The woman spoke, then shook her head as if to dislodge a wayward thought, and a moment later sidled past Darius and returned to the counter. She jumped into action without another word, though I noticed the way her hands trembled when she grappled for a wooden box under the counter's peeling lip. She almost dropped it twice.

She ushered me into a back room where the temperature cooled and the scent of wet earth dissipated. The walls and floor were tiled white with an adjustable chair positioned in the room's middle, and the woman urged me to sit in the chair as she shut the door and flicked on the overhead lights. Darius leaned upon a paneled wall cabinet, frowning as the poor woman flinched and fidgeted and dragged a broken rolling stool to my side. She sat down.

The woman set the wooden box on her knee and carefully pried the lid free, revealing a tidy stack of paper slats similar to the one Darius destroyed outside. I lifted the hem of my shirt enough to display the weeping wound and watched as the woman thumbed through her gathered papers. She whispered oaths under her breath.

I studied the little paper slips and thought them something like talismans.

"Are you really a witch?" I blurted out, earning a glower from the Sin and a puzzled expression from my attendant. "I don't mean to be rude. I've just never met one before."

The woman gave a thin, strangled smile. "Yeah—I'm a witch. I belong to the Verwealdian coven, Baba Yaga."

"Like the folktale?"

"Err—kinda?"

Surprised, I looked the woman over anew. She didn't appear any different than a typical human being, really. Perhaps I had seen witches before, as it was impossible to detect any differences within the woman hovering over my injury. Was she actually a witch, or was she a Wiccan? Some kind of Neo-Paganist? I didn't think anything less of her if she was, but I did question the efficiency of her healing ability.

I glanced at Darius, who followed the woman's every move, positioned at her back so the witch would never see him coming if he suddenly pounced. I knew he wouldn't waste his time on New Age holistic medicine.

As I pondered how Darius went about finding a witch, the woman eased her chosen talisman over my wound, tearing a gasp from my lips. She traced foreign characters on the paper, and I felt unfamiliar energy chase her finger, an answering sensation uncoiling in my head. A dark tendril, fine as spider silk, slid between my thoughts as I tasted the subtle green snap of the witch's power and shook myself, trying to clear the peculiarity from my mind.

Seconds passed, and nothing happened. Giving her lips a nervous lick, the woman tugged the bloody paper free, inspecting both sides, tracing the dark lettering. She observed the unchanged injury and, nose wrinkling, she stretched the talisman between her fingers to judge its integrity before she crumpled it and shook her head. The witch applied a different talisman, only to achieve the same result.

Her tongue darted out to lick her lower lip again, a fine tremble gripping her body. "It's...it's not working."

"What?" Darius appeared at her elbow, his tone more frigid than the sudden, drastic climate shift exacerbated by his failing patience. "What do you mean?"

"I—it's not healing."

"I can see that, witch. You had best make yourself useful. Quickly."

The witch retrieved a new talisman while I frowned at Darius, and he smirked when she turned her back. For an immortal demon, he is certainly juvenile at times.

Instead of applying the new slip to my side, the woman rolled my sleeve up, revealing the largest burn stinging my upper forearm. Muttering an apology, she folded the talisman over the raw skin, and I blinked when her energy once more traced her movements. Faint light chased her fingertip.

This time, the skin prickled with an uncomfortable burning sensation. The witch stripped the talisman from my arm without fanfare, revealing a fresh, shiny scar, formed in a matter of seconds. I marveled at the healer and grinned as I pressed two fingers against the spot to test the tender flesh.

It's healed. Amazing.

"Hmm," the witch intoned, the side of her mouth hitching in thought. She applied the talisman to my side wound again—but when she peeled it aside and saw the same slice in my flesh, she swore aloud and nearly dropped her box. "I—I don't understand. My talismans aren't defective. They work on your other injuries, but not this one."

Darius mimicked that same thoughtful hum as the witch—and it came out solemn, threatening, like the growl of some fierce jungle cat looming on a branch overhead.

