inhuman but only mildly fantastical—had never really required her to learn more than that, but she had. She liked the level of focus and detail that required making a stable one. Once one knew the basic foundation of a truly substantial glamour, the rules to what it could be were rather limitless, especially when coupled with other magics.
And as such, a glamour could make someone appear glamorous just as easily as it could make them nothing at all. Not intangible, of course, but something most eyes simply did not see. Combining a glamour with the technique of shadow work resulted in a form that reflected her surroundings, and at a glance she was barely more than a vague penumbra.
Cloaked as the unseen, Avery stepped through the shadows that littered the parking lot, skipping large patches of light between with the ease of hopping stepping stones. Each was a door to the next visible collection of darkness, leaving only a momentary ripple in the gloom. At last it brought her to the shadow of the stone archway where the large wrought iron gate beneath had been closed for the night.
Just beyond the gate, there were shadows, but nothing in sight was casting one large enough for her to be able to travel through.
Iron had always been favored in construction, not simply because of its strength but because of the strange rumor turned unquestionable beliefthat a variety of supernatural creatures abhorred the mineral and it caused them harm, fey being among them. As such, it had become incredibly common to utilize it in protecting sacred spaces, or even in keeping spirits contained within the grounds where their bodies were buried.
This theory was flawed for a number of reasons, but chiefly because beings who had left the mortal plane had very little care for objects that could only exist within it.
And it was because this belief was flawed, false, and ridiculous that Avery did not hesitate to reach out and press her hand against the iron gate, gently testing its movement.
Nothing. It was locked. She supposed her host couldn’t have made it easier for her. Still, the lock, while new, appeared rather simple. She splayed her fingers as if gathering up the shadow cast by the arch and in her hand formed two thin tools, one like a flat key and the other resembling a dental pick. She dropped to her knee and set to work picking the lock.
It was still mostly light out, and there were still a few cars in the lot—likely groundskeepers and guides finishing up for the day. It was not the sort of time one would suspect a break-in.
And so no one did.
Avery was quickly inside, and when one of the employees found the door unlocked later, it was attributed to forgetfulness, and then, jokingly, to ghosts.
The graveyard was old by mortal standards, but to Avery’s knowledge, it had been an estate when she’d last walked the streets of London. There were some markers that had to have been left in better care than others. She wasn’t entirely sure if it was because of the age of the cemetery or if it was now custom to forget the dead once they’d been buried.
The search did indeed take time—nearly two hours—even knowing that she was looking for a mausoleum and not a single grave. Thankfully it did not take seeking out all seventeen acres of the west end of the cemetery in order to find it.
Surprisingly, its upkeep had been seen to—that much was clear evenbefore she was able to read the large carved letters atop the building. “Irregular.” It was larger than she thought it’d be—a small room with a bench. Stepping inside, she let her concealment drop and conjured a soft flame-like light in her hand to read the inscriptions.
In loving Memory of Thomas Wild & Matilda Lewis Wild: They saw a better future for us all. Died 1855 & 1861.
Rest in Peace, Oliver Wild: A Fighter Til the End. 1847
Isabella Levine, Healer & Friend, Laid to Eternal Rest. 1860
Avery ran her finger along the inscriptions, tracing each name slowly. Beneath Thomas and Matilda were listed a few more names Avery didn’t recognize, but they all bore the last name Wild. Thomas and Matilda’s children, by the look of the dates.
Her heart ached, and she took a few steps back to sit on the bench. Cold seeped in from the stone down to the bone but she barely noticed. They were gone, the only thing left a mere line of text documenting their existence. Nothing more. Somewhere beyond the stone, what remained of their mortal bodies after time’s toll?
The ache sharpened and she took a slow, measured breath. “Fates, tell me it was worth it.”
“It was worth it,” a voice promised from the doorway. Well dressed in an expertly tailored suit, they were a little taller than Avery, with an olive skin tone darkened easily by the sun, deep auburn hair cropped short, and unnerving gold eyes. Dapper, as always. Irritatingly at the height of fashion, it was enough to make you second-guess your cuff links or double-check your cravat in the mirror.
Of course it wasthem. Who else would have been able to bypass both magical wards and human locks like they were nothing but the likes of a dragon? “Meeting in a graveyard, Fiore? I see you haven’t lost your penchant for the dramatic.”
“Esteri thought you’d want to see them.” Fiore nodded toward the grave inscriptions, disregarding the mocking tone.
Avery followed the dragon’s gaze, and her heart ached again. Of course,she wanted to see them. Even if they were now only names on a wall. It was better than nothing. “Was this her doing as well?” She gestured to the mausoleum.
“We agreed they deserved a proper resting place for the work they’d done.” They neatly slipped their hands into their pants pockets. “Even if the council wouldn’t acknowledge their service, they deserved a monument.”
“Laid to rest together, along with their children—a generation I did not even get the chance to meet…” Avery bit the inside of her cheek as she felt the emotion rising in her throat. Instead of crying, it released in a bitter sort of laugh. “I feel like my entire life is buried here.”
“Regrettably, that was ultimately the design of the punishment. There is no crueler force than time.”
Perhaps it was Fiore’s part in that punishment, or that they themselves were so divorced from the concept of time, but a spark of rage ignited within Avery. Her nails bit into the palms of her hands, but the pain did little to temper her anger. “Why am I here, Fiore? You have never struck me as particularly sentimental, so I rather doubt it was simply to show me their graves.”
The chiseled jaw tightened, but this was the only indication that Avery’s words might have tread on insult. “I needed to be discreet.”
