Shadow‘s Reach (Halloween Noir) - 14. Lessons in Life and Magic

The meeting room above the Maison Noir gym was a discordant blend of two worlds. The sterile hum of lights and the faint electrical whir of a projector created a distinctly modern buzz, but the heaviness of the air—the lingering scent of ancient wood, of something earthy and faintly burned—hinted at the peculiar forces that haunted every corner of their lives. The walls were smooth white—too blank, too clinical for someone like Madame Marie, who stood at the head of the room like a relic from another time. Unbelievably, she even brandished a very old-school, long wooden pointer.

“Apologies,” the Oracle said, “technology and I have a strained relationship.”

Solomon smiled knowingly at her statement but kept quiet at the back.

Marie ruled the space as though it were a classroom, her sharp, glinting eyes surveying Alex and Jacques as they slumped like unruly children in their seats behind a polished oak table. Jacques avoided meeting her gaze, his fingers clenching tightly on the edge of the table.

To his right, Alex sat restless, dragging his fingers along the table in faint, repetitive patterns. Though his movements seemed casual, Jacques noticed the tension in Alex’s jaw, the way his breaths came quick, shallow. He looked like a storm barely held together, and Jacques guessed that everyone leaving him behind the day before must be replayed relentlessly in Alex’s mind. The guilt coiled tighter, knotted around his chest like chains. He wanted to say something—anything—but the words stuck in his throat. He needed to properly apologise.

On the wall behind Marie danced projected images from a professionally assembled PowerPoint. After all, she made money from magic in more ways that one.

“Before we find out what you can do,” Madame Marie began, her voice firm but calm, “we need to speak about magic. Not the energies you will control or the spells you will cast, but the foundation upon which it all rests.”

The soft hum of the projector filled the room as the first history slide flickered onto the screen: an image of three glowing stones, suspended in darkness. Below them, three words glowed faintly—Soul, Body, Mind.

“Magic,” she said, gesturing toward the screen, “is often thought of as one force. It is not. Its nature is a trinity. Soul, Body, and Mind. These are the components of all magic, inseparable and interdependent. Together, they form the structure that allows magic to exist.”

Jacques sat stiffly in his chair, his fingers twitching against the edge of the table. Alex, seated beside him, leaned forward, his expression uncertain. Marcus, stationed at the head of the table with his laptop, tapped a key, and the slide changed to an ancient map marked with symbols radiating from three points.

Marie turned back to the group. “These three principles have long been represented by symbols. And of these, none are more enduring than the legend of the stones. The Soul Stone, the Body Stone, and the Mind Stone. Their names are whispered in texts dating back millennia, and their story is inseparable from the greatest catastrophe in magical history.”

Marcus advanced the slide again. On the screen now was a swirling image of destruction—lightning cracking across a shattered sky, towers crumbling, and figures fleeing from unseen chaos.

“The Cataclysm,” she said, her voice softening. “A magical rupture so vast, so destructive, that it nearly destroyed the world. Magic became untethered, unpredictable. Empires crumbled. Knowledge was lost. And in the aftermath, the stones—if they ever existed—were gone.”

Alex hesitated before speaking, his voice almost too quiet to hear. “The Cataclysm… do we know what caused it?”

Marie’s gaze turned to him, her eyes sharp yet not unkind. “There is no certainty, only theories. And each is as unsettling as the last.”

The next slide showed robed figures gathered around an anvil, fire and light bursting forth from a central object.

“The first theory,” Marie said, “claims the stones were forged by an ancient civilization, their ambition to master magic tearing apart the balance that holds our world together. The Cataclysm, in this view, was their punishment.”

Alex swallowed and looked back at his notes, his pen faltering. Jacques shifted uneasily in his chair but said nothing.

The slide changed again, now depicting the stones resting in the heart of a storm, their light piercing through chaos.

“The second theory is more hopeful,” Marie continued. “It suggests the stones were not the cause but the solution—anchors created to stabilize reality itself. They succeeded, though imperfectly, holding back the full collapse of magic at great cost.”

Jacques glanced at Alex but kept his gaze lowered, as if reluctant to meet Marie’s eye.

