Harold hesitated. His hand hovered in the air, fingertips pausing just millimeters from the feathers before finally settling lightly atop the owl's head.
A visceral chill instantly pierced through his entire body.
It wasn't the warmth of a living creature. It was colder than a block of ice in midwinter. It felt like physically touching the concept of Death itself.
Harold jerked his hand back as if burned, though the sensation lingering on his fingertips was a biting frost.
Cinder, the owl, twisted its body with a stiff, unnatural motion. It didn't appreciate being touched, especially not by strangers.
"It... it is an evil creature, isn't it?" Harold asked, his voice trembling with a mixture of fear and awe.
"That depends entirely on your definition of 'evil,' sir," Maurise replied calmly. "I simply recited a spell and raised it from a carcass. In my view, I haven't committed any act of evil."
Maurise didn't elaborate, but the key to the undead transformation ritual lay in the subject's own intense desire to survive. For ordinary animals, this was simple; the instinct to live is woven into their very biology. In other words, the undead creatures Maurise raised did not resist their new form of existence. They wanted to be here.
Harold stared blankly at the undead owl, his eyes losing focus as his