The heat in the room was no longer just a physical sensation; it was a hungry, living thing that had begun to consume the very air they needed to breathe. Even with the Flame-Freezing Charm turning the roaring inferno into a lukewarm breeze, the oxygen levels were plummeting. Every breath Allen took felt thinner, more hollow, as the carbon monoxide began to displace the life-giving air.
"We can't walk out the way we came," Allen shouted over the roar of a collapsing chandelier in the next room. The front entrance was a wall of solid, undulating fire. "The smoke will choke us before we hit the street."
Jessica coughed into her sleeve, her eyes watering. "The garden windows are blocked by debris! We need to blast our way out, but the structure is too unstable. One wrong Confringo and this whole place comes down on our heads!"
Allen looked at the two of them, his mind racing through the advanced theory books he'd devoured back at Hogwarts. "You both know the mechanics of Side-by-Side Apparition, right? It's basically just an extension of the Objectification laws."
Jessica stared at him as if he'd suggested they sprout wings and fly. "Allen, that's sixth-year material at the earliest! You have to be seventeen even to take the license test in the UK, and the MACUSA laws here are even stricter. It's not just about the wand movement; it's about the three D's—Destination, Determination, and Deliberation. If you mess up the splintering process, we're going to leave half of our limbs in this fireplace!"
"I don't have a license, but I have the theory," Allen said, his voice dropping into that calm, terrifyingly focused tone he used when things were at their worst. He gripped his wand so hard his knuckles turned white. "And I have the determination. Now, unless you want to find out what it's like to be smoked salmon, take my arm. Both of you. Now!"
Ian and Jessica exchanged a look of pure, unadulterated terror. But as a heavy beam groaned directly above them, showering them in sparks, they didn't have much of a choice. They stepped forward, each gripping one of Allen's arms with a force that probably left bruises.
"Hold your breath," Allen commanded.
The world didn't just disappear; it collapsed. It felt like being squeezed through a very thin, very cold rubber tube. Allen felt the sickening pull behind his navel, the sensation of his internal organs being rearranged, and the crushing pressure of the void. For a second, he thought Jessica's grip had slipped, and a bolt of panic flared in his chest—but then, the pressure vanished.
They slammed onto a hard, stone surface. The air was no longer scorching and acrid; it was freezing, smelling of old incense and damp winter earth.
"We're... we're alive?" Ian wheezed, falling to his knees and sucking in lungfuls of the icy air.
They were standing on the elevated circular platform behind the church, overlooking the courtyard. Below them, the house they had just escaped was a towering pyre of orange and black.
"Told you we'd make it," Allen said, though his own legs felt like jelly. He let out a shaky, mischievous laugh to cover the fact that his heart was hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. "Consider that your first unofficial lesson in high-speed travel."
"Don't you 'lesson' me!" Jessica snapped, though her voice was trembling. "That was the most reckless, idiotic, brilliantly executed bit of illegal magic I've ever seen. If Dad finds out, he'll have my head for letting you try it!"
"Well, look on the bright side," Allen countered, pointing toward the street. "We landed in a blind spot. No Muggles around to see three teenagers materialize out of thin air. We're in the clear."
"I wouldn't start the victory parade just yet," Ian said grimly. He was staring toward the deep porch of the church, where the shadows of the arched columns stretched out like long, skeletal fingers.
Allen and Jessica followed his gaze. The church was a beautiful piece of architecture—ornate stone figures of saints looked down from the eaves, and heavy iron rain gutters framed the entrance. But the focus of their attention was the crumpled figure lying across the threshold of the main doors.
It was a young man in a pale priest's cassock. His hair was a matted mess, and his face was twisted in an expression of such profound agony that it made Allen's stomach lurch.
"He's hurt bad," Jessica said, her professional instincts kicking in. She sprinted toward him, the boys right on her heels. "We can't even wipe his memory in this state. If his heart stops from shock, the Obliviate will just scramble what's left of his brain."
As they reached him, the priest's eyes fluttered open. They were bloodshot and unfocused. He reached out a trembling hand toward Allen, his voice a pathetic, rasping shadow of a sound. "Help... please... the darkness..."
Before he could finish, his head slumped to the side. He was out cold.
Jessica knelt beside him, checking his neck. "There! On the side of his throat." She pointed to two small, angry puncture wounds surrounded by a greenish-purple bruising. "A Doxy bite. And a nasty one at that. The venom is spreading to his nervous system. If we don't neutralize it, he'll be paralyzed by sunset."
"I've got it," Allen said. He reached into the inner pocket of his coat. To the siblings, it looked like he was just grabbing a spare vial, but in reality, he was retrieving a specialized kit from his storage. He pulled out a small, sapphire-blue bottle.
"You just happen to carry Doxy antidote in your coat?" Ian asked, his eyebrows shooting up. "Is there anything you don't have in there? A spare broomstick? A dragon's egg?"
"It's a broad-spectrum antidote, Ian," Allen lied smoothly, shrugging his shoulders. "Basic survival kit. When you spend your time around magical creatures, you learn that everything wants to bite you. I've got a couple of Bezoars in the other pocket if you're interested."
