Chương 211: Act 3, Chapter 61: The game is in the ball

Day in the story: 23rd January (Friday), evening Elle Erikson The soul freeze held Alexa much longer this time. Far too long for her, and for my comfort too. And if not for Alex's arrival, she would've been turned into paste, and all of us with her soul along for the ride. At least, that was the theory we had about our shared existence. But it did pass. Eventually. She was able to give the police a brief reconstruction of what had happened in the form of: I can't remember properly, officer. I do not know that man.

Someone came and saved me. There wasn't much to say after that, and she returned to the Domain to recuperate. The main problem was that the man who attacked Alexandra and stalked our university grounds just disappeared. His body dissolved into shadowlight soon after he died, like a shadow fading out of existence. And him calling Eve's name before that… that wasn't something to scoff at either. He had to be a plant she left behind.

Something meant to find her, follow her, learn her, and if none of that worked, kill Alexa. I wondered how many more were out there in Ideworld's New York, still trying to latch onto someone matching Alexa's description. We would have to be more careful from now on when meeting new people.

"Shiroi said it will not be a problem for some time," Alexa replied, noticing my face. I stood over her while she worked in the Art Palace, finishing the piece of the soul heart meant for me.

"He could have been mistaken, or outright lying, and you know that," I started, then hesitated, turning the thought inward for a moment.

"Ali's influence made you… and me as well. We are too trusting, Lex."

"If not in the people we know and bled with, then who?" she answered, surprising me.

"You know you wouldn't have said something like that two weeks ago. Is everything okay?" I asked, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"No. You know it's not. And maybe it is Ali whispering to me from that crystalline bark of the Weaver's Tree, but that doesn't make it wrong, Elle," she said without looking away from her work.

"Trust is something that only grows when it is given and shared. It will never rise if I keep it to myself. It might be naïve in Penrose's mind, or yours, certainly in Gertrude's. But it is like that because you are part of me, both of you. And I am a product of his teaching whether I want it or not. You think I don't know that?" She drew a breath and finally turned to me, her hands still moving as she worked.

"But Ali isn't. And I am learning that despite the lives we never shared, and the vessels that are different, we are one and the same in spirit. And I am going to rely on how she treats people she considers friends." She turned back to the crystal she was encasing in a protective lattice of softly interlocking metallic chains. They would expand if the crystal grew, but they also made the piece more artistic in design. It looked like a fantastical crystal heart. And that was the point.

"I am afraid."

"I know, Elle. So am I. But both you and me, and every single one of the Personas, we all without exception share one trait. We are brave. We don't back down."

"People think being brave means never knowing fear," I replied, continuing her thought.

"But it's acting despite it. There has to be terror for us to brave through."

"Yes. And mine right now is the fear of being burned by trust."

"What will happen if that is used against you?"

"We will see when we get there, won't we?" She turned fully to me then, holding the heart in her hands.

"Now, dear Elle, you will finally have a heart to give."

"I already have one, beating in my chest by virtue of our power."

"Yes. This one, however, will give you connection to her too."

"I am not sure I want that." Alexandra smiled in response.

"Will you trust my judgment on it?" I wondered about that question. Whether I was even able to oppose her if our opinions differed. I was but a single thought strand among a tapestry of many, a dissonant voice that would get hushed if the majority decided against it.

"I'd never do that, Elle," she said softly.

"If you do not want that, which is surprising to me, but I guess even I can surprise myself with my decisions, I will keep it. But I made it for you. And you only. It will only fit your soul."

"She is already changing me through you as a proxy, Lex. I am you after all. Removing that necessity increases complexity of the whole system."

"I know." She still held it firmly.

"Is that a no?"

"No. I will do it," I replied, taking the crystal in which shadowlight increased its luminosity and dimmed in the rhythm of a heartbeat. A mimicry of blood pumping through an unseen body.

"I am a bit afraid of stopping my existence for a while," I added, pressing what Alexa had created closer to my chest.

"Me too. But trying to do it on you when your body is still alive and biological would risk killing you. We ought to try anyway at some point, right?"

"Easy for you to say. You will always be the one that stays, no matter what."

"Maybe," she replied.

"Or maybe not. I am not so sure where I starts and you ends anymore."

"I get that. Let's do it, Alexa. Before I change my mind."

