As Quinn tried to get a handle on the specifics of what he was seeing inside Riordan, it slowly got harder and fuzzier to see. Riordan’s soul seemed to close up on itself, erecting a wall that hid all of its strange secrets. Peering into Riordan’s soul became about as useful as trying to read a book through a sheet of fogged up glass.

At first, it seemed personal, a mere matter of privacy concerning the inner workings of Riordan’s soul. Indeed, perceiving the magical system of another living person usually required specialized spells. Sometimes a mage could see hints or signs of particularly strong traits or affinities, but most of the time, the personal nature of the soul shielded them from outside view, allowing only the magic or corruption that was strong enough to reach the surface be seen.

It was how a natural mage could fall to death corruption slowly and not be immediately identified as a potential hazard. Their own vibrant power hides the inner workings and the first subtle traces of their downfall from all but the most perceptive. It was frustrating, but Quinn had spells that could get around that. He began to rummage through his mage’s kit, looking for the right combination of items. He settled on a mirror and on a scanning charm. The combination let him momentarily create a rudimentary diagram of Riordan’s magical system.

It was… complex. Quinn had never seen anyone with two cores. The core was an essential element that tied the soul to the energy that was magic. Even non-mage humans had a core. It served as the lungs of energy transference, drawing in and transforming the raw magic of the world into the magic that supported the body and soul as well as into any magical affinities a person possessed. Most attacks on a person’s soul or magical system only affected the magical veins or their well or left surface scars upon their soul. A damaged core was sheer agony when it did occur. To split one in half had to be about as pleasant as slicing open your own belly, pulling out your guts, and painstakingly shoving needles into all your organs. Without anesthesia.

Quinn shivered. At least the transmutation he’d witnessed happened quickly. Perhaps the spirit shielded Riordan from the trauma. Or perhaps the shifter was about to have a very bad case of PTSD.

Either way, Quinn tried to make sense of why Riordan had two cores and two wells and how either transformation might be able to reduce corruption. As far as theories went, dividing the system didn’t solve the problem. It would just move it around. To get rid of the corruption, there had to be a link to something outside of the system. Quinn just had to find it. He peered at the tiny spelled mirror in his hands, wishing desperately for more time and details.

A minute later, the view of Riordan’s soul shifted again. His pack bond flared and dissipated. Then a strange veil fell over him, shattering Quinn’s scanning spell.

Quinn nearly screamed in frustration as this impossible chance flowed away from him. He scrambled forward, reaching for Riordan, desperate to try to pull some answers from the motionless man, when Frankie stopped him.

Even though she was short and thin, Frankie was a shifter and Quinn was not. Her bony arm was enough to stop him dead in his tracks. Quinn paused, shaking as he tried to pull himself back together.

“Did you see it?” he asked her, afraid to voice what he’d seen, afraid his senses had been lying to him.

“I saw something,” Frankie replied, “Something that bears careful questioning and investigation. In private. We are in the presence of a greater spirit now, one that has ties to death magic. Spirits with affinity ties aren’t exactly rare; after all, spirits arise from concepts and from magic itself. Greater Spirits are rare. And the thing you were saying about the Veil tells me that this one is going to need watching and likely protection.”

Quinn warred within himself for a moment. A desperate human part of himself wanted answers right now, having been presented with a clue towards the impossible. The rational, professional side of him that had carried him through maintaining careful and efficient death magic won out though. He wasn’t someone ruled by emotion. He had time to study this still. And Frankie was right. This was not the time or place.

The same imperception that covered Riordan settled over the feeling of the spirit as well. Quinn could still sense the taint of death in the area and detect the presence of the tree spirit with it being raised, but he had a feeling that would become harder and harder the further away he got from the tree. If the spirit returned to a more placid quiescence, as befitted a tree, that subtlety would only increase.

“Are you sure?” Quinn asked Frankie, unable to keep some of the sarcasm out of his voice. “It seems pretty content to hide itself.”

Frankie ignored his tone, frowning for some other reason. That expression on her face really did not inspire comfort in Quinn. If one of the oldest shaman he’d ever met was worried, then he better well be too.

“Greater spirits and places of power,” she muttered, clearly pondering something. Whatever it was, she declined to share it with the class.

Quinn turned his attention back to Riordan and the spirit. His enthusiasm waned slightly as he studied the man. This was everything that Quinn ever wanted, potentially, but he wasn’t the only one who thought that way. If a serious death mage learned about this or any group that always wanted death magic but hadn’t indulged due to the complications, then Riordan would become a target very quickly.

