Chapter 3

"How on earth can he still be alive?"

"I've explained this many times, Dave."

Minutes later, in the car, Dave was still having trouble wrapping his mind around what he had been told. It might have been easier if the old man would freaking talk…

"No, you've given me plenty of dull and vague comments leading me to believe this is a very big deal, but I still have no idea what's going on."

Balthazar was silent.

And Dave was persistent. "…I'm gonna keep bugging you. I'll ask Veronica. I'll try to figure it out myself, by nosing around, poking into things that aren't my business, making a target of myself…"

"Please, for Merlin's sake, don't."

Dave shut up, but looked at Balthazar expectantly.

Balthazar sighed. There was no dealing with the kid. "I was only waiting to tell you because I haven't got it all figured out yet."

"Two heads are better than one."

"That may be, but this is something I doubt you could help me with."

"Tell me anyway."

Silence for a moment. Then: "The Parasite Spell works in such a way that it uses enough force to take away the average sorcerer's magic, but controlled enough to not take away anything more."

"Such as?"

"Auras. Souls. That's a lesson for later. The point is that, no matter how powerful the sorcerer, their magic takes up the same amount of figurative space and energy, for lack of better term. It's like a muscle. One can build it up or neglect it, but in a way it is one solid, magical entity at the person's core. It is like this for every common sorcerer."

Dave took that in. "So…Why would it not work?"

Indirect as always, Balthazar continued on. "You would be an exception to this rule. Merlin was a Prime Sorcerer, and as his heir you have carried on this title. Your magic, like his was, is more like the blood that flows through the body. It is all-encompassing, allowing it to undulate and grow. If the Spell were to be used on you I'd imagine that your magic would instinctively expand to null the Spell's effect."

The silence this time was even longer. "So…wait, then…"

"It would appear, Dave, that you are not the only one with an alpha lineage."

Dave let out a heavy breath and faced forward. "This is either really cool, or we are so screwed."

"Mmm."

Dave looked back to Balthazar, and noticed the barely-there tightness of his jaw and his brow that was more furrowed than usual, and remembered then that there was more that they hadn't figured out yet.

"What—er,— what exactly is it that has you so confused about all this?"

Balthazar took a deep, cleansing breath before speaking. "Understand, Dave, that you are not the only Prime. Perhaps you are the most powerful, being of the direct line of Merlin himself, but there have been other Primes throughout the ages, and many of them produced heirs as well. Many of the bloodlines have also died out, but a few remain. Not all of them, Merlinian."

"Wait, wait,wait, there are Prime Morganians?" Dave was not at all fond of this idea.

Before he could panic, Balthazar cut in to calm him down. Sort of. "Well, yes and no. Morgana herself didn't produce an heir, and therefore there was never a Prime Morganian, one that would be your direct counterpart. There have been many Primes of other arch sorcerers that were Morganian themselves, but…well, they're not usually hard to find."

"Why is that?"

"Morganian magic—evil magic—is notoriously hard to control, or contain. It's rather…malignant, I suppose, in its maturation throughout generations. When the bloodline runs thin enough, the exaggerated power within the Prime tends to reveal itself in less than pleasant ways. Such Primes are found, and disposed of."

There it was again, the silence. But this time it was sad. Both knew it was necessary for the good of many, and even the world, but it was still killing. Never mind that they had just done this very thing the day before. Dave shook his head and decided not to dwell too much at the moment. There were plenty of other things he had to worry about right then, apparently. And then it hit him.

"…Balthazar?"

"Mm?"

"Drake Stone's magic wasn't, uh, malignant. Or out of control. Why…why is that?"

"The logical explanation is that his magic isn't evil"

"…His magic is Merlinian?"

This time, the silence served as an answer.

III

His place was trashed.

Drake had made it out of his room and what he found was not in the least reassuring. Statues and tables were overturned, paintings ripped from the wall. Broken glass and pottery was everywhere, and he couldn't place it, but something was up with the rug. Drake carefully, shakily sidestepped the obstructions, making a lap through his flat. Looking for…clues? That sounded so lame and cartoony. But it was true. He needed something to go by, but there wasn't much for him to go by. He made it to his desk, looked back through the room, and let himself drop into his chair. He had been right here, one day ago. Everything had been fine. Now…now what was he supposed to do? He let his face, slack-jawed, fall into his hands, elbows resting on the desk. What was he going to do?

He didn't have much time to ponder, however. Not a minute later, the door in the other room opened.

His head shop up, but he dared not make a sound. What if it was Horvath? What if he had brought Morgana? He was dead. He was so, so dead.

III

"Last time we were here, it didn't exactly end well."

"Speak quietly. There is no one here to harm us this time, Dave."

Dave sidestepped a broken vase. "That's not what you said in the car. There might be a very alive sorcerer here waiting for us."

"A sorcerer without the ability to channel his magic. Still, speak quietly."

The two made it through the entry hall, and made it to what looked to be the master bedroom.

Dave was less than impressed. "It's purple." He received no response.

Balthazar had made it to the other side of the bed, to the open closet door, and when Dave saw him suddenly stop, he grew nervous.

"Uh, Balthazar? What is it?"

Balthazar turned towards Dave, and the latter was shocked and saddened by the look on his face. He had a suspicion as to what the the elder sorcerer had found, but he went to his side, anyway. He wasn't wrong.

There, lying deathly still, was a little girl. She was a witch, a bad witch, in life, but…Dave made a small, strangled noise. She was a child.

Balthazar made his way silently over to her side and knelt, examining the body. When he brought his hand to her neck, he finally spoke. "I'm afraid I was right. She was a victim of the Parasite Spell."

Balthazar leaned back on his feet, and Dave grasped the door frame for support. It was a cruel spell.

Before the two could dwell on it any longer, they heard a cash coming from the room at the end of the hall.

Dave snapped his neck around, taken off guard. Balthazar motioned for him to remain quiet, and the two made it out of the bedroom and down the ill-lit hallway.

When they entered the sitting room, Balthazar stopped. He was here. Balthazar could feel it. So where—

The sound of something swiping through the air met his ears, and he threw up his forearms at once to defend himself, swiftly parrying the offending object and catching the attacker's eye at once.

Drake Stone. A very frazzled-looking, unkempt Drake Stone.

Dave was yelling behind him—what, he couldn't tell—and Drake quickly recovered and took another ruthless swipe, this time at Balthazar's legs. Before the object (it looked to be some kind of cane; probably a magician's prop) made contact, Balthazar willed himself to take hold of it, threw it across the room, and with a gesture of his hand he had Stone up against the opposite wall, struggling to free himself from invisible hands.

Dave was looking on in bewilderment—he'd have to work on his reflexes—and Balthazar was about to demand answers from the man who had attacked them, but when he looked, really looked at the figure before him, he felt sympathy stir in his chest.

He couldn't understand how Morganians could do what they did; to intentionally cause so much fear in the souls of those they targeted. Even now, with no intent to harm him, Balthazar could hardly stand to look into Stone's eyes and see the fear held there. The fear of him.