The handsome devil looked at his watch, waiting for 6 a.m.
The study was dimly lit by the oil lamp above his desk, casting golden shadows over the black stones spread before him like forbidden fruit. He had spent most of the night poring over the dusty volumes from the east wing, studying every mention of corrupted magic and the soil of Wales. He knew what to look for now-Sebastian had been useful, through reluctantly so.
Earlier that night, Julian had summoned the man to his study.
He simply apparated to his home, stood in the shadows, picked him up and appeared in his Manor, the man was scared to his bones that he feared to breathe the very air in Julian's space.
Sebastian stood rigid, the hem of his coat twitching from nervous fingers.
"You have six blackstones here," Julian said without looking up, "Five pure. One diluted."
Sebastian swallowed hard. "yes, my Lord. That's correct."
Julian tilted his head just slightly. "Describe them. Everything."
Sebastian nodded quickly. "They come from the deeper soil of the Welsh coves-where the ley lines curve unnaturally, where mermaids once bled into the shore. Pure blackstones have three white specks-lines, really. Thin, unremovable, asymmetrical. And always adjacent to each other, like veins."
"And the impure?" Julian prompted.
"They mimic the pure… but the stripes are symmetrical. Sometimes incomplete. If you're not careful, you won't know until you've used it.
Julian finally looked up. His eyes were gleaming. "Used it for what, Sebastian?"
Sebastian hesitated. Julian noticed-and that was never wise.
Julian leaned forward slowly. "Emptying your skull of blood would make you think properly, would it?"
"No! it's not." Sebastian choked on his words.
Julian raised an eyebrow. "I didn't ask for lies."
"I'm only a supplier. I don't use them!"
Sebastian's voice cracked, shame dripping through. "I swear on my life. I deliver to those who pay. I don't meddle with the stuff."
Julian said nothing, just hummed-a low, deliberate sound that meant: keep talking.
Sebastian rubbed his hands together "Two of the pure stones… were requested by Rhys Glenshade."
Julian blinked once "Say that again."
"Rhys Glenshade," Sebastian muttered. "He's investing mermaids secretly. He wants a sample… said if it's found in any household, he'll be able to confirm his suspicions."
Julian stood, his tall from stretching like shadow across the stone floor. He moved closer, just enough to make Sebastian flinch.
"Is there a plan to conduct a search?"
"I… I don't know, my Lord. Maybe. But I wasn't told. I just… deliver."
Julian gave a satisfied grunt and turned back to the table. The conversation was over.
By 6 a.m. the study smelled of ink, wax and old smoke. Julian studied the pure blackstones again, holding them beneath the lamp. The white stripes shimmered faintly-there was no mistaking it now.
A knock.
"Enter," Julian said, not looking up.
Thomas, his faithful butler, stepped inside and bowed. "Master Julian, you requested my presence at six sharp."
"I did," Julian said, handing him a sealed parchment. "Take this to the local registry. Give it directly to the registrar. Inform him he has from the second he receives it until dusk to get back to me. Not a second more."
Tomas nodded crisply, pocketed the parchment, and left.
The local registry office was already busy when Tomas arrived, but the moment he announced himself and placed the letter into the registrar's hands, the entire room shifted.
The registrar's face turned a ghostly pale. His lips parted as if to speak but no sound came. The seal on the parchment was unmistakable: The sigil of House Ravenshade.
Tomas added coolly, "A message from Lord Ravenshade- you have from this second till dusk."
The registrar blinked rapidly, nearly dropped the parchment, then barked at three clerks. "Now. You- Greydock Town, Grantham residence. Go. Now.
The messengers bolted without question. The registrar tore the seal and read quickly, his eyes widening with every line. A bead of sweat slipped down his temple. He reached for a drawer, scribbled notes with trembling fingers, slammed the ledger shut, and began preparing his own carriage.
Tomas observed all this with calm disinterest. It was as if the very name 'Julian' had summoned panic from the bones of the building.
The registrar closed the office. No notice. No signature. Just fear.
As the man clambered into his carriage, still scribbling feverishly and clutching Julian's parchment, Tomas turned on his heel and mounted his horse. His task was complete.
He did not need to stay and watch. By dusk, the fire would be lit, and the response- whether cowardly or bold- would arrive.
But the letter to Elowen… that was something else entirely. Something only Julian could explain.
And he would soon.
He didn't bother checking what message it was or asking the registrar. He was too bored for that.