The retreat from Lambeth was a blur of adrenaline-fueled urgency. Evie, with her innate knowledge of the city's underbelly, led them through a twisting warren of narrow alleyways, shadowed courtyards, and even a brief, heart-stopping dash across a series of interconnected rooftops, the shouts of the Templar patrol echoing ominously behind them. Hasel, her lungs burning, her borrowed coat snagging on loose bricks, focused on keeping Hermione in sight, her wand clutched ready in her sleeve. Hermione, though clearly shaken by the close call and Evie's brutal efficiency, moved with a determined focus, her earlier rooftop practice, however clumsy, now proving its worth.
They didn't stop until they had put several blocks and the bustling thoroughfare of Lambeth Road between themselves and Starrick's warehouse. Henry met them at a pre-arranged rendezvous point – a grimy, deserted cul-de-sac tucked behind a row of soot-stained tenements. His face was pale, his spectacles slightly askew, but his eyes were bright with a mixture of relief and academic excitement.
"Thank heavens you're alright!" he exclaimed, his voice still a little breathless. "I saw the Templar patrol turn down the street just after you disappeared into the alley. I feared the worst." He looked from Evie to Hasel and Hermione. "What did you find? Did you see the cargo?"
Evie, ever pragmatic, cut straight to the point. "Small, carved wooden boxes, Granger got the door open for a moment. Half a dozen of them. Potter sensed something… off about them. Corrupted, she said."
Hermione nodded, still catching her breath. "They radiated a cold, malevolent energy. Not raw power like a Piece of Eden is described, but something… tainted. Almost like… like objects infused with a very dark, very specific kind of intent. It felt… wrong, on a fundamental level." She shuddered, the memory clearly unsettling her. "And there was a faint luminescence, a sickly green-yellow glow."
Hasel added her own impressions. "It was a disturbing sensation. Like touching something that had been steeped in misery or malice for a very long time. It wasn't just old; it felt… actively hostile, even in its inert state." The memory of the feeling made her scar, the faint lightning bolt on her forehead, tingle unpleasantly, a ghost of old pains.
Henry listened intently, his earlier relief giving way to a frown of deep concentration. He pulled out his notebook, his quill already poised. "Ornately carved, you say? Luminescent? And this… tainted energy? This doesn't sound like typical Isu technology, which, while powerful, is usually described as more… neutral, its effects dependent on the wielder's intent. This sounds more like… like objects deliberately imbued with a negative force. Almost like… cursed items, from your own world's folklore, perhaps?"
"Perhaps," Hermione conceded. "Some Dark Arts objects in our world carry similar auras, items created through acts of extreme cruelty or malice, designed to cause harm or exert control. But these felt… different. Older, somehow. And the energy signature wasn't one I recognized from any known branch of our magic."
"We need to report this to Clara immediately," Evie stated, her gaze sweeping the alley entrance, ever vigilant. "Starrick isn't just collecting Isu artifacts; he's dabbling in something else, something potentially even more unpredictable." She looked at Hasel and Hermione, a new, grudging respect in her eyes. "Your… senses… proved useful today. More useful than I anticipated."
The return to the Rookery in Whitechapel was made with a heightened sense of caution. The information they carried felt dangerous, a heavy weight in the oppressive London air. Clara Thorne received their report in her makeshift office, her expression growing grimmer with each detail. Jacob, who had joined them, listened with a mixture of bravado and concern, his usual boisterousness somewhat subdued.
"Corrupted artifacts," Clara mused, her fingers drumming a restless tattoo on the scarred tabletop. "Not Pieces of Eden, but something else. Something Starrick believes will give him an edge." She looked at Henry. "What do your books say about such things, Greene?"
Henry, who had been rapidly flipping through several ancient-looking tomes he'd retrieved, shook his head. "Very little, I'm afraid. Most of our Brotherhood's knowledge focuses on the Isu and their direct creations. These… 'tainted' objects, as Hermione describes them, fall outside that primary focus. There are scattered references in obscure texts to items of power that predate or run parallel to Isu influence, items that draw their strength from… darker, more primal forces. Often associated with rituals, sacrifices, and the deliberate channeling of negative human emotion." He shivered. "Most such accounts are dismissed as superstition, but given what our new associates have sensed…"
"It means Starrick is playing with a fire he doesn't understand," Clara finished, her voice hard. "And that makes him even more dangerous." She looked at Hasel and Hermione. "Your unique abilities, your sensitivity to these… energies… it's an invaluable asset. But it also puts you in even greater danger. If Starrick learns that there are those who can not only identify but potentially understand or even counteract these things he's collecting…"
"He'll hunt us," Hasel said quietly, the statement a grim certainty rather than a question. It was a familiar scenario, one they had lived through for years.
"Precisely," Clara affirmed. "Which means we need to be smarter, faster, and more ruthless than he is." She leaned forward, her emerald eyes intense. "Those boxes you saw, the carriage… we need to know where they were taken. What Starrick intends to do with them. This is no longer just about preventing the Templars from gaining another foothold. This is about stopping a madman from unleashing forces that could consume this entire city, perhaps more."
The weight of their new reality pressed down on Hasel and Hermione. They had sought refuge, a place to understand their displacement, and instead, they had been thrust into the heart of another war, one with stakes that seemed to grow more terrifying with each passing day. The familiar ache of responsibility, the burden of being the ones who could perceive and potentially fight a unique form of darkness, settled upon them once more.
"We'll do whatever we can to help, Clara," Hermione said, her voice firm despite the tremor of fear she felt. "If our magic can provide an advantage, we'll use it."
Jacob, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, finally spoke, a grin spreading across his face, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Well, then! Sounds like things are about to get a damn sight more interesting around here! Good thing we've got a couple of witches on our side, eh?" His attempt at levity fell a little flat in the oppressive atmosphere of the office.
Clara shot him a warning glance before turning back to Hasel and Hermione. "For now, get some rest. Both of you. You've earned it. Henry will continue to work with you, to try and understand the nature of these… tainted energies. Evie will incorporate you into more advanced training. We need you to be able to defend yourselves, with or without your wands." Her gaze softened almost imperceptibly. "You took a risk today, going beyond the parameters of the mission. It was reckless. But," she paused, "it also yielded vital intelligence. The Creed values initiative, but it also punishes foolishness. Learn the difference."
Later that night, in the quiet solitude of their small sleeping space, the events of the day replayed in Hasel's mind. The cold thrum of the artifacts, Evie's brutal efficiency, the ever-present sense of danger… it was a stark contrast to the life they had known, yet disturbingly familiar in its underlying currents of conflict and a fight for survival.
"Hermione," Hasel whispered into the darkness, "those boxes… they felt like… like Horcruxes. Not the same, but that same kind of deep, clinging wrongness. That feeling of a soul… or something like it… being twisted."
Hermione, lying beside her, was silent for a long moment. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely audible. "I know, Hasel. I felt it too. As if they were containers for… for concentrated malice. Whatever Starrick is collecting, it's not just about power. It's about something far more insidious." She shivered, pulling the rough blanket tighter around her. "And to think, there might be more such things out there, from different times, different realities, all bleeding into this one because of what happened to us, because of the Veil…"
The implication was terrifying. Their arrival hadn't just displaced them; it might have weakened the barriers between worlds, allowing other, darker things to seep through. The weight of that possibility was almost too much to bear. The shadows of 1888 London seemed to deepen around them, filled with unseen threats and the echoes of a magic far older and more malevolent than anything they had ever encountered. And they were right in the middle of it, two witches from another time, their fate now inextricably bound to the Rooks and their desperate, clandestine war.