Page 61 of Blood

The event transpires in the digital realm, a convergence of power and secrecy in the shadows of the internet.

I have been to such events before, of course. Most of my collection was obtained this way.

Perhaps that is… what’s the word… karma?

I delicately adjust the gold cufflinks at my wrists as I navigate the encrypted space. The assembly is an ingenious blend of ancient mysticism and modern technology, only accessible to those with a true mastery of the dark arts.

Like me.

The auctioneer, nothing but a shadow behind the screen, commences the event with a voice modulated to echo through the digital expanse. “Esteemed guests, beings of influence and power, welcome. Tonight, we gather in pursuit of the Scepter of Dissolution. Let the bidding commence.”

The bidding erupts, a rapid-fire exchange of numbers and cryptic usernames filling the screen. I remain calm, my fingers poised above the keyboard, strategically placing my bids. The price escalates, a testament to the Scepter’s magnetic pull.

As usual, however, the bidding escalates from money to things the participants value more than money.

A new contender enters the arena. ‘AMAlliance’ flashes upon the screen, a moniker that sends ripples through the digital space. The Anti Magick Alliance.

Of course.

I reach into the top drawer of my desk. I hoped to give this to Nova as a parting gift – because in the few minutes we have spent together, she truly has enchanted me – but I shall have to think of something else for her to remember me by.

I run my thumb over the label on the vial. The Tears of the First Witch, a potion of unparalleled power. A relic that can turn the tide of any magical endeavor. “I bid the Tears of the First Witch,” I pronounce, my voice steady, commanding as I hold up the vial for the camera.

The digital room falls silent, the gravity of my bid evident to all. “A formidable offer,” he declares.

But then, another voice, cold and unrelenting, cuts through the silence. “We bid the Covenant of Shadows.”

My grip tightens angrily on the vial. The glass creaks, and I put it down before it breaks.

The Covenant of Shadows — a pact made with the very forces that govern magick, held by the Anti Magick Alliance? How is that possible?

My brow furrows, my mind racing. I have wealth, influence, connections within the darkest corners of the world. But the Covenant is a promise of loyalty, a pact that transcends the mortal realm. It’s a bid that cannot be quantified, a pledge of allegiance from the very shadows themselves.

I have no idea how the AMA got their hands on it or why no one is stopping them seizing the scepter. Do they not realize what awaits us if the very organization who wishes to wipe our kind from the earth gets their clutches on a weapon that could do just that?

The auctioneer hesitates, the weight of the decision heavy upon him. Perhaps he is thinking the same thoughts.

But the rules of the auction are clear.

To break or bend them now would be to throw the entire dark market into disarray.

“Do I have a higher bid?” he calls out, his voice uncertain.

But what is higher than a pledge from the shadows? I search the depths of my extensive connections, the myriad of relics and favors at my disposal. In this moment, against such a bid, they seem inconsequential.

“Going once, going twice…”

Anger bubbles in my veins, my fangs ache, I pick up my whiskey glass.

“Sold, to the Anti Magick Alliance.”

I hurl the glass across the room. It meets the bookcase and shatters into a million pieces.

The digital chamber dissolves, the encrypted connection fading into the ether. I brace my hands on the desk, breathing heavily, ribs throbbing as if they too might crack and splinter.

I lost it.

The scepter is gone.