The witch jumped to her feet and knocked the box of talismans to the floor. "I—I must refer to my grimoire. Please r-remain here." She all but ran from the room and slammed the door behind her, a loud crash following from something unfortunate falling like the talismans' box.

Darius snorted and lowered himself onto the witch's abandoned perch. I slid my shirt back into place. "Cowardly wretch."

"You don't have to be so rude to her," I said, studying the one injury the witch had managed to heal. Why was the one in my side so persistent? Was it because it was more grievous? Was it beyond the young witch's expertise?

"That's where you're wrong," Darius replied as he nudged the talismans with the toe of his burnt, dirty shoe, disgust clear in his eyes. "My kind and the others do not...get along. Being more than brusquely cordial with a witch would invite...trouble."

I considered him, then the shut door. I could hear her frantically gathering things together, glass banging on glass, wood clattering. "I never thought I would meet a real witch. What else is there?"

"Most of the creatures and supernatural elements of your folklore and legends persist in various forms, though perhaps they are not native to this realm." He flicked a hand at himself in demonstration. "And perhaps they are different from how your mythology represents them. The farther removed a species is, the less likely you are to have heard of it."

"So there're witches. And angels. And demons. What about wizards? Werewolves? Vampires?"

Darius rolled his eyes and sucked air through his teeth. "How banal. Is that as creative as you can be? Yes, there are witches, Absolians, Sins and Fractus. I do not know about wizards—I believe that is a title given among mage-kind, though I do not pay attention to their society and customs beyond recognizing how best to avoid them. There are werewolves sired by the barghests, and yes, there are vampires. Filthy creatures that they are."

His response seemed oddly acidic, even for Darius. "What was she doing earlier?"

The Sin blinked, but otherwise, his expression remained staid. "When?"

"When we walked in and she tried to guess your name."

"Is it not obvious? She was trying to find my true name, for what good it would do her." He propped his elbow on the edge of my seat, leaning upon his arm as his gaze lazily perused the room.

"Why though? I gather she was trying to banish you? Does having a demon's name allow one to send them back to H—the Pit?" I doubted the Sin believed my innocent tone.

He burrowed his eyes into mine, lip curling. "What a question. Do be careful, Sara. One might think you were threatening me."

I swallowed. "No, I—well, I'd be a fool not to think of it, wouldn't I? For a moment, at least. I was wondering why we couldn't do that with Envy."

"Because, it would take someone far more powerful than that trite hedge witch out there to banish a Sin, and the action is not permanent. Banishment pushes us into the Realm and negates our attempts to return for a short period of time. The banishment would be less effective—if it worked at all—against a Sin like Envy, considering who he is, and even allowing for how fierce and unforgiving you can be, Sara, I do not believe you would want to approach a mage or a witch actually capable of wielding that kind of power. They would not be...amicable to helping your cause; in fact, you'd most likely find yourself imprisoned for being a sh—a host." He cleared his throat.

"Is that why it didn't work when she said your name? What was it? 'Belias?'"

Darius tipped his hand, sighing. "No. She doesn't have the right name. I told you before, our names have power, the ability to call to us across the world, across realms even, if we're listening. But, without the right power or configuration, it's as effective as calling out for someone in the thick of a thunderstorm. I cannot hear what I am not listening for."

His gaze flicked from mine and caught on the blood-soaked front of my shirt, lingering there as he continued.

"I have not gone by the name Belias in a very long time, hence it no longer holds power over me. Regardless, the witch does not have the right...power, nor ritual, to dismiss a monster such as myself, even if she had my name. She doesn't even have the right words, though she does have a rather large collection of very old monikers—monikers that were dangerously close to Original names, the names which will always hold sway over a Sin despite the name he currently wields."

"So Belias isn't your 'true' name?"

"Obviously."

"What is your true name?"

A line creased his brow. "It's Darius, you idiot."

Scowling, I retorted, "Well, how I am supposed to know? I'd think you'd want to change it. If you hold your true name so closely, why would you give it to me?"