The Department of Magic certainly would want to own Riordan. A death mage that they could use indefinitely? They would love that. Of course, they’d have to come up with some proper way to keep a leash on him, because the Department was rife with mage politics, including a sense of superiority compared to shifters. Quinn could just imagine how well that would go over with Riordan.

“Aggressively decline” came to mind. As did “refuse with great prejudice.” Riordan was not one to submit meekly, for all he was loyal to a fault when he chose to be.

In Quinn’s experience, the Department was inclined to come in with bureaucratic dick a-swinging, throwing their authority and prestige around and trying to steamroller their way into acquiescence.

Honey badgers were liable to fight steamrollers and either win or die trying.

Quinn quickly tried to think back to what he’d been saying. Had Adam heard him say anything definitive about what was happening? Had he seen enough from a distance to draw conclusions for himself? If Adam did know, what would he do with that information? Quinn was inclined to only trust his department so far, given he’d been subject to both their charity and their machiavellian tactics. Their heart was in the right place, but their methods needed work. Plus there was the matter of the suspected leak in the Department.

Reminding Adam of the potential leak might be enough to get him to keep quiet about Riordan for a while, but not indefinitely. No, Adam was the sort to report it to someone eventually. Hopefully the right someone. Quinn wasn’t sure how to judge that in cases like this where potential good could tempt someone to do very unethical things in the short term.

Before Quinn could work himself into a full tizzy, Daniel appeared next to him. Quinn squeaked and jumped, way too keyed up on adrenaline for new surprises. Zeren spun, immediately ready to protect him, but stopped at being readied once they identified Daniel. It was a measure of Zeren’s professional paranoia that they didn’t just relax their guard for people who looked like friends or who were friends but might have been compromised since they were last seen.

“Oh,” Daniel said in a small voice, looking rather shell-shocked. His eyes swept over the mayhem around them. Quinn took the moment to look around as well, finally shaking off the hyperfocus he’d had towards the ritual and all the magical happenings related to it.

The clearing around them was wrecked. Various debris, mostly branches, leaves and other forest detritus, but also lanterns and personal items from the gathered people, was scattered everywhere. It looked like a major storm had rolled through, only without the rain. People were gathered in several clusters, guarded by members of their assault team. It took Quinn a moment to see the order to it, but it looked like the cultists were being grouped by prisoners, prisoners on parole, the injured, and the dead.

That last category shook Quinn, the bodies of the dead laid out in a short row. There weren’t many, a scarce handful of bodies compared to the hundred or so cultists and the twenty-five or so pack members. And all of the dead were cultists, showing signs of being trampled and clawed, crushed and suffocated. He’d felt Gloria’s spell, seen how it sent the cultists into a rage that did not care about self-preservation, but this drove it home.

How evil must someone be to use tactics that threw away the lives of their own people like tissue paper.

Gloria and Helena had been taken away, guarded by Lucinda and several other pack members, all of whom looked like they were considering accidentally slicing their throats. But the Sleeping Bear Pack weren’t murderers. They were normal people with a big secret and some extra tricks. Death in combat was different than execution and most of them didn’t have the temperament for either really.

Norris would probably do it. In fact, it reassured Quinn to see that stolid old man standing as part of the guards over the two bound and unconscious death mages. Someone had bandaged Gloria’s stump where her hand used to be, so Quinn was hopeful he’d get to question them about how they got involved in death magic in the first place.

With Lucinda engaged with their most dangerous prisoners, Mark was directing the rest of their nominal troops, triaging injured and prisoners alike. Quinn was impressed with the calm the young man maintained, but it seemed to have a brittle edge to it.

That was no wonder. Quinn felt rather brittle himself. Especially when he spotted Adam standing on the edges of the clearing, watching him carefully even while assisting with the prisoners. Or detainees. Or however the heck this worked out legally.

Daniel brought Quinn’s attention back to the matters at hand when the ghost rushed towards Riordan, calling out for his friend. It broke Quinn’s heart to see Daniel reach out for Riordan, only to have his hands pass uselessly through the man’s body. The ghost spun, taking in the people around him, before settling his eyes on Quinn.

“Untie him,” Daniel half-ordered, half-pleaded, “Please. We left together. It should be safe. Please.”

Quinn stepped forward, only to be stopped by Frankie again. He raised an eyebrow at the woman. She raised one right back.

“What are you doing, boy?” she asked.

Something about that was a last straw for Quinn. “You know,” he said with fake cheer, “I don’t really know. Too much just happened. But what I do know is that Daniel is back and begging me to get Riordan off that damned tree. So I’m going to do that and we’ll sort out the rest later.”

Frankie held his gaze a moment longer and then shook her head, looking away. “That’s good enough for now.”