"Okay." She led me toward a large carpenter's worktable. I had it sent in here from one of my Paris shopping sprees over the last week. A touch and go kind of shopping. No money involved in the transaction. Only my gracious presence. I sat down and unbuttoned my shirt. Lex helped me take it off, then removed my bra as well. Once that was done, I lay back on the table and closed my eyes while she reached for a brush and black paint.

"I want it to be more personal than spraying a hole," she said, making a slow circular motion with the brush around my chest area.

"Do you think I did good leading Bastien into falling for me?"

"You certainly did well," Alexa replied as she started filling the space with paint.

"But was it good? Probably not. Manipulation might be necessary given the timeframe those guys set up, but it is definitely not something a good person would do."

"Am I a good person?"

"I certainly am not," Alexa replied, speaking for both of us. I understood what it meant well enough.

"I don't think I have to be. There are plenty of good people around for everyone. And really bad people too, even evil ones. It is good to be somewhere in the middle." She kept painting.

"Good and evil are just a matter of perspective?"

"It is easy to fall into that thought pattern, especially when one is an artist, isn't it, Elle? Perspective does not always matter, in my opinion. Some things can be universally evil and require no context. Some things are simply bad, and others good. I think relying on perspective is just trying to justify one's actions, while the weight of the act is decided the moment the choice is made."

"So the universe channels the distinction through the soul of the one making the decision? That is your perspective again, just turned inward."

"It is not what I meant, Elle," Alexa replied, setting the jar of paint and the brush aside. She sat on a stool next to the table and took my hand.

"When you have the ball on your side of the court, when you make the decision, however you justify it, whether you know it is right or wrong, there is something at the back of your mind that speaks for or against it."

"Conscience?" I asked.

"Is it? Sometimes I do something good and feel like it will end badly. Sometimes I steal something and feel no remorse at all. But there are acts that always sting when I even think about them, no matter how I justify them."

"Such as?"

"Oh, I do not know. Killing a newborn. Setting someone for eternal damnation. Stealing someone's Domain of Magic…" Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

"That is why you have never done it, despite having that necklace?"

"No, Elle. It is not because I know it is evil. I just told you there seems to be some kind of force that lets us know certain acts are good or bad. I never said I am unwilling to choose either. Me trying to be more trusting does not mean I am trying to become a holy woman. It just means I see value in it, and I go for it. It is good to feel supported by you. Knowing that Alex would drop everything to come save me. I feel the same about Sophie, or Nick, or Zoe. And I want to feel that about others too.

Without trust, that is not possible."

"I get it."

"But like I said, I am willing to do the good thing even if it might hurt me. There are acts of evil I would do as well, if it came to them being what needs to be done." She smiled. And then, with closed eyes, she withdrew her Authority from within me.

"Elle?" Alexa's voice carried a note of concern.

"Yes. I'm here," I replied, remembering why I had been lying down in the first place.

"Oh."

"Yes," she said, relief clear in her tone.

"It's really you."

"It is me." I looked over my arms as if seeing them for the first time. Then I noticed the black hole still painted on my chest.

"I need a shower."

"You do. Get ready for the ball, Elle. Game on, girl."

"Alexa?" I called after her as she stood up and was already moving on to the next project.

"I know," she replied.

"Don't worry about it." But it was something to worry about. While I was out of existence, in a state close to sleep, there had been nothing. No dreams. Nothing at all.

"I never dream," I said, sliding off the table onto the floor.

"Not now, and not when I sleep."

"I know," she repeated, a faint trace of sadness slipping into her voice, into her thoughts.

"It might be because, besides being an artistic creation, I am also you. I have to be right about that."

"You might be. I don't expect an answer to that anytime soon, Elle. For now, focus on the ball, okay?"

"Mages, warlocks, and vampires all in one room," I mused, locking onto my apartment in the hotel through my own spellbook and teleporting there.

"That's going to be an interesting experience." I finished knowing that she will hear me anyway.

"Is there something I absolutely need to know? Some unusual etiquette, maybe?" I asked Laurent in the car. He had called an Uber for us, and we were heading somewhere remote, far outside the city proper.