“And the third?” Alex asked softly.

Marie gestured toward the screen, which now displayed a fractured figure, humanoid but dissolving into shards of light and energy.

“The third theory,” she said, her voice dropping slightly, “claims the stones are not tools but remnants—pieces of a primordial being of pure magic. A being shattered when those who came before sought to control it. The Cataclysm, in this view, was the result of its destruction.”

The silence that followed was heavy. Alex stopped writing and stared at the image, his brow furrowed.

Marcus finally broke the tension with a mutter. “So the stones aren’t real. They’re just metaphors. Symbols for the three parts of magic.”

Marie turned to him, her expression unreadable. “Perhaps. The stones, as objects, may be a myth. But the principles they represent are not. Soul, Body, and Mind are the foundation of all magic. Without them, nothing you do—nothing you are—would be possible.”

Alex hesitated. “But if they’re just symbols, why do the stories say they disappeared after the Cataclysm?”

Marie’s gaze lingered on him for a moment before she spoke. “Because the Cataclysm reshaped more than the world. It reshaped how we understood magic itself. Perhaps the stones were real, and they were lost. Or perhaps they never existed at all, and the ancients needed something to blame—or to revere. What matters is the truth they represent: that magic is fragile, and the balance that holds it together can fail.”

Jacques shifted again, his voice barely above a whisper. “And if that balance fails?”

Marie stepped closer to the table, her hands resting on its surface. “Then we would not need to debate the stones. The world would remind us what happens when magic unravels.”

The room fell silent again, the faint hum of the projector the only sound. Marcus clicked the next slide, but the image was a simple map of ruins—silent testimony to the power of what had come before.

Marie turned toward the window, her voice softer now, almost to herself. “But the balance is failing. There are mysterious forces stirring in this city that have been silent since Lucien’s time. And it is possible that only a legendary power like the stones can help us… But I look at you and see the powers of Soul, Body and Mind, fractured but already far stronger than I have ever witnessed. Let‘s hope you find a way to combine them somehow.”

 

***

 

Lost in thought, she looked over the pool area outside. “But the nature of magic is just a philosophical aspect. You might dwell on later. More important now is to teach you magic. How can your magical entity—soul, body, mind—utilise and wield the energies?“

“This,” Marie announced, striking the screen with the dull tip of her long wooden pointer with a force that made Marcus flinch, “is what they called ‘Old Magic’—a time of earth and fire, water and air, when power flowed like a stream from high to low, source to sea, from the vessel to the wielder. You could redirect it, extract it, convert it.”

On the screen was a diagram of curling, elegant streams of energy bursting out from a ringed pentagram. It reminded Jacques of something he’d seen once in his Thermodynamics textbook: the paths heat might travel from source to sink, predictable, obedient.

At the far end of the room, Marcus hovered nervously beside the laptop, his finger hovering over the keyboard. “Uh, do you want the next slide now, or—?”

Marie cut him off with a sharp glance. “Not until I say so.”

With exaggerated grace, she dropped the pointer to her side and paced the room, the heels of her boots clicking ominously against the polished tiles. She seemed unnervingly out of place against the clean geometry of the room, her dark linen dress askew with elegance yet fraying at the edges, as if it hadn’t been worn but unearthed.

Jacques frowned at the slide. Something about it... unsettled him, but not in the way he expected. It was familiar—uncannily familiar. Why does this seem to matter? The thought itched at the corners of his mind.

Marie’s voice yanked him out of his thoughts. “Magic, centuries ago, was viewed as simple, mechanical. A force, no different from wind or gravity—molded like clay by gifted mortals clever or daring enough to channel it,” she said, though there was disdain in her tone. “In fact, ‘simple’ is the most generous description I could muster. This still works well for most daily tasks, and we will train it, but it no longer solely applies.”

The pointer struck the table with a loud crack. Jacques and Alex both jumped slightly, though Alex quickly masked his reaction with a scoff. Jacques caught the movement from the corner of his eye and guessed that tiny fissures forming in the boy’s armor. After yesterday, I deserve more than just glares. I’d hate myself too.

“Marcus. Change the slide.”