Ian shook his head, silenced by Allen's pragmatism.
Jessica took the bottle, while Ian supported the priest's head, lifting him just enough so he wouldn't choke. Allen used his thumb to pry the man's jaw open. The potion was thick and smelled of menthol and fermented ginger. Jessica poured it slowly, making sure every drop went down.
For a long minute, nothing happened. Then, the priest's chest gave a violent heave. He gasped, his eyes snapping open. The first thing he saw was Jessica, bathed in the soft, wintry light reflecting off the stone arches.
The effect was instantaneous. The man's pupils dilated, and he looked at her with a dazed, reverent awe. In his fevered, post-venom state, the sight of a beautiful girl saving his life was clearly more than his mind could handle.
"Am I... am I in Heaven?" he whispered, his voice cracking. "Are you an angel of the Lord?"
Jessica couldn't help it; she let out a bright, melodic laugh that echoed through the porch. "Not exactly, Mr...?"
"Simon. Simon Rawls," he stammered, his face turning a brilliant shade of red. He seemed to have forgotten he was lying on a cold stone floor. "I've never seen... I mean, the light around you..."
Ian stepped between them, looking thoroughly annoyed. He grabbed the priest's arm and hauled him to his feet with a bit more force than was strictly necessary. "She's a witch, mate. And I'm the one who was holding your head, so maybe keep the 'angel' talk for the Sunday sermon."
Simon stumbled, catching himself against the heavy oak door. "A witch? No, that can't be... I saw you. You didn't walk up the steps. You appeared. Like a miracle! Thank God, truly, thank God!"
"You should be thanking Merlin," Ian muttered under his breath.
"It wasn't a miracle, Simon," Allen intervened, trying to steer the conversation back to reality. "The fire down the road probably spooked a nest of pests—Doxies. One of them got you. We were just passing by and had the medicine."
"Doxies? Pests?" Simon shook his head, his eyes widening with a fresh wave of fear. "No, it wasn't the pests. It was the Devil Bird. That's why I was out here. I was trying to lock the doors to keep it in!"
The three wizards shared a sharp, knowing look.
"The Devil Bird?" Jessica asked, her voice dropping to that sweet, hypnotic tone she used when she wanted information. "Is that what the locals are calling it? The bird with the bright pink feathers?"
Simon nodded frantically, mesmerized by her voice. "It's a demon. It looks beautiful, like a tropical flower, but its song... it steals your soul. Mr. Beltrini and his sons... they went inside to clean the rafters yesterday. They haven't come out. When I went to check on them, they were... they weren't human anymore. They were laughing at things that weren't there. Dancing with ghosts."
"A Fwooper," Ian whispered. "It's been in there for twenty-four hours. That's enough time to turn a sane man into a vegetable."
"Can you show us where they are, Simon?" Jessica asked, placing a gentle hand on the priest's sleeve. "We might be able to help them."
Simon looked like he would have walked into a dragon's den if Jessica asked him to. "It would be my honor. Anything to assist such... such kind souls. Please, follow me."
He led them through a side entrance, bypassing the main nave. The interior of the church was a striking mix of Gothic and local craftsmanship. Six massive stone pillars rose toward a vaulted ceiling that seemed to shimmer in the low light. Strange, natural stalactites hung from the center of the dome, looking like frozen tears.
The right side of the church was the strangest part. Behind the altar, a curved wall was carved into a complex, honeycomb-like structure, filled with window openings in the shapes of stars, wheels, and four-leaf clovers. It was beautiful, but the air in here was heavy, vibrating with a low, faint humming sound that made the hair on Allen's neck stand up.
"Look there," Simon whispered, pointing toward the altar.
Four men were standing on the steps. They looked like they were in a trance. One was wearing a lace altar cloth as a hat; another was kneeling, tied with a simple rope, but he wasn't praying—he was giggling and drawing invisible patterns in the air with his finger. They all had the same vacant, ecstatic smile.
Jessica didn't hesitate. She drew her wand in a blur of motion. "Diffindo!"
The ropes snapped instantly. She moved among them like a shadow, her wand tapping each man on the shoulder as she whispered the counter-charms. "Rennervate. Obliviate. Rennervate."
It was a masterclass in efficiency. One by one, the men's eyes cleared. The vacant smiles vanished, replaced by confusion and the sudden, heavy weight of reality.
Simon watched this, his mouth hanging open. To him, it didn't look like magic—it looked like a holy cleansing. "You truly are sent from above," he breathed.
Allen and Ian stepped up, one on either side of the dazed priest. They didn't want him seeing too much of the cleanup.
"Alright, Simon," Ian said, his voice tight with impatience. "You've seen the 'miracles.' Now, take us to exactly where they first saw the bird. We have a demon to catch."
Simon looked at Jessica, then back at the boys, and nodded slowly. He didn't care about Ian's attitude; he was a man on a mission now, led by his "angel" into the heart of the church's shadows.