AI Rory gripped the doorframe, knuckles white. The figure silhouetted against the dim hall light was unmistakable, even after all this time. Broad shoulders, the familiar tailored charcoal suit, and the glint of platinum blond hair. "Lucien." The name felt foreign on her tongue, a ghost from a life she had tried to bury.
He offered a slight, almost imperceptible smile. One amber eye, one black, fixed on her. "Malphora."
A tremor ran through her. Only he, and a select few from her past, used that name . "What are you doing here?" Her voice came out sharper than she intended. She remembered the three deadbolts on Eva's flat, a security measure usually reserved for more... corporeal threats.
"A simple visit, no?" He gestured vaguely with his ivory-handled cane. "Just passing through the lovely Brick Lane, and thought I would check on an old friend." His gaze swept over her, a slow, deliberate appraisal that made her skin prickle.
"We are not friends, Lucien." She pulled the door open wider, but only enough for him to see her face. Not enough for him to invite himself in. "And you don't 'just pass through'."
"Indeed." His smile widened, a flash of an almost predatory gleam. "I have a purpose, as always." He leaned against the doorframe, his presence filling the cramped hallway, the scent of expensive cologne and something subtly earthy, undeniably otherworldly , invading her space. "May I come in, or shall we conduct our… reunion, in the hallway?"
Rory hesitated, her mind racing . The last time she saw him, it was in a chaotic flurry of arcane energy and desperate goodbyes. Now, here he stood, calmly requesting entry into Eva's crowded flat, a place of safety. Ptolemy, Eva's tabby cat, rubbed against her ankles, a soft purr vibrating through the floorboards. She glanced over her shoulder at the stacks of books and scrolls that covered every surface in the flat, the detritus of Eva's relentless research. This was not a place for Lucien Moreau. This was not his world.
"What do you want?" she asked, her voice low .
"Patience, *chérie *." He pushed off the doorframe, taking a step closer, and Rory instinctively stepped back, allowing him just enough room to cross the threshold. Her heart hammered against her ribs. She couldn't very well slam the door in his face now. Not without causing a scene, and Brick Lane landlords had enough to complain about.
He moved with an unsettling grace, his gaze darting around the small living room, taking in every detail. His lips curved upwards, a hint of amusement playing there. "Still surrounded by… the intellectual pursuit of the arcane, I see." He tapped his cane lightly against a precarious stack of worn leather-bound tomes.
"It's Eva's flat," Rory said, defending her friend's space. "And it's none of your business."
He turned to face her fully, his heterochromatic eyes searching hers. "Still as fierce as I remember, then." He took another step, closing the small distance between them, and Rory had to crane her neck slightly to meet his gaze. She was 5'6", but he loomed over her, a solid, unsettling presence. His scent was stronger now, a disorienting mix of old parchment and something metallic, like rain on ancient stone.
"What do you want, Lucien?" she repeated, her voice betraying a hint of the tremor running through her.
"A simple conversation, Malphora." He extended a hand, his long, elegant fingers brushing against her cheek, sending an electric jolt through her. She flinched, pulling back abruptly.
His hand dropped, but his gaze remained locked on hers, the amber eye glinting . "Still quick to shy away."
"You have no right to touch me," she snapped, feeling a flush creep up her neck.
"No right?" A low chuckle rumbled in his chest, a sound that sent shivers down her spine. "I thought we had moved beyond such trivialities, you and I."
"We moved beyond anything a long time ago," Rory countered, her voice firm, despite the knot in her stomach . "When you left."
His smile faded, replaced by something unreadable . "Circumstances, Malphora."
"Always circumstances with you." She crossed her arms, a futile attempt to create a barrier between them. "I'm not interested in revisiting old wounds, Lucien."
"And I am not here to open them." He walked deeper into the room, his movements fluid and silent. He paused by a cluttered bookshelf, his fingers trailing over a dusty spine. "Though, I confess, you left quite an impression."
Rory watched him, every muscle tensed. He was too calm, too collected. This wasn't a social call. Not with him. She remembered his past, a tapestry woven with dark deals and supernatural skirmishes. Lucien Moreau didn't just 'pop in'.
"Get to the point," she urged.
He picked up a small, intricately carved wooden figurine from the shelf, turning it over in his hand. "I need your assistance."
Rory scoffed. "My assistance? With what? Finding a misplaced soul? Brokering a peace treaty between rogue fae and disgruntled ghouls?"
A flicker of annoyance crossed his face. "This is not a jest, Malphora."
"My name is Rory."
"I am aware of your chosen moniker. However, there are times when one must embrace their true nature." He placed the figurine back precisely where he found it. "A certain... item, has gone missing. And it is pertinent to the stability of certain… delicate agreements."
"And what does that have to do with me?" She knew, even as she asked, that he wouldn't be here if it didn't involve her in some way.
"You have a unique talent, Malphora. A way of seeing things others do not. A knack for finding what is lost, even when it wishes to remain hidden." He turned to face her again, his eyes intense. "And you owe me a favour."
The words hung in the air , heavy with unspoken history. The memory of a moonless night in a forgotten alleyway surged through her, the acrid smell of ozone and the taste of fear in her mouth. She owed him, yes. She had called upon his specific brand of expertise once, a lifetime ago, and he had delivered. At a steep price. One she had hoped never to collect.
"I paid that debt," she said, her voice strained . "I thought we were even."
"Debts to me are rarely simple transactions, Malphora. They are… investments." He took another step towards her, and this time, she held her ground, refusing to back away. The faint scar on her left wrist, from a childhood accident, tingled beneath her skin. "I protected you once. Now, I require you to protect something in return."
"What 'item' are you talking about?"
He reached into the inner pocket of his charcoal suit jacket, extracting a small, ornately carved wooden box. It was dark, polished to a high sheen, with silver filigree curling around its edges. He opened it with a practiced flick of his thumb, revealing a single, iridescent feather nestled within. It shimmered with an otherworldly light, shifting colours even in the dim light of the flat.
Rory felt a cold dread wash over her. She knew that feather . Knew the stories.
"The feather of the last Harpy of Avaros," she whispered, her voice barely audible .
"Indeed." He closed the box. "It was stolen from me, a week ago. And I suspect the thief intends to use it for… less than savoury purposes." His focus sharpened, his gaze boring into her. "I need you to recover it."
"Why me?"
"Because," he said, stepping close enough for her to feel the warmth radiating from him, "the warding placed upon it can only be bypassed by one born on a specific alignment of stars, with a certain… lineage. A lineage you share."
Rory stared at him, her mind reeling. He knew. He had always known more than he let on. The implication of his words hung between them, a silent accusation of secrets kept and truths revealed. He wasn't just here for a favour. He was here because he understood something fundamental about her, something she had tried to keep buried.
"What do I get in return?" she asked, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside her .
His lips curved into that unsettling, knowing smile. "My continued protection, *chérie *. And perhaps, a few answers to some long-standing questions." He paused, his gaze dropping to her throat, then back up to her eyes. "Unless, of course, you would prefer to face the consequences alone."