The message arrived three days after Mira Vance's rescue.
Evander had spent those days in careful activity, treating patients who couldn't seek help elsewhere, consolidating his damaged network, assessing the strategic implications of recent events. The Purifier and her surviving team had remained in the safehouse, recovering from their ordeal while Evander determined whether they represented assets or threats.
The determination remained incomplete when the Watcher's urgent projection interrupted his morning examination of a child with symptoms that ordinary medicine couldn't explain.
*Master. A practitioner has made contact through the tertiary channels. He claims to have information about the seal deterioration. He's requesting a meeting.*
Evander set aside the diagnostic instruments he'd been using, his attention shifting to the unexpected development.
"A practitioner I know?"
*Unknown. He used identification codes that were distributed to Helena's network three years ago, but the codes were reported lost when several of her contacts were arrested during the winter purges.* The Watcher's presence carried undertones of suspicion. *He specifically requested you by name. Mentioned details about your mother's research that should not be publicly known.*
The cold in Evander's chest intensified. Details about his mother's research suggested access to either Gregor's archives or the Church's confiscated materials. Either possibility indicated resources that warranted caution.
"What does he want?"
*He claims to have discovered the identity of whoever is siphoning energy from the seals. He says the information is too sensitive to share through intermediaries. He'll only speak to you directly.*
A trap, most likely. The pattern was familiar: offer information valuable enough to compel a meeting, then use the meeting to capture or eliminate the target. Evander had survived variations of this approach dozens of times over the years.
But the timing troubled him. The seal deterioration was accelerating. Whoever was responsible for the siphoning had access and knowledge that ordinary infiltrators would lack. If this practitioner genuinely possessed information about that threat...
"Arrange the meeting. Standard security protocols. Bones accompanies me; the rest of the network maintains distance unless intervention becomes necessary."
*Understood. The practitioner suggested the old mills outside the industrial district. Midnight tonight.*
The abandoned mills. A location that offered multiple entry and exit points, limited civilian presence, and enough complexity to make ambushes difficult to execute cleanly. Either the practitioner was paranoid about his own security, or he had chosen the location to complicate Evander's.
"Confirm the meeting. And increase surveillance on the area. I want to know about any unusual activity before I arrive."
The Watcher's presence withdrew to implement the instructions.
Evander returned to his patient, a girl of perhaps seven, whose symptoms included the characteristic patterns of death energy exposure. Her mother waited in the adjacent room, terror barely concealed beneath the hope that the doctor everyone whispered about might be able to help.
"The treatment will require several sessions," he told the mother afterward, his voice carrying the controlled reassurance that years of practice had perfected. "She's been exposed to something that's affecting her at a fundamental level. I can address the symptoms and work toward eliminating the source, but it won't be immediate."
"Will she survive?"
"If she follows the treatment protocols precisely, her prognosis is favorable." Evander handed the mother a packet of instructions: herb doses, activity restrictions, symptoms to watch for. "Bring her back in three days. And don't mention this treatment to anyone. The methods I use are not formally sanctioned."
The mother's eyes held understanding that exceeded her apparent education. "The Church doesn't approve."
"The Church doesn't understand. There's a difference, though the practical implications are similar." Evander guided her toward the exit. "Your daughter's condition isn't her fault. Whatever exposed her to this was beyond her control. Remember that, when others try to tell you differently."
The mother and child departed, leaving Evander alone with his thoughts and the approaching meeting that might be opportunity or disaster.
---
The abandoned mills sprawled across a section of the industrial district that had been obsolete for decades.
Evander arrived early, as his protocols dictated, extending his awareness through the area to map threats and escape routes. Bones moved through the shadows with the particular efficiency that came from centuries of accumulated practice, his emerald tricorn somehow visible despite the darkness.
"The practitioner arrived approximately twenty minutes ago," Bones reported. "He's waiting in the main grinding room, alone as far as I can determine. No evidence of additional personnel or prepared ambush positions."
"Which means either he's genuine or the ambush is more sophisticated than we're detecting."
"An encouraging assessment, as always." The skeleton's jaw clicked twice. "I've positioned myself to provide support if circumstances become violent. Though I should mention that the grinding room's acoustics are quite interesting. Sound carries in unexpected ways."
"Noted." Evander moved toward the rendezvous point, his awareness extended to its practical limits, prepared for the trap he suspected might be waiting.
The practitioner who waited in the grinding room was younger than Evander had expected. Perhaps thirty, with the weathered appearance of someone who had spent years surviving circumstances that wanted him dead. His death affinity was immediately apparent to Evander's extended senses, a signature that confirmed he was genuinely a practitioner rather than a Church agent pretending to be one.
"Dr. Ashcroft." The man's voice carried relief that seemed genuine. "I wasn't certain you would come."