The image on the screen shifted. Gone were the elegant streams and pentagrams; in their place was something fractured, almost chaotic: a branching, splintering diagram of shimmering possibilities. Spiraling tendrils of energy spread like veins, splitting endlessly into frayed networks that bled into uncertainty. Jacques squinted. Waves—interference patterns broken and incomplete.

“Now,” Marie continued with measured deliberation, “magic behaves like this: a chaotic soup where everything and nothing exists until bound by willpower. No flow, no obedience. Only probability, waiting for an observer.”

Jacques shifted uncomfortably, the weight of her words rooting itself somewhere in his gut. Beside him, Alex sat rigid. His pale fingers brushed across his arm, his knuckles white. Jacques could almost see the waves of pressure radiating off him, his usual sharp energy edged with volatility. He didn’t need to look at Alex to know his mind was spiraling. The tautness in the air was answer enough.

Marie continued, gesturing to the branches with the pointer as if to connect the gaps with sheer force of will."It is both everything and nothing," she said, her gaze sweeping the room. “It exists everywhere and nowhere until someone like you,” the pointer swung at Alex, "or perhaps you," now Jacques, who sat straighter under her scrutiny, "forces this chaos to submit with focus. The act of willful observing is where magic becomes certainty. Influence," she mused, “not unlike science, allows us to mold a potential into existence.”

Jacques’ voice broke into the room like a soft collision, hesitant but intrusive. “That… That’s like collapsing a wave function.”

The room fell silent.

Marie arched a dark brow, intrigued. “Pardon?”

Jacques shifted in his chair, his thumb absently teasing the edge of the polished table. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Alex smirk just slightly, the corner of his mouth quirking with the kind of amusement Jacques both dreaded and inexplicably clung to.

“I mean,” Jacques continued, uneasy but committed, “what you’re saying—it’s not that different from, uh, Schrödinger’s cat in the box. You can’t know if it is dead or alive, both are equally probable. But when you take a look, observe it, the probabilities, the superposition of states, collapse into a single outcome.”

Marie tilted her head, the hint of a smile playing at her lips. A glint of interest rippled across her steely expression.

“Fascinating,” she murmured. “And you know this... how?”

“I majored in physics,” Jacques admitted, suddenly embarrassed. He shifted uncomfortably under the weight of her gaze.

“I thought you played football?” Alex asked.

“I was just very good at football. I was fast… and always seemed to know the best next move. They were actually pretty annoyed that I spent so much time studying. No-one there can really deal with a football player having other priorities besides football and training.” Jacques laughed with a slight bitterness woven into his voice. “They just couldn’t keep me from it because I was there on a full scholarship… thanks to Noir Foundation.”

Marcus snorted, leaning back in his chair. “I’m sure it was because you’re so smart. And how’s that physics degree working out for you now? Figuring out magic with a calculator?”

“Shush,” Marie snapped with only the flick of her wrist, silencing him like swatting a fly. Her attention remained on Jacques. “You’re a physicist. A man of numbers. Science. Observations.” Her lips curled slightly, almost amused. “It suits you, Jacques... That logical mind.”

She looked at Alex, then back at him. “I’m beginning to see a pattern. Perhaps it will make you resourceful enough to claim what belongs to you.”

Jacques stiffened at her gaze. He did not need to ask what “belonged to him.” Her words cut through him like the blade that severed Lucien’s hand.

With a flick of her wrist toward Marcus, the slide shifted, and Marie continued, but Jacques remained glued to his thoughts. For the first time, he felt the strange spark of connection—not to magic itself—but to the idea that this seemingly impossible world wasn’t so far removed from the rationality he grew up clinging to. It was unfathomable, yes, but not entirely incomprehensible.

He missed most of the last slide, but it was only a summary. Maybe, just maybe, there was a way for a broken, one-handed, ex-football-player physicist to make sense of this maddening puzzle after all.

 

***

 

The ceiling lights hummed softly as the projector cast a faint white glow over the now-empty screen, the shifting shadows amplifying the charged tension in the room. Alex shifted impatiently in his chair, his fingers drumming against the table’s smooth surface.

