It was a cool night, but it wasn’t cold — the air lacked the bitter, icy chill that winter in the United Kingdom could sometimes bring.  Aviad stood in the shadows at the edge of the garden behind the small house, cloak pulled tight around his shoulders even though he felt like he was glassy from a fever.

He’d let the arafel spirit out to play when he’d taken up his watch an hour before.  It twisted and danced in the air to his right, thrumming happily as it basked in the light of the full moon that was trickling through the barren branches of a nearby oak tree.  The tiny spirit — the pentral, Lorelei Hunt called it — was happiest when it was out like this, alone and unburdened by Cinaed Tawse or his growing group of anti-Ministry rebels.

Well.  Almost alone.

He couldn’t have forgotten the direwolf even if it hadn’t let out a low growl, shifting position to rest its gigantic head on its paws.  Aviad wiped the sweat from his forehead, and then fumbled in his cloak for a cigarette, doing his best to ignore the monstrous creature that was keeping him company. 

The lights had gone out in the house before him just after he’d arriverd, almost an hour before.  The home’s inhabitant was surely asleep.  Aviad had spent most of the past two weeks learning his movement — when he left in the morning, when he came home, what time he went to bed.  He’d also spent the time learning that he never wanted a life as boring as the older wizard who lived here.  This was an aging man with little imagination.  He went to work, he came home, he slept.  No family, no unexpected visitors.  Not even an interesting vice that Aviad might have been able to envy him for.

Tonight, with the full moon shining brightly overhead, his target’s return had been a bit later than usual.  But then he appeared to resume his normal routine:  raise his wards, have a drink, and prepare for bed.

The Ministry was expecting something big.  There’d been little public mention of the attack in December, no tribute paid to Savvina Katopodis on her death, but Aviad had seen the patrols, which were now entering their second night.  The Ministry witches and wizards were watchful and wary, winding through the streets of London near Camden Town.  They were ready for another ambush like they’d faced at the zoo.  According to others in Tawse’s network, the patrols extended across the British countryside, too.

But no one would pay any notice to a simple ring of stones.  He’d arranged them himself over the past few days, nudging the rocks into place one at a time to prepare the ritual spell around his target’s house.  The older wizard that he’d been watching hadn’t noticed the redecorating around the edge of his property; he had barely paid the outside of his house any attention at all when he’d apparated home at the end of his long work days, had a drink, and went to bed.

The mage’s fingers closed around the cigarette.  He pulled it free and snapped his fingers to light it; his hands were shaking just enough that it took him a couple of tries to get the flame to take.

The direwolf made an impatient snuffling sound, raising its head to stare back at him.  Its one solitary yellow eye bore into him.

Aviad let out a huff of hot breath, which curled like an arafel spirit as it drifted upwards in the night.

“Patience,” he told it, giving a wave of his free hand.  He lifted the cigarette, prepared to take a deep draw on it.  “Wouldn’t want to spring the trap too early, yeh?”

The direwolf stared at him for half a beat longer, its nostrils flaring.  Then slowly, uncaringly, it began to unfold itself, muscles rippling under its dark fur as it rose to its feet.

The mage made an unhappy noise deep in his throat.  He glared after the direwolf as it turned towards the house, then began padding slowly towards it.  L’azazel.  Curse Tawse and his damn dogs!  Scowling, Aviad shoved the cigarette between his lips and began to dig in his pockets for the candle.

“Alright, alright, alright,” he hissed after it as he pulled a small black candle free, the words slightly mumbled as he tried not to lose the cigarette.  “But if he’s still awake and waiting for you, it’s your pelt!”

The original anti-apparition ward that he’d based this ritual spell on had been simple, easy; even British mages knew how to lay those down.  It had taken some experimentation to figure out how to stop magic from escaping the bounded area, but last full moon, he’d managed to pull that off successfully too.

Tonight, he was going to test out one final modification.  If all went according to plan, he wouldn’t have to make any other effort to take down the protective wards that his target likely had placed on his house.

Still grumbling to himself about unruly canines, Aviad pinched the end of the cigarette and pulled it back out of his mouth, flicking away the ashes.  Glancing up at the house, he touched the burning end of the cigarette to the wick of the candle, holding it there until the candle was set alight.

The ritual spell went up like a rolling wave of pale green flames.  It arched over the house, rolling across the sky like a quick-paced Northern Lights as it enclosed Alec Carter’s residence inside a magic-tight dome.

Aviad watched as the light of the ritual spell settled into place, anchored by the rocks he’d laid ahead of time, and then faded from view, disappearing into an almost invisible net.  Nervously, he glanced back towards the house.  There was still no sign of any movement inside it, although the direwolf was advancing more quickly now, breaking into a run as it went around the back of the residence. 

The mage sighed and put a hand to the amulet where the arafel spirit usually resided.  He murmured a quick Goleya, squinting through the now-shimmering net towards the house.

There was no sign of any other wards.

It looked like the ritual spell had worked.   He’d have to check it, test the limits of what types of magic it could dampen, once the direwolf had finished its business here.  Then Aviad would go about erasing any sign of their presence: putting out the candle, removing the stones, deactivating his spell.  Perhaps he’d even raise the wards again, if it wasn’t too much of a challenge.

Somewhere up ahead in the darkness, he could hear a loud banging sound.  It must be the direwolf, slamming itself into a door.  Simple wood wouldn’t stand up to its brute force for long.

Aviad settled back, letting the Goleya spell fade from his vision.  Cradling the candle close to his chest to keep its flame alight, he brought the cigarette to his mouth and took a long drag.

Alec Carter was about to get an unexpected visitor.