The house didn't look sinister. It was a simple suburban rambler, not particularly different from the home to the left of it or the home to the right of it. It had light green paint with dark green trim, and a white door with a brass doorknob. People drove by it without giving it a second glance. It was absolutely and completely normal.
Acacia drew her sword before she turned the doorknob and pushed the door open, careful not to let even a single toe pass over the threshold.
There was a man sitting on the couch wearing a checkered bathrobe, with his feet up on the back of a naked woman who was crouched in supplication before him. Or at least, there was something that looked like a man there. Acacia held her ground, not setting a foot inside, examining him closely. She had seen preserved corpses before, studied illustrations, but this was the first living warlock she had ever seen.
He gave her a little wave. "Hello," he said, in a drawling accent that spoke of the British countryside. "They mentioned someone might be dropping by, so I figured I'd come down and wait for you. I wasn't expecting someone so pretty, though-the leather armor goes well with brown hair, and the grey cloak brings out your eyes. Bit skinny, perhaps, but beggars can't be choosers." He let out a small chuckle.
He didn't look especially threatening. His hair was a sort of sandy brown, kept neatly cropped in a caesar cut. His eyes were a muddy blue, and looked more 'amiably watery' than the piercing stare Acacia had imagined. He had a slight paunch, probably due to a lack of exercise-Acacia knew that the warding spells kept him imprisoned in this house. Which was why she was staying outside until she was ready to deal with him.
"I'm Gareth," he said, his cheeks dimpling in a smile. "And you are...?"
"You don't need to know my name, monster," Acacia snarled. She felt her sword arm tensing with the desire to thrust, and forced herself to keep it limber. A Huntress of the Flame Pursuant could not let herself grow too focused on the attack, not when she may need to be vigilant in her defense. "We will never see each other again after today."
Gareth shrugged with an easy nonchalance. "Oh, you never know. You could wind up becoming one of my wardens. They rotate them in and out every so often, just to make sure I'm not doing anything insidious to their souls." He chuckled lightly, as if the very notion was absurd paranoia, but Acacia knew better. She'd seen first-hand the wreckage a warlock could leave behind him when he chose to use his diabolical powers. It was what brought her to the Flame Pursuant to begin with. Once she learned the true shadow that lay over the world, she couldn't simply let others take up the fight.
"Or you could, well..." He gestured to the nude woman at his feet. "You understand, of course. No point in sending you out into the big bad world with people like me around if all you're going to do is falter in your task the first time you meet a true servant of darkness. The Flame Pursuant is tough, but fair."
Acacia snarled out, "I understand my duty, warlock." She refused to use his name any more than she would allow him to know his. Familiarity bred softness, and a warlock could use that softness to insinuate their way past her defenses and bewitch her mind. If she let him into her thoughts, she would wind up a hollow-eyed slave like the woman on the floor.
"Oh? Good, then, no time like the present." Gareth waved to the mantelpiece, where a small silver sculpture molded in the shape of a rising flame sat on a wooden plinth. "Just come in here, pick that up, and walk out with it. I shan't lift a finger to stop you, and nor will any of the girls."
Acacia wanted to storm in and thrust her blade into his black heart, instead, but she remembered her instructions. The warlock was a prisoner, and a prisoner who was not without his uses at that. She was not to harm him unless he broke the terms of the challenge. "How many do you have...?"
His bland, amiable smile never wavered. "I believe 'enslaved' is the word you're choking on," he said. "Seven at the moment. You've had a good run of late. I've had as many as eleven at times. That's the most I'm allowed, I'm afraid. Something about not wanting to risk thirteen, even for a moment. They haven't taught you much spellcraft yet, but still, a coven would be too risky. At eleven, I have to choose one for the chop." He shrugged again, almost calculatingly unthreatening. "It's a shame, but I do want to be a good little trusty."
"They should have murdered you years ago," Acacia whispered.
"Oh, but I'm so very useful," Gareth replied. "I weed out the weak, the useless. I separate the wheat from the chaff, and I don't make trouble. I may have the blood of a demon running through my veins, but there's a difference between being evil and being stupid. I know what my life would be worth if I tried to escape. No, I'm happy to stay alive and they're happy to use me to get rid of their wash-outs, and I can't help but notice that you're avoiding that first step." He grinned disarmingly. "You wouldn't be afraid, would you?"
The words lit a flame of courage in her heart. "I'll show you fear," Acacia snapped, striding into the living room with a wide, determined stride.
It faltered almost instantly. Acacia felt the force of his will bearing down on her mind like a heavy weight, and she staggered under the load. She almost stepped backwards, caught off-guard by the sudden pressure that hit her the instant she crossed the threshold, but she forced herself to move forward instead. She blinked heavily, determined not to show how much he was affecting her.