Marie stood at the head of the classroom, the wooden pointer now resting in her hand like a weapon ready to strike at any moment. She raised her chin toward Alex, singling him out with her sharp gaze.

“Let’s begin with you, Mr. Ashwood,” she said, her tone clipped but calm. “We will focus on collapsing probabilities or whatever it was that Jacques called it. I want you to stabilize one concrete outcome: the projector’s faint hum. Quiet it. Not with technology—” she added quickly, noting Alex’s glance toward the laptop, “—but with your will. Your control.”

Alex’s brow furrowed as he stared at her. “The projector? You want me to...” He gestured vaguely toward the device. “What, just *think* it quiet?”

“Precisely,” Marie said flatly.

Alex rolled his eyes. “Yeah, sure. Let’s see if I can just *think* the room into cleaning itself while I’m at it.”

Marie’s glare snapped toward him. “You have power, Mr. Ashwood, but it is meaningless without control. Thus far, you are little more than a walking storm—destructive, unpredictable, and soon to be dissipated if you cannot focus or control it.”

Jacques shot Alex a sidelong glance, expecting him to lash out at the insult. Instead, Alex leaned back in the chair, his expression tightening into that coiled wounded anger Jacques was beginning to recognize: a dangerous mix of defiance and self-loathing.

“Fine,” Alex muttered, standing abruptly. His chair scraped loudly across the floor, making Marcus wince. He stepped around the table and planted himself in front of the humming projector. “Let’s give this magic kindergarten exercise a try.”

Marie smirked faintly, gesturing with her pointer. “Proceed.”

The hum of the projector filled the silent stretch of the room as Alex stood motionless, his hands fisted at his sides and his pale blue eyes locked on the machine.

Jacques watched uneasily. He had seen what Alex’s unpredictable power could do—how it simmered just beneath his surface, waiting to explode.

Alex closed his eyes, inhaling deeply as he tried to summon that burning storm inside him to harness its wild currents.

He envisioned the sound of the projector dimming—first faintly, then completely. His lips curled into a tight line as he clenched his fists harder, his chest heaving with exertion. The problem wasn’t power; it was precision. Every part of him seemed like a dam barely holding back an ocean.

“You don’t need to use your own power. There’s more than enough all around you.”

“Listen to the air, how it streams through the projector, how it warms. Listen to it, try to see and sense it. Doesn’t that stream feel a bit like the energy inside of you?”

Alex relaxed and let the sound flow through him. Streams, vibrating with sound, and…

“There, I can see it in your face. That power is not only the air streaming, but also the magic. Compare it with what’s inside of you.”

A flicker of energy sparked around his hands—subtle yet visible. The air near him wavered with heat.

“Focus,” Marie said with an edge in her voice.

“I am,” Alex snapped, his voice trembling with frustration. He opened his eyes, and in an instant, the spark ignited into something fierce. The projector’s hum surged—louder, distorted—and a sudden heatwave rippled through the room.

Marcus stumbled back, clutching the laptop. “Hey, hey—!”

Before Alex could fully lose control, Marie stepped forward, her wooden pointer snapping against the table with an ear-splitting crack. “Stop!”

With a sharp gesture of her other hand, the energy around Alex dissipated, collapsing into silence. The projector’s exaggerated hum returned to its normal state.

“Carelessly feeding chaos into chaos solves nothing,” she intoned, her calm tone cutting deeper than a shout. Alex’s hands shook as he let them fall to his sides, his jaw set hard and his chest heaving from the effort.

Alex exploded verbally instead. “I can’t focus, okay? I don’t even know what I’m doing! No matter what I try, it…” He broke off, his throat tightening, his frustration giving way to something heavier. “... it doesn’t matter.”

Jacques heard the edge in Alex’s voice—the fear beneath the anger.

Marie approached Alex slowly, her boots sounding measured against the tiles. She placed the pointer with care across the table, crossing her hands over it as she surveyed him. “Your frustration belies a lack of trust—not only in your power, but in yourself. That,” she said, her voice softening to an almost motherly tone, “is what you must overcome.”

Alex dropped back into his chair in silence, his head low.

