Sneaking out from his home was quite easy, being a master of Displace magic. He had left an emergency call spell on his children's room, in case something happened, and Francesca didn't wake up. In the last week, she had taken the habit of lying down after a couple pills, blaming him for the stress that gave her insomnia.

He felt a slight pang of guilt about it all. He disliked the lack of peace ad equilibrium his life had undergone in the last weeks, and the toll it exacted. He had more stress and anger to manage, Francesca's grown chillier, his kids looked at him with cautious curiosity, as he was a rare beast. Just like he sometimes watched them.

Maybe he was, after all, considering the right choice.

He appeared directly at the appointment place. He didn't even know why he did feel that strange sense of shame and remorse. He was doing what thousands of people normally did every day, so many of them in the light of day. There was nothing to be ashamed about. No one could judge him. Especially in the Order.

«Sorry, I'm late. The bus broke down.» an Irish accent spoke behind him. He turned towards her, his face frowned in a disapproving glare. She had a bottle in a brown bag under her arm.

«Do I have to remind you that you can, apparently, teleport with ease?» he remarked, beckoning her to come closer. She rolled her eyes and took the bottle out of the bag. It was an 18 years old Jameson whisky bottle. It was bright even under the pale moon, the only source of light around.

«I was tired. It's been a long day, ok?» she answered, stopping and looking down. Taking a deep breath to face what was going to happen.

There had never been a corpse in the coffin.

For ten years, the gravestone had been watching over an empty grave. It was clean and well taken care of, with fresh flowers in a small marble vase. Garaham had just changed them. A little electric light was shining just enough to let them read the golden words on the black marble, standing right under the an oval golden-framed photograph.

The photo portrayed the serene face of a sixty-years old man, with a crown of white hair and a balding head, smiling under a pair of half-moon glasses parked over a stout nose decorated with thick moustaches. Gentle black eyes were staring at anyone who looked at him, as at the letters below.

Logan Andrew Harrower
Beloved Father and Uncle
Life is a Voyage Homeward Bound

«Ten years.» she whispered, looking at that smiling face, already feeling the deep sensation of a hand squeezing her stomach. «Jeez louise, his brother didn't come, even this year.»

«It's not a short trip from Lexington, and the Harrowers aren't famous for their tendency to take time off from work.» Garaham said, his eyes transfixed on the same point hers were. «I'm sure they celebrate at home. It's not like it makes any difference at all, is it?»

She scoffed, uncorking the whisky and sniffing the powerful, delicious smell of well-aged alcohol. «We know he's not here.»

«He's probably in Empyreum, with the Angels. Let's find some solace in that.»

«Crappy necromancer, couldn't even turn into a decent Elysial.» Banshee grumbled as she started to pour the expensive whisky over the headstone. But it wasn't her usual comeback sneer. She was as serious as Banshee could ever get, watching the golden liquid wash the dust of the days before away from the marble, collecting over the soil and being avidly drank by the thirsty earth.

«I don't know if it's worst not coming on a beloved one's grave or coming and insulting the craft he cherished for all of his life.» Garaham reproached her.

«He knows what I mean.»

She took her time, slowly tilting the gurgling bottle, murmuring some soft words in Gaelic under her breath. He bowed his head and prayed, in the silence of his heart.

«I still think that celebrating with alcohol over the grave of an reformed alcoholic counts as uncalled for.»

«He had started drinking again, in the last weeks. Not disturbingly, healthy drinking, with me, sometimes. I think that was because he knew better than most I needed it, but what would happen if I drank alone.»

Banshee stopped pouring and then extended her arm, offering him the bottle.

«It's still a no.» he said.

«I had to try. One day ye'll understand and finally drink.» she shrugged, taking a deep sip out of the bottle, feeling the burst of flavor burning fire in her stomach and scorching her throat.

« I have to admit, I admire ye. I could never go through this evening without some good fire in me belly. I don't know how can ye. He had been your mentor for ages, I've known him for barely one year.»

«It doesn't matter, in the end. Logan was the kind of person who could change your life in just one day. With kindness and knowledge.» from the tone of his voice it was abundantly clear he should have had some fire in his belly too. «You basically lived together for one year, it's like all the time I had with him, concentrated in one powerful blast.»

They both fell silent, after those words. Images of raging fire, screams and roars echoing in a once perfectly quiet night, claws, magic and blood, all wrapped up in adrenaline and fear passed through their minds. It was eerie how the peaceful tomb of a bespectacled man could awake such fierce and horrible memories. Memories they had seen in one another for the last ten years.

«He had a nephew, didn't he? I remember the little guy passing by the house once or twice. Scrawny little thing, looked just like him. Dorian, was it?» Banshee tried to distract herself with less dark remembrances. «What must he be now? Sixteen?»