"You offered information about the seal deterioration. Given current circumstances, I'm motivated to hear what you know." Evander maintained distance between them, his posture suggesting neutrality rather than trust. "Your identification codes were reported lost three years ago. How did you acquire them?"
"I was part of Sister Helena's eastern network before the winter purges. When the arrests began, I went underground, deeper than most, cutting off contact with everyone I had known. The codes were my only connection to the larger community." The practitioner's hands were visible, kept deliberately at his sides. "My name is Garrett. I've been observing the seal sites for the past six months, trying to understand what's causing the accelerated deterioration."
"And what have you discovered?"
"It's not external. The siphoning, the energy redirection, it's coming from within the Church, but not from any official program. Someone has been operating independently, using techniques that combine death magic with blessed power in ways that shouldn't be possible." Garrett's voice carried conviction that exceeded casual belief. "I've traced the interference patterns. They originate from a single source. A practitioner within the Inquisition itself."
Evander felt the implications settle into place. "A practitioner who has managed to hide their nature while serving the organization that hunts their kind."
"More than hide. This practitioner has risen to significant authority. They've been using that authority to redirect resources, suppress investigations, ensure that no one looks too closely at what's happening to the seals." Garrett moved slightly closer, his expression earnest. "I know who it is. I have evidence. But I need help to expose them. Resources and protection that I can't provide alone."
The information aligned with Evander's own conclusions about the seal deterioration. The siphoning required insider access. The techniques used against his Watchers suggested knowledge of death magic that ordinary Inquisitors wouldn't possess. A practitioner embedded within the Church hierarchy would explain both the access and the knowledge.
But the very neatness of the explanation triggered Evander's instincts for caution.
"Why come to me? Helena's network still operates. Gregor has resources that exceed mine. If you've been observing for six months, you must know about other power centers within the practitioner community."
"Because you're the one the infiltrator is most concerned about. Your recent activities, the investigation of the seal sites, the interference with Cardinal Ashford's facility, have drawn attention at the highest levels. The infiltrator has been pushing to have you designated priority target." Garrett's voice dropped. "They know about your connection to your mother's research. They know that you're getting close to understanding what the seals actually are."
The mention of his mother triggered a response that Evander couldn't entirely suppress. "What does the infiltrator know about my mother's research?"
"They know she discovered something about the original sealing ceremony. Something that the Church has been concealing for three centuries." Garrett moved closer still, his expression intense. "Your mother was killed because she was about to expose the truth. The infiltrator has spent decades ensuring that truth remains buried."
"Who are they?"
"I'll tell you everything. But first, I need your assurance that you'll help me expose them. I've been alone in this for too long. I need to know that someone with resources will act on what I've discovered."
Evander studied the younger practitioner, cataloguing the details that might reveal truth or deception. The earnest expression. The visible tension. The way Garrett's death affinity flickered with what seemed like genuine emotion.
Something was wrong.
The pieces fit too perfectly. The information addressed exactly the questions Evander had been asking. The appeal to his mother's memory targeted exactly the vulnerability that might override his caution.
"Bones." Evander's voice emerged flat, controlled. "Assess the area again. Maximum sensitivity."
"Already in progress, master." The skeleton's voice came from somewhere in the grinding room's upper reaches. "There's something... the shadows near the eastern entrance are behaving incorrectly."
Garrett's expression shifted. The earnest concern dissolved into something harder. Colder.
"You really are as cautious as they said." The younger practitioner's voice had changed, the desperate supplicant replaced by someone more confident and far more dangerous. "Most would have accepted the story. Would have been so eager for answers that they didn't notice the inconsistencies."
Evander moved without conscious decision, creating distance between himself and the revealed threat. "Who sent you?"
"Does it matter? You've made enemies, Dr. Ashcroft. People who understand that your interference with the seal deterioration serves no one's interests." Garrett's death affinity flared, revealing power that had been deliberately concealed during their initial exchange. "The infiltrator is real. Everything I told you about them is true. But they didn't send me to expose them. They sent me to remove you before you could discover what they're planning."
Shadows around the grinding room's perimeter came alive with figures who had been waiting, concealed by techniques that exceeded standard Inquisition methods. Five practitioners, each radiating death affinity that marked them as genuine rather than Church agents pretending to be something they weren't.
Practitioners working for whoever controlled the seal deterioration.
"A faction within the community," Evander said, the picture becoming clear with bitter precision. "Practitioners who have aligned themselves with whoever is siphoning the seals."
"Practitioners who understand that the seals were always meant to fail. That fighting to preserve them serves the Church's interests, not ours." Garrett's smile held ideological conviction. "The Death Gods will emerge regardless. The only question is whether we position ourselves to benefit from that emergence or continue hiding in shadows while the Church hunts us to extinction."
"The emergence will destroy everything. The Death Gods aren't allies. They're forces of cosmic destruction that will consume practitioners and ordinary humans alike."