“Here’s a secret.” She came to him, whispered in his ear, and hugged him. “No-one ever even senses it the first few days, not even when trying twenty-four/seven, let alone do something with it … that was just amazing, my beautiful hero.”

 

***

 

Marie turned her attention to Jacques, who sat stiff and uneasy in his seat. “And now you, Mr. Black. Stand.”

Jacques hesitated, glancing at Alex, but Marie’s quiet command brooked no argument. Pushing the chair back, he rose to his feet.

“You, unlike Mr. Ashwood, are calm,” she said, circling him, “but too calm. You are passive, letting the magic flow into you and through you without ever asking it to act. That,” she tapped his shoulder with the pointer, “will no longer suffice.”

She gestured toward the lights above them—bright and unflinching in their intensity. “Now, diminish them. Focus on creating imbalance within their energy stream. Aim for one light. Will it to dim.”

Jacques frowned. He had spent most of his life just being a good boy, watching others act and decide on his part. He was doing things as he was being told, merely coasting along. Now, while almost being ordered, he’s still been asked to do something of significance, of his own will and in his own way. He felt unsteady, exposed.

Nevertheless, he nodded and turned his attention upward to the nearest light.

Physics, he thought. Treat it like a closed system, take and put it somewhere else.

He closed his eyes and focused on the magic—was it the vague, crawling warmth inside him that was always just passing through? He visualized himself reaching into the system, feeling for the currents that powered the light.

Marie’s voice cut in: “Think of probabilities. Infinite paths, waiting for a push—your push—to give them direction. Will it happening”

Jacques exhaled, his concentration tightening on one specific outcome: the light dimming. He could almost see it, flickering in his mind’s eye.

He tried harder, thinking about the pressure cooker image the factions had used. Even a defective pressure cooker could build up at least some pressure, just not for long. He probed for the magic around him. There. It felt like… Alex. After all, the power felt like Alex. He could try to pull the power from the lightbulb, but that wasn’t the goal. The goal was to create something, to push. With a deep breath, he opened up and pulled from his surroundings, visualising a push against the light bulb. His effort seemed ridiculously weak compared to the amount of magic he had pulled from all around him. It’s just not working, he thought.

Still, the light above them dimmed, a subtle change. But as quickly as it began, it snapped back to its former brightness. Jacques opened his eyes, frustration already twisting in his chest.

“I couldn’t,” he muttered. “It’s just... too much.”

Marie frowned, but nodded. “You succeeded briefly. You tasted the influence, you formed the magic, but doubt interrupted you.” She stepped closer, her tone sharper now. “This is not about brute strength or instant success, Mr. Black. That’s a child’s hope. You will learn to endure your perceived failures as stepping stones. But, considering the circumstances, you also did amazingly well.

Jacques’s shoulders sagged, though the praise of her words lingered in his mind. Marie placed the pointer on the table and folded her arms.

“Remember your physics,” she said softly, almost as an afterthought. “It is not so different. A nudge, even small, can alter great movements. Think of it not as forcing the system but participating in its direction. Perhaps this familiarity will aid you in working around… what you lack.”

Her blunt words painfully referenced Lucien’s severed hand.

Jacques swallowed the lump in his throat. He nodded, his mind spinning as he tried to reconcile what she was asking with everything he thought he knew about the world.

“I’ll try harder,” he murmured.

“You will,” she replied with certainty.

 

***

 

The faint hum of the projector filled the room with a soft, relentless buzz, a backdrop to the silence that had settled over the group. Jacques stared down at his hands, still frustrated by what he perceived as the failed attempt to influence the light. Alex leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, his quiet scowl revealing his irritation at their lesson. Marcus fidgeted next to the laptop, the nervous energy rolling off him palpable.

Marie had been quiet for several long moments, her sharp eyes lingering on Jacques as if she were scrutinizing some invisible thread of significance only she could see. Finally, she straightened, her voice cutting through the air.

“I can’t help you with your own thoughts, but I’m more than satisfied with this first lesson.”

“However, as your teacher, mentor and confidant, I must address something I’m not happy about.”

The entire room, Alex and Jacques, Marcus and even Solomon, gave her their full attention.