"Be natural and you will do fine. Bow when it feels right. Most people, despite the formal attire, are very open. It is not easy to offend anyone there." He wore a tailored black tuxedo with a clean, structured silhouette. The satin lapels caught the stray lights from passing cars. His white dress shirt cut a sharp contrast, crisp and matte against the jacket's faint sheen. A neatly tied bow tie sat perfectly centered, reinforcing the symmetry of his whole look. I liked it. He knew how to dress to impress.

"Do not worry," he added with a smile.

"If you prefer, you can just follow me and remain silent. That would be acceptable too."

"I would rather not become the mysterious subject of gossip. I will talk," I replied, glancing out the window. We arrived two minutes later. While Bastien handled the driver's fee, I stepped out to take in the view. The house stood on a wide, open field, surrounded on all sides by a pine forest. Its façade was balanced, glowing warmly against the night. Tall windows revealed softened light within, their steady vertical rhythm giving the structure a sense of order.

The walls were pale and smooth, holding the light gently, while subtle details—moldings, frames and cornices—added depth without excess. A broad staircase led to the entrance, wide and symmetrical. It was packed. People filled it completely, and not all of them wore the kind of formal attire Bastien and I had chosen. Some were dressed casually. They were laughing and talking, like this was nothing more than a gathering among friends.

The doorway behind them stood tall, framed in darker tones that grounded the entire composition and above all of it was the roofline that remained clean and balanced, finishing the structure without pulling attention away from its center. All around, the night wrapped the house in darkness, setting it apart. It felt self-contained, almost like a stage. I was about to comment on it when the scene broke. A man was thrown over the staircase railing, crashing onto the ground below.

Another followed immediately, jumping down with sharp, controlled movement. He shrugged off his jacket, leaving only a white shirt and vest. Then he rolled up his sleeves as he approached the first man, who was already getting up, dragging his knuckles across his chin as if wiping blood.

"Merde," Laurent muttered beside me, turning toward the scene.

"Is this the'not easy to offend anyone' part?" I asked.

"Those two are mages. Scions of wealthy families. Friends, even. They will fight it out and then go back to the party."

"This is allowed?"

"You can use shadowlight if you know how, in duels like this. Nothing else. No other Authority. Purely physical. If someone uses magic beyond that, they are expelled and banned from attending again. So people behave."

"See, Bastien. This is exactly the kind of thing I asked about just minutes ago. This is important knowledge."

"Why?" he asked as we moved closer and closer toward the stairs. My elbow was threaded through the circle he had made with his arm, keeping me close as we watched the people brawling below. Punches, kicks, raw physical exchanges until the one who had been thrown through the balustrade finally got the upper hand, caught the other man, and rolled him into a hold across the grass.

"Are you in the mood for a brawl, by chance?" he added.

"I would prefer not to. But I would rather know there is an option that someone might toss me out of a window." He laughed.

"With people in power, there is always an option for violence. The most powerful ones usually do not use it against someone they know nothing about though. It is a quick way to be humbled and embarrassed, and they take their Authority seriously." That makes a whole lot of sense. Alexa let me know that she was listening closely, while we weaved through the people now clustering along the railing.

They were watching the outcome of the fight, but it seemed none of them meant anything to Laurent, so we reached the entrance quickly. Assigned doormen opened the doors without a single question. One look at my current partner for the night was enough to confirm we belonged. Inside, I was met with splendor from every direction. The ballroom was composed under a warm amber lighting scheme. Multiple crystal chandeliers hung along the central axis, acting both as light sources and decorative focal points.

Their refracted glow created controlled highlights across polished surfaces. Wall sconces and table lamps reinforced the layered illumination, building depth through soft gradients instead of harsh contrast. It was obvious, almost deliberately so, that controlling how light moved through the space mattered here. As if the people who designed it wanted to remind everyone that authority over illumination, and shadowlight alike, belonged to them.

The architecture leaned heavily into classical structure: symmetrical wall divisions, gilded moldings, ornamental pilasters. The staircase at the rear anchored the composition, guiding the eye upward. The parquet flooring introduced a geometric rhythm, its reflective surface subtly amplifying ambient light. The crowd formed a shifting visual field. Dark tuxedos created a strong tonal base, while evening gowns added variation in texture and color.