Darius stared, and for a long moment, I expected him to say nothing. He seemed...upset, the skin about his eyes tightening, the muscles in his jaw twitching. "In part, because I did not expect you to ask for it so suddenly. I hadn't thought of what name to give you yet, and I...said what first came to mind. I have not been Darius for a long time. I desired a return to it."

A thought occurred to me. "I have to ask; I've met people called Darius before. How does that work?"

"Ah, yes. It is true; there are many humans who share my name. I guess it would be more apropos to say a name and intent are required for a summoning. Though, I do not think you are quite stupid enough to spread my name with my identity. We guard all of our names with a certain...fierceness. I told you, anonymity is our bread and butter. If everyone knew what we were and what our names were, the Sins would not be able to find hosts, and we would not have sustenance."

"You reuse old names, I'm guessing? That's why you don't like any of them being known, true name or not."

"Usually. It's simpler to wear an appellation you've worn before sometimes. It offers a certain...comfort, to the uncomfortable."

"That makes...sense." I laid a hand against my throbbing side and winced, taking a breath. "The cult used Envy's name."

"Your point?"

"They have his name." I met Darius' swarthy eyes. "You just said, you guys don't spread your names around and you have to have intent when calling a Sin. There's no such thing as a lucky guess; the cult summoned him. They had his name, his identity, and the knowhow to somehow contact and attract a Sin's attention. They knew what they were doing."

Strains of crimson leaked into Darius's irises as his face blanked. "I did not consider this before, but you are correct. This cult knew a ritual calling. Such a ceremony is antiquated and is very rarely used, and if Balthier answered a call, then this cult either had all the elements required or enough of them to intrigue Envy...."

My mind raced, and as tired as I was, my entire body thrummed with adrenaline. "That's it. That's how we'll find them now. We'll trace the elements they were required to gather for this summoning. As rare as it is, it must require something exotic we'll be able to trace back to a member of the cult. Yes! So, what's required for a ritual calling?"

Darius abruptly looked away and ran a hand through his hair, shaking free dried silt as he muttered under his breath.

"What?"

"I said I do not know the requirements for a ritual calling," Darius snarled. The temperature fluctuated, harsher than before, and the tiles on the floor split with a sharp cracking sound. Attracted by the noise, the witch popped her head in, allowing the stench of hot earth to waft inside, then caught sight of a pissed off Darius and swiftly disappeared again.

"I...don't understand," I said, heart sinking. How was a Sin ignorant to the requirement of a Sin summoning ritual? That seemed...odd. Very odd.

"I am not...popular among those knowledgeable of my kind." Again, the muscles in his jaw jumped as Pride worked over his thoughts. "I have never been summoned before."

What?

"The cults of old who perfected the ritual summoning preferred Balthier, or even Sethan. Not me. Those particulars fanatics and their descendants have long been massacred, by the way. I did check before we started stumbling along on this fool's errand."

"But what does that have to do—." I paused, caught on the name he'd whispered as if it hurt to do so. "Who is Sethan?"

The Sin rose and kicked aside the strewn talismans as he returned to his post against the cabinet, physically removing himself from the conversation. "We...are brothers."

Brothers? A Sin could have siblings?

"Could you ask him about the ritual calling? Ask him about what's needed?"

"I cannot ask him. I cannot ask anyone. My kind are not stupid; asking what is required for a calling will lead to questions—difficult questions, and if they discover we are searching for Balthier's host, they will tell him."

"But why?"

"Because, they are terrified of him, even if they will not admit it."

"But why can't you ask your brother? Surely he wouldn't—."

"Sethan is...beyond my reach."

"But—."

"Sara." Darius's voice cut across my own. "I have been unreasonably forthcoming today, considering all that has happened. Do not press your luck, girl."

A frown pulled at the edges of my lips. The Sin had been patient today, even gracious. Despite his abrasive attitude, Darius could be tolerant, well-mannered even—though, if I expressed as much to him, the Sin would rip my tongue out without a second thought. Given how his ire crackled in the very air each time he spoke his brother's name, I assumed Sethan was "beyond his reach," in a permanent, deadly way.