«Yes. It appears magic didn't get to him, just as Logan had hoped.» Garaham nodded.

«He sometimes said he would have been happy if at least his nephew could follow his steps. Seen that his daughter is still blatantly ignoring his tomb as well.» Banshee sighed. «Poor man, what a shitty life. And for it to end it with one year looking after a deranged teenager who had just developed her magical powers, and then dying in flames while defending her sorry ass from werepeople...»

That was something rather new. Even if, in the years, they had taken up the little habit of having that private mourning ceremony, they seldom spoke about the incident. They usually recalled happy memories, but there was an implicit pact about the silence about the end of his demise.

«Banshee...»

«I mean, look at this tomb!» she was plainly getting mad, rather than sad. «We didn't even had a body to bury. We had to scatter the ashes we could find in my room, and we weren't even sure they were his. And where was his family then? His husband left him because mages and humans don't cope well, his daughter decided he gave too much importance to his magic and blamed him for the divorce, went away and never come back... they abandoned him! If you didn't come and scrape him up from the floor, he would have died of cirrhosis!»

«He... told you that?»

«Oh, come on! You were the apple of his eye. One night he told me about the last time he had been so drunk he actively thought he was going to die, but you busted in and brought him to a Healer to get him on his feet.» Banshee moved a hand in the air. «And even now, even on the bloody tenth year from his death, his relatives couldn't take their asses and come here to at least put some flowers on his tomb! They're abandoning him... over and over again.»

Garaham raised a hand and put it on Banshee's shoulder. It was tense like a violin string.

«He has been the only person to ever really believe in me, even if I wasn't interested in his field of study. And he protected you, not only saving you from the werepeople, but to the point that he made sure that even after his departure you'd never pass through the Mage Academy, perfectly knowing you would have the worst time ever. We... actually bring warmth, to his last resting place. What would an estranged brother, a resentful daughter and a hardened husband bring to him, if not only disdain?»

Banshee's shoulder slightly softened and she took another sip from the battle.

«He was so proud of you.» she said, absent-mindedly, putting a hand on the stone, as if this way she could caress the old man's face. «He always said you were destined for great things. "Stubborn and talented, he could get anywhere in the Order if he just believed more in himself."» she quoted, turning her gaze towards the Enforcer. Garaham's eyes were wide open and it was clear he was clenching his jaw for more than just habit. «He had always been sure we'd make a good team. So sad he was ultimately mistaken.»

«We are a good team. When you actually care.» he retorted, coughing a couple of times to clear his voice right after. «He said you were untapped talent of the most pristine quality, and even he couldn't understand the depth of your potential. He left that task to me. Well, yet another time I failed him, it appears.»

This time it was her turn to clench her jaw. The moment had gotten very deep, very fast. The weight of the round ten years had started to impose on their shoulders.

«Ye didn't fail anyone. But you could believe more in yerself. I mean, I saw your brother, that explains a lot, but...» Banshee turned towards Garaham, trying to smile. «... ye're better.»

Garaham let go a dry, ironic laugh.

«Don't lie on your ex mentor's tomb.»

Banshee shrugged and turned back to the tomb.

«Sometimes... I feel just as if he was watching over me. I feel his presence, near, ye know?» she said, softly. «Do ye think that's possible?»

«No, it's not.» the Enforcer, for a moment, suppressed the man. Then, he looked at her shoulders curving. And sighed. «But if this sensation brings you solace, if this could be true for someone, that someone could only be you.» he ended his speech, with a look at the photograph. Logan had left him such a difficult task.

«Academic and diplomatic. Ye're in such a good mood tonite.»

«No, I'm not. Every time I come here, I'm still the first-year Enforcer Academy student who was in awe in front of his teacher's abilities. And who grieves the loss of someone who became such a good friend. Perhaps my only, true friend.» his clenched fist trembled, slightly, as he controlled his emotion with great and honed ability. «Come on, let's go home. I want you all in my office, tomorrow at eight.»

«Again? But... we just... tired...» Banshee muttered, losing the words.

Garaham put a small smile on his lips.

«Your eight.» he said, starting to move his hand in the air. «See you tomorrow. Sleep well.»

He disappeared.

Banshee sighed, in the cold night air.

«Ye too, Chief.»

****

Hi everyone!
Shorter chapter, but I think we needed it after the Trial. Some breather for everyone. And some digging into past and mysteries.
Fast poll: how many of you did really believe those two were having a tryst? Do give me some satisfaction please, I worked hard to trick you!

Again, I recommend you listen to the music while reading, especially this chapter. And, as usual, thanks for any vote or feedback comment. I really look forward to them, and they motivate me so much to go on with my work!

And thanks to  for his suggestion to also put "Part I" in front of the chapters' titles. I'll be changing all the previous ones as soon as possible! Lots of love,

Daniel