“You, Jacques, vanished last night.”

Her words hung in the room like smoke, heavy and suffocating. Jacques blinked, startled by the blunt statement. “What?”

“You disappeared,” Marie repeated, gesturing with the wooden pointer now held at her side. Her tone was even, but her words were unmistakably precise. “I was in my shop when it happened. One moment I could perceive you—your magic, your presence—it was distinct and steady. And then it was gone. Utterly gone. Like a flame extinguished.”

She turned to the others, her gaze scanning the room. “Did any of you notice?”

Alex frowned, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “I… wasn’t with him,” he muttered.

“I didn’t notice either,” Marcus added, as if to cover himself. His hand went instinctively to the back of his neck, his nervous tic betraying his unease under Marie’s scrutiny.

Marie’s focus settled back on Jacques, who looked more confused than any of them. “I didn’t… vanish,” he protested, though the uncertainty bled into his voice as he spoke. His brow furrowed as pieces began to click together in his head. “Unless…”

Marie raised a sharp eyebrow. “Unless what?”

Jacques looked toward the back of the room. Solomon appeared very uncomfortable, but stared straight ahead. He did not move or give him any indication of what to do.

Jacques hesitated. Should he lie? No, he decided, there was no point in holding back. He glanced at Marcus and Alex briefly before turning back to her. “The amulet,” he said.

Marie’s expression didn’t change, but there was an unmistakable intensity in the way she straightened ever so slightly. “Amulet?”

“It was Solomon’s,” Jacques explained. “He gave it to me when he retrieved us from your shop, right before we met up with our friends. He said…” His voice trailed off, glancing toward Solomon, who had been silent in the corner, leaning against the wall with the calmness of a predator watching its prey. “He said it would hide me. Hide my glow.”

Marie’s lips thinned as if she had expected as much, but didn’t like hearing it confirmed. “Hide you entirely, it would seem,” she said dryly. “This morning, I sensed you again—or rather, the absence was gone, and your presence returned. I called Solomon right after that.”

Jacques nodded, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah, I… gave the amulet back to Solomon right after we came here, before we went to meet you and the factions. That must’ve been when…”

“When you reappeared,” Marie finished for him. Her pointer rested on the table now, but her tone remained sharp. “Solomon,” she said, her gaze snapping toward him like a whip. “Where is this amulet now?”

Solomon didn’t reply immediately. His dark gaze flicked between Marie and Jacques, his usual composure just barely failing to conceal his reluctance.

“Solomon,” she pressed, her voice growing colder. “If the amulet you lent to Jacques last night had the kind of power to cloak his existence—a bonfire of magic in a very dark night—so completely, I think it’s time we examined it.”

The air in the room seemed to grow heavier, the unseen weight of magic pressing at its edges. After a long moment, Solomon stepped forward, reaching into the inside pocket of his tailored suit jacket. When he withdrew his hand, resting in his palm, was the amulet—a small, intricately designed object that looked old and unassuming.

He placed it with great care on the table in front of Marie, his posture tight, as though letting the amulet go cost him more than he wanted to admit.

Marie wasted no time. With a flicker of curiosity in her eyes, she picked up the amulet between her thumb and forefinger, tilting it toward the projector light so that the carvings stood out.

The room was silent as she examined it, turning it over slowly and running her fingers across the edges. A faint smile—cunning and sharp—played at her lips.

“Well, now this is interesting,” she murmured, more to herself than anyone else.

“What’s interesting?” Alex asked impatiently, breaking the silence.

She set the amulet down on the table with a quiet chime and turned her gaze back toward Solomon. “This isn’t just a concealment artifact,” she stated. “This is the strongest suppression magic I have ever seen. Deep, layered suppression magic. Ancient. For something—or someone—of significant power. From before or during the cataclysm. No-one could do anything remotely as effective anymore.”

Marie frowned. “This amulet is… extremely sophisticated. A piece of true craftsmanship. The carvings were added later on, covering the core, but they suggest Native American origins—complex concealment magic indeed, designed to hide the wearer’s magical presence. But…” She tilted the amulet again, her expression sharpening as she examined the empty socket for a stone at its center. “It’s not so much the wearer that the amulet is supposed to be shielding. That’s just a byproduct. It’s whatever goes here, into this socket.”

