The evening came forth, Irene had Edward prepare the table in the dining room to serve dinner. Falling into tears, she sat and ate alone at the servants’ table in the kitchen. 

“Mrs Waltz?” Edward’s voice attempted comfort, but the first person she caught sight of that set foot in the room was Wolflight and the atmosphere turned bitter. 

“If it’s all the same to you, I’ll take a seat,” said the woman. 

“I’ll go find Master Waltz,” Edward left by the door in the back hall. 

“How is Sherlock?” Wolflight spoke. 

Irene frowned. “How is Sherlock?” she hissed. “What about me? Hey, Irene, how are you dealing with the fact that your son may fall dead at any moment? I’m fine, thank you very much!” Her hands crashed against the table, rolling the leftovers out of the plate. Wolflight sat back in the chair, silent. 

“Irene, I’m sorry—” 

Mrs Waltz stood up. “No, it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have. You are here trying to help us and I am—” she picked the food and the plate. “None of this is your fault.” 

“It’s fine,” Wolflight said. 

Irene went to place the leftovers over the sink and leaned back against the counter, turning her back on Wolflight. 

Between sobs she answered, “He’s fine.” Irene cleaned her tears away, letting her hands fall over the counter. “Sherlock has it all under control. Victor keeps taking his potion and stays inside during the night.” 

“Good. That’s good.” Irene wasn’t sure if Amber knew, but Irene was sure that her partner had been using blood magic to make those potions. 

High-level potions that take a certain amount of time to make, and their son would need them daily from now on. Only through blood magic can Sherlock accomplish this goal. 

“And you?” she asked. 

“Let’s not talk about that. The boys will join us at any minute.” 

“Of course.” Wolflight nodded. 

“Will you stay for dinner?” Her voice took on a different kinder tone as they made their way through the hall to the dining room. Edward placed the empty plates on the table. “It would be my pleasure to be your guest tonight, yes, thank you.” 

Irene helped put the rest of the plates on the table, and the doorbell rang. She dried her hands with a small towel that she had taken from the counter and headed to the door. The cottage was not that big, at least two-storey and very comfortable for them. The servants lived in the largest house on the property. It was a precaution in case of an unexpected attack. And they agreed and were thrilled for the accommodation. They were free to go as they pleased, as long as they did not talk about it. Edward was in charge of everyone’s work and keeping everything in order, and so they gave him the big house as he was like family to them. When she opened the door, excitement captured her very soul. 

“How are you, Mrs Holmes?” spoke the unannounced guest, a clean shaved elder man in fine clothes. He was slightly above average height, broadshouldered compared to the last time he had visited, and slim, and brownskinned like her. 

“John, come in. Why didn’t you send a letter saying that you were coming?” Irene hugged him. 

“Honestly, I came here for Wolflight,” he said, combing his hair backwards with his hand. 

“How rude.” She hit him hard on the shoulder. 

“Ouch, sorry. I’ve been busy, travelling and everything. How are things with Sherlock? Has he changed, yet?”

Irene stared at him briefly before answering, “No. He has kept the creature inside through potions.” 

“We were about to have dinner. Stay at least and eat something.” She took his expensive frock-coat and hung it in the closet next to the door. John smiled, straightening the buttons of his long-sleeved shirt, and followed Irene to the table. 

“Where’s V?” John asked. Upon entering the corridor, Victor walked in front of his father wearing a long sleeve white t-shirt. “Uncle?” he uttered and hugged him. “It’s been years since your last visit,” he added. 

“Kid, what have you been eating? Has your father been helping you with your workout? God, you have turned into a fine man.” John smiled, clapping Victor’s back. 

“Not a chance.” 

“I can believe that. At least at Darklight, you won’t be wearing those hideous shoes,” John said seriously.

“Darklight, huh,” Victor murmured. Hopefully her son couldn’t possibly believe that everyone was doing a big prank on him, or maybe he was in denial. 

Walking back to the dining room John looked towards Sherlock who had a stern look to him. 

Sherlock put a hand on the wall and stopped Irene. 

“What is that man doing in our home, I told you.” He stopped to take a breath. “I told you I did not want to see him in my house.” 

Irene crossed her arms. “John is your friend.” 

“Was. Was my friend.” 

“You do not want him here because of the last fight you had and lost?” Sherlock frowned. 

“He’s here for Wolflight. I hope you behave. Even if you dislike the man, do it for Victor at least,” she whispered, lifted his arm to the side and went to the table. 