Silk, chiffon, velvet, each responding to light differently, building layered complexity through motion. It was also immediately clear that some guests treated the setting like a challenge. A woman wore a dress made entirely of crystal, scattering light into fractured color across the room like a prism. A man stood nearby in a suit so dark it seemed to swallow light rather than reflect it.

"Show-offs," Bastien whispered, covering his mouth. I turned slightly toward him, though my attention—through the eyes painted on the nails—stayed locked on the way motion interacted with light. Fabric catching highlights mid-turn, shadows sliding across bodies in close proximity, depth compressing and expanding depending on movement.

"It is incredible."

"You are incredible," he replied.

"Beautiful." He smiled, looking me over from bottom to top. I wore a silk, long dress that exposed my back that night. It clung softly to my frame, shifting with each step. The color was light and understated, almost blending into the warm glow of the room, though not by design. I could not have predicted how well everything would come together. My heels were slender and they lifted my posture, shaping the way I moved through the space. My jewelry was minimal.

A few delicate rings and a golden necklace resting against my chest. I had taken off my glasses for the night. They did not fit the occasion. In my hand, I held a small tote containing a few folded creatures and my spellbook. Something to make me feel a little safer in a room full of predators.

"We are looking for de Villers," Bastien whispered as we moved through the crowd that paid no special attention to us. He bowed here and there, and I quickly followed his lead.

"Devils?" I asked, unsure if I had heard him correctly.

"No," he laughed.

"But very close, indeed. De… Vi… llers." He emphasized each syllable so I would not miss it.

"One of the oldest legacy families in Paris. Camille, their matron, is the current Key-Holder of the Passages. She is supposed to be here tonight, taking in personnes intéressées."

"Is this a formal thing? Does she not have an office for that?"

"No. In here, everything happens during Bohema nights like this. People meet to have fun, gossip, mingle. But people like Camille are here in an official capacity too. They can be asked for favors or concessions. Later, she and other dignitaries meet in more private spaces to discuss whatever is needed."

"Is it her house?" I asked, brushing a loose strand of hair out of my face.

"No. Of course not," he answered, but clearly realized from my expression that it was not obvious at all.

"I apologize. It is the vampires' mecca. Maison de Lumenombre."

"House of Light-Shadow?" I was getting better at French. I studied whenever I could, which was always, really. My spy-ders provided the eyes and the hands, going through self-teaching books and dictionaries, while additional minds handled the learning.

"Yes. They are very old. One of the original settlers of Paris. Also among the first guardians of this city against threats from the shadow-world. Hence the name."

"Are they obsessed with light too?"

"You noticed?"

"It is hard not to."

"Yes, they are. What do you know about vampires in general?"

"Almost nothing."

"Each one is part Shadow, as in from Ideworld. The moment a person transforms, their shadow stops existing and joins them in the change," he explained as we found a vacant spot beside a tall table with champagne.

"Because of that, they gain the ability to regenerate from almost any wound, as long as even a small part of their heart remains. They can turn into smoke, move like that, use geis to force almost anyone to obey them. And the most powerful among them can manipulate all forms of light, even shadowlight. But they need to drink blood, or they wither and die."

"So they… kill people?" I whispered.

"It happens sometimes, from what I have heard. Those in Paris almost never do, though. It is bad for their image as self-proclaimed guardians of all that is holy. They are indiscriminate in enthralling people, drinking from them, making them forget anything happened. So it is safe to assume they might… indulge in other forms of abuse too."

"What do you mean? They rape people?"

"That is the rumor," he said quietly, taking a sip from his glass.

"But they are our hosts here, so let us assume they do not."

"Let us…" I repeated, taking a sip myself. It was very savory. I did not like it, so I set the glass aside.

"There he is," Bastien murmured, then waved toward someone in the crowd. A middle-aged man with long silver hair and a beard that was parted down the middle, its two halves wrapped around his neck before joining the hair at the back of his head in neat waves. He wore a grey tux with a black vest and a golden shirt. When he saw Laurent's gesture, he began walking toward us.

"That is my father's old friend, Gustavo," Bastien said.

"He is a Jesuit warlock, a vampire hunter, and the biggest gossip in the room."

"A vampire hunter in a house full of vampires? They allow him?"

"Of course. During Bohema nights they are all friends and equals. Outside of it, they would fight to the death. Both he and they enjoy the challenge. It's all a game to these people Elle."