“What are you trying to say?” Jacques asked, discomfort laced in his voice.

Marie studied him for a long moment before turning back to Solomon. “Where did this come from?” she asked, her tone deceptively even.

Solomon remained silent for a heartbeat too long, his expression guarded. Eventually, he answered. “Lucien acquired it when he defeated the Necromancer two centuries ago. He believed it to be… significant.”

Marie’s eyes narrowed like a blade being drawn. “Significant? No shit, Lucien wasn’t one for understatement. What—exactly—did he believe? Did he know what this held?”

Solomon’s lips tightened, his reluctance visible. “Lucien believed it held the Soul Stone.”

The room fell silent, the weight of that declaration pulling every breath into a vacuum.

Marie ignored him, her gaze boring into Solomon’s. “Was he right? Does it exist?” she asked, her voice as sharp as glass.

Solomon held her gaze evenly, but the tension in the air was palpable. “Yes.”

Marie didn’t blink, letting the seconds tick by. “Any idea where it is now?”

Solomon’s silence lingered in the room before he finally answered. His voice dropped lower, firmer. “We have it. It’s safe.”

Marie went pale and didn’t say a word for several moments.

She seemed to grow hot, fanning herself with a trembling hand. “This… change everything.“

Then, with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, she said. “We’ll discuss just how safe it is… later.”

Marie slapped the wooden stick against her palm with a wicked crack and pointed it at Solomon. Her forced smile becoming far more dangerous.

“You’ve been keeping secrets, Solomon,” she said, her tone slipping into something amused, excited, and venomous. “That’s why you wanted me to mention Soul, Body and Mind to the factions. You looked for a reaction. You’re searching for the other stones.”

Remembering the boys, she exhaled twice, deeply, and turned her gaze back toward them, dismissing the tension brewing at the table. “That’s enough for now. Jacques, Alex—dismissed. We’ll talk about the stones later. Now, head to the gym, it’ll keep Alex’s body from self destruction. Marcus, turn off the projector.”

As the boys filed obediently out of the room, Solomon lingered by the table, watching them go. Once the door shut, he met her gaze coolly, but his jaw tightened and a shudder ran down his spine. She smirked.

“You’ve been a very bad boy,” she hissed. The wooden pointer come down hard against her palm one last time as the room fell into silence.

 

***

 

The door to the meeting room clicked shut behind them. The polished wood floors gleamed under dim, antique-style fixtures, their reflections rippling slightly as Marcus walked ahead and the boys followed side by side. Alex stuffed his hands into his pockets, as if a normal scowl wasn’t enough to cover whatever roiling thoughts churned beneath his exterior.

Jacques glanced over at Alex before speaking. “Okay…” he started, his voice breaking the silence like an intruder. “What was that all about?”

Marcus stopped walking, spinning on his heel to face Jacques. His eyes narrowed to slits, and his voice dropped to a conspiratorial mutter. “You saw Solomon, right? Toward the end.”

Jacques frowned, replaying the moment in his mind. Solomon standing stiffly near the table, his presence unusually subdued, his responses clipped and reluctant. “I guess? He was…” Jacques paused. “I don’t know, quiet?”

“Quiet?” Marcus echoed incredulously. He stabbed a finger in Jacques’ direction. “He looked terrified. Did you see the way he tensed when Madame Marie started asking him about that stone? She had him cornered. The guy didn’t even try to argue.”

Jacques shook his head, uncertain. “Solomon? Terrified? I don’t know… He didn’t look scared to me. He looked… tense, I guess, is the only word. I mean, Marie was grilling him pretty hard. Even I wanted to crawl under the table, and she wasn’t even looking at me.”

Alex scoffed, but looked unconvinced. “I’m not sure. He was more than just tense. He looked…”

“…excited,” Marcus cut in again, punctuated by a short, nasty laugh, the smug curve of his grin obnoxiously obvious. He leaned against the wall, looking every bit like a man enjoying his own private show in the grand spectacle of their confusion.