Sherlock sighed. “I’ll behave if he does.” Irene, Sherlock, and John entered the dining room. The first thing Irene felt was a cold and choking pressure. It told her that there was danger. She wanted to run from the place, but after her stomach clenched, the sensation went away. She felt something knifing her very soul, as if something was trying to invade her body and mind. The headache came back, and shivers went down her centre. 

“Uh, hello,” Wolflight said bitterly. 

“Professor Wolflight,” John greeted and sat down next to Victor. 

“Good morning, John. I assume you are here because of me?” she asked to which John replied with a raised eyebrow, looking at Victor. 

“It can wait,” he said. 

“Why is she still here?” Victor murmured, playing with his empty plate. 

“Oh, yes, I can see the resemblance. Your father and this little troublemaker here were once students of mine.” Sherlock had sat down on the opposite side of John and Irene next to him. Edward went back to the kitchen and passed the table before Wolflight grinned briefly. 

“I’ll play along. What do you teach at this academy, anyway?” Victor asked, grating. 

“Victor, be polite,” Irene corrected him. “It’s fine,” Amber interjected. “I teach the basics of Grimoire Class, a branch of magic that focuses on the alteration of the form or molecular structure of matter, via the alteration of the object’s atoms.” 

Victor frowned.

“In theory, you could turn a person into a toad?” Victor’s eyes narrow. Irene noticed Victor seemed to be interested in playing along, which was good. Maybe he would understand, put his beliefs aside, and accept his father’s side of the family. 

“No. Of course not. But assuming you could, which you cannot, you shouldn’t do that, ever. Changing matter is a very hard type of magic and it takes more scientific ways than any other form of magic to perfect.” 

Edward approached the table and placed the rest of the plates, serving pieces of bread, fried eggs, sausages, bacon, green beans, and baby carrots. 

“Mum, I told you I don’t eat meat.” Wolflight smiled. Victor looked too innocent and dangerous at the same time.

“Why do you try so hard to deny magic?” asked Wolflight. 

Victor, who had not yet touched his plate, looked seriously at his mother next to John and back at Wolflight. 

“I am sorry, Professor, our son did not develop any signs of magic in his early years, and we thought...” said Irene, gazing at her son. “He was mortal.” Victor didn’t have a cheerful look on his face. 

“Father?” he asked. 

“We tried to tell you so many times, but you would not listen. You took all of those wonderful events as mere magic tricks.” Sherlock said, as Irene felt skin-cold. 

“Yeah, right.” Victor sighed. 

“A mortal is a child who was not born with a Veil and thus shows no signs of magical talents in childhood. Warlocks and Sorceresses are the opposite—Immortals—since a mortal child can’t use magic, they will never go to Darklight Academy, and so we waited until the last moment,” Sherlock said. 

“You’re saying I am not special?” Victor said. 

“No. Of course not, dear,” said Irene. 

“So, V is a warlock?” asked John, biting a sausage.

“It’s complicated,” said Irene. 

“What do you mean?” John turned his plate away. 

“He didn’t merge with the parasite disease,” Sherlock said without the desire to let those words out. 

“V has a living Veil? Cool,” said John. 

“No. It’s not ‘cool’ to have a rare disease with no cure,” Sherlock, sitting opposite of him, barked back. 

“It is! He is still alive! Our world knows so little about these symbiotic creatures, and what they truly are. There are many rumours from Eden. But it’s said that the children that grow with a Veil develop a second consciousness, or something like that. Their most wicked thoughts come to life. It’s an actual historical event, if you ask me.”

Irene felt her chest compress, and it was suffocating her. “Enough!” She bounced up from the table. There was a moment of silence, and Victor who had his head down sprang to the gardens. 

“You’re such a prick,” Sherlock barked, getting up and throwing the mantle on the table. John got up to his feet, “I’ll talk to him—” 

Sherlock pointed at him. “Do not even dare! Sit down or you can leave the same way you came.” 

Sherlock shook out his robes, and he went for Victor. John got up and went to the front door. Irene followed. At the front door, John was opening the closet and grabbing his coat. 

“John! Wait! Don’t leave like this, please. I’m sorry. You know Sherlock has not yet dealt well with his past, unlike us.” She located his coat among the rest and gave it to him. 

“Do not worry, Irene, it was my fault. I shouldn’t have said any of that. It was something involuntary, immature of me.” John kissed Irene on the cheeks and said his goodbye. 

“He still blames me?” John asked. 

“For what happened to Mycroft? Yes.” Irene nodded. “But they weren’t ‘brothers’ to begin with.” 

“The truth shocked Sherlock.” John went to the door. 

“Will you be back? Or this is farewell?” she asked. 

“Tell Wolflight I will wait for her outside.” John smiled. 

“Goodbye, Irene.”