The witch returned, dragging a rickety cart of splattered bottles and capped jars. She assumed her stool again, and Darius vanished into the Realm with a growling promise to return shortly. With him gone, I removed my ruined shirt, giving the witch better access to my various wounds. She spread thick, rank salve over my abrasions and slapped on a few more talismans, working with ease once Darius disappeared. I studied the various tinctures and concoctions the witch had procured, mesmerized by the way she used her power to heat or mix ingredients.

I must have asked the poor woman a thousand questions.

The wound in my side still proved reluctant to treatment, though one bottle filled with a paste smelling of sunflowers and ocean air reduced the bruising and swelling. The small witch's lips pursed as she retrieved a mundane roll of gauze from under her cart and proceeded to bandage the stubborn injury.

"I can't heal this," she admitted, the grimness of her tone unmistakable. She clearly expected Darius to appear from the shadows at any moment and lop off her head for her failure.

I could almost imagine him doing it, too.

"I would contact my coven and ask for a second opinion, but I—." She wrung her hands in the hem of her dirtied t-shirt. "Well, you know. I told ya earlier. We're not supposed to help them."

"You didn't help him. You helped me." I shuffled into my shirt again, uncomfortable from sitting still for so long. "And I thank you."

She stopped wringing her hands, though she did sigh heavily, shoulders dropping. "It was no problem. I mean, I didn't—didn't want you to suffer, you know? I'm the coven's medic and I'm required to heal those who seek me out...even if they bring unconventional company."

I attempted to hide my smirk, but was unsuccessful. Darius definitely qualified as unconventional, though I wouldn't have guessed he was thought as such amongst other preternatural creatures and people. Why was that? The witch had all but suffered a heart attack when Darius came prowling through her front door. "What's your name?"

"Saule. Saule Ozlin."

"Thank you for all your help, Saule. I apologize for his behavior." As much as anyone can apologize for the Sin of Pride. I swayed as I rose; the bone-deep ache of my injuries persisted, the wounds mostly sealed, if tender and sore. "Now, if my unconventional companion would only return, I could get out of your hair."

Darius did return just then, stepping from the Realm in a wreath of unforgiving flame that had Saule squealing with dread. Darius hardly seemed to notice as he towered over the demure witch and proffered a stack of crisp, bound bills in her direction. "For your services, witch."

Saule tentatively reached for the money. When she took it, Darius grabbed her hand and squeezed, fingers clamped tight, poor Saule's face white as salt. "Be warned; report my presence, and your entire coven is forfeit."

He released the woman, and she sank to her knees, trembling under the crushing threat of Darius's word. The Sin and I left, because though I felt pity for the witch who'd done her utmost to assist me, the best way to help now would be to leave with Darius before he terrified her further.

On our way out, Darius snagged the hefty volume Saule had been reading from earlier, and by the time we stepped over the store's threshold, quivering red fire gloved Darius' hand, and the dense book crumbled into cinders. He tossed what remained into the gutter, where the dirty current swept the smoldering bits away.

Fatigued, I sank into my car's passenger's seat, relaxing my head on the bumpy cushion of the headrest, eyes shut to the early morning cityscape outside the windshield. I listened to the familiar sounds of the engine starting and my seatbelt clicking into place. I felt Darius's heat at my elbow as he pushed the car into motion and the tires bumbled over the pitted asphalt.

It was strange how I took comfort in such small, commonplace sensations when my entire life had been soundly shaken and was going to hell.

Darius spoke into the quiet. "I will think more on the conversation we had this night. The idea of approaching another Sin regarding your idea is unpalatable to me, but I admit we must consider more drastic designs to find this cult of yours."

I cracked my eyes open enough to see the blurred definition of his form. "Darius."

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

The car eased to a stop, diffused red light visible even through my wavering lashes. "Hmph." The Sin brushed my arm aside, setting it on my lap with the other. His hand lingered there, if only for a second. "You are...quite odd, Sara Gaspard."