“Excited?” Alex repeated, narrowing his eyes. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Marcus rocked back on his heels, savoring the moment. “I mean,” he said, stretching the words out for emphasis, “our dear Solomon might look like he’s this mild-mannered ‘caretaker’ or ‘butler,’ but did you not notice the glint in his eyes when Marie started slapping that pointer stick around? I’m telling you, stiff from terror and excitement. Make of that what you will.”

Alex’s face scrunched into an odd mix of disgust and understanding. “Uh, that’s… gross.”

“Or intriguing,” Marcus added with a wag of his eyebrows.

Jacques, his brow furrowed in confusion, interrupted. “Wait, hold on. Everyone keeps calling Solomon ‘caretaker.’ with quotation marks. Isn’t he just… in charge of the house?” He trailed off, looking both puzzled and wary. “Isn’t that it? Why are we even talking about him? Marie’s the one who practically runs everything, isn’t she?”

At that, Marcus let out a short bark of laughter. “Oh my god, Jacques. Mr. Clever-Physics. You’re serious.”

Jacques gave him a defensive glare. “Yeah? What’s wrong with that?”

Marcus took a step closer, shaking his head in exaggerated disbelief. “Jesus, has it even occurred to either of you who Solomon actually is?” He gestured expansively around them, as though the house itself were proof enough.

Alex frowned, eyeing Marcus with suspicion. “What are you talking about?”

“Think about it,” Marcus said, leaning in conspiratorially. “You two are the most important thing that happened here in 200 years—their very reason of existence—and they send the butler to deal with you? Who handles everything at Maison Noir? The finances? The politics? Who deals with the factions? Who called the shots when Jacques was declared Lucien Noir’s heir? Who keeps everyone else away? And the power plays, the magic—everything.” He raised an eyebrow. “Do you seriously believe Solomon is just a glorified butler?”

Jacques opened his mouth to reply, then stopped when the weight of Marcus’ words hit him. Memories flickered: Solomon calmly overseeing his introduction to the factions, guiding him through the labyrinthine politics of Lucien Noir’s legacy, managing every detail with clinical precision.

“Wait,” Jacques muttered, his voice soft. “But then… who is he, really?”

“He’s the head honcho,” Marcus said with a dramatic shrug, as though it should have been obvious all along. “Runs Noir Foundation, controls Lucien’s wealth, the estate, the connections, the factions. Doesn’t bat an eye at playing puppet master, but hey—’caretaker’ has a nice humble ring to it, don’t you think? Keeps things cozy.”

Jacques shook his head. “No! I—he never…” He trailed off again, his mind spinning as he replayed every interaction he’d had with Solomon. Had he been so preoccupied with Alex and inheriting Lucien Noir’s power—or lack of it—that he hadn’t stopped to consider who had been arranging everything behind the scenes?

Marcus, clearly enjoying himself now, ran his fingers through his hair and added one final jab. “So, back to the moment these two are having… Trust me, no-one that powerful unwinds with just a cup of tea and a dog-eared copy of Rebecca.”

Alex snorted despite himself, though he quickly tried to stifle it. “Alright, so Mister Teacup has the whole magic empire covered. And Marie? What’s her deal?”

Marcus shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine, but honestly? They must have been working together for years, maybe longer.” His smirk widened. “Which means you two just walked into the middle of whatever the hell that power couple’s got going on.”

Jacques’ face flushed slightly—whether it was from embarrassment or frustration, he couldn’t quite tell. But the image of the amulet Marie had inspected earlier lingered in his mind, joining an ever-growing pile of questions and suspicions he didn’t yet have answers to.

“Well,” Alex finally muttered, shoving his hands back into his pockets. “That’s unsettling.”

“Welcome to Maison Noir,” Marcus quipped with a grin.

The three of them fell silent again as they reached the wide staircase leading down to the main portion of the house, the distant echoes of the factions’ earlier meeting and the whack of a wooden pointer stick still rattling faintly in their ears. Each of them, in their own way, turned inward, wondering just how much they still didn’t know about the people—and forces—seemingly orchestrating their lives from the shadows.