"That's what the Church wants us to believe. The truth is more complicated." Garrett raised his hand, death energy gathering around his fingers. "But you won't live long enough to learn it."
The attack came from multiple directions simultaneously. Six practitioners channeling power in coordinated patterns that suggested extensive practice. Evander's defenses activated automatically, death energy rising to meet death energy, but the numbers were against him.
He was good. He had survived fifteen years of Inquisition hunting and practitioner conflicts and everything else the world had thrown at him.
But six-against-one odds with hostile practitioners who had planned specifically for this confrontation exceeded even his capabilities.
The first blast drove him to his knees, overwhelming his defenses through sheer accumulated force. The second knocked him flat, disrupting his concentration enough that his counter-attacks scattered harmlessly. The third never landed.
Bones dropped from the grinding room's upper reaches, his skeletal form blazing with cold fire that had nothing to do with the emerald tricorn's aesthetic appeal. The skeleton crashed into two of the attacking practitioners, disrupting their coordination, creating chaos where there had been unified assault.
"Most rude," Bones observed, his voice carrying genuine offense. "Attacking someone mid-conversation. No sense of proper engagement etiquette at all."
Evander seized the moment of confusion, channeling power into a defensive barrier that gave him space to recover. The remaining practitioners redirected their attention, trying to establish new firing angles around Bones's interference.
But the skeleton had bought crucial seconds.
Evander's awareness extended through the grinding room, mapping positions, calculating trajectories, identifying the weakness in the enemy formation that their confidence had created.
"Garrett." His voice emerged cold enough to freeze the air itself. "Your faction made a mistake."
"We outnumber you six to one."
"You assumed I came alone."
The Watchers arrived in a wave of projected force. Not physical presence but pure consciousness, the accumulated power of bound spirits who had been waiting in the surrounding area for exactly this moment. The spirits couldn't directly harm living practitioners, but they could interfere, confuse, disrupt the concentration that combat magic required.
The practitioners' coordinated assault fell apart as Watchers screamed through their awareness, filling their minds with visions of death that broke their focus. Bones pressed the advantage, his skeletal form moving between targets with speed that living bodies couldn't match.
Evander rose to his feet and gathered power that he had been holding in reserve.
"You wanted to know about the seals." His voice carried harmonics that seemed to come from somewhere beyond the grinding room's walls. "Let me show you what the Death Gods actually think of practitioners who presume to bargain with cosmic forces."
The demonstration was brief and brutal.
Four of the practitioners died in the initial surge, their defenses overwhelmed by power that exceeded what they had prepared for. The fifth fell to Bones's efficient violence. Only Garrett survived, his superior power allowing him to weather the assault long enough to attempt retreat.
Evander let him run.
"Master?" Bones's concern was evident in his posture. "The leader is escaping."
"He's supposed to. He'll report back to whoever controls this faction, and that report will include information about my capabilities that I wanted them to have." Evander surveyed the aftermath: five dead practitioners, the grinding room's walls scarred by death magic, evidence of betrayal that would need to be processed. "The infiltrator is real. Garrett confirmed it. Now we know there's an organized faction working to accelerate the seal failure, and that faction includes practitioners who should be our allies."
"That seems rather concerning."
"It's worse than concerning. It means we're fighting on multiple fronts. Against the Church, against this faction, against the seal deterioration itself." Evander's voice carried exhaustion that went beyond physical tiredness. "The war just got significantly more complicated."
Bones adjusted his emerald tricorn, which had somehow maintained its position throughout the violence.
"If it's any consolation, master, the hat remained undamaged. Some things can survive even cosmic complications."
Despite the betrayal and the grim new shape of the conflict, Evander felt his mouth curve.
"Small mercies."
"Indeed." The skeleton moved to stand beside his master, surveying the damage. "Shall we inform Old Gregor about this development? He'll be rather displeased, but displeasure seems to be his default state regardless."
"Alert the network. Full security protocols until we understand the extent of the faction's infiltration." Evander began moving toward the grinding room's exit. "And Bones?"
"Yes, master?"
"The hat really does suit you."
The skeleton's posture radiated surprised pleasure that seemed entirely disproportionate to the compliment.
"Thank you, master. That means rather a great deal."
They departed the mills as dawn began to lighten the horizon, leaving behind evidence of violence that would puzzle anyone who discovered it.
The betrayal had cost him five more deaths added to a ledger that already contained far too many. But it had also taught him the shape of the conflict he faced. There wasn't just one enemy. There were factions within factions, practitioners who believed the Death Gods' emergence could be harnessed, and a hidden infiltrator pulling strings from inside the Church.
Tomorrow, he would begin using that knowledge. Tonight, he walked toward the safehouse where an Inquisitor was still deciding whose side she was on, and planned for a war that had just become far more dangerous than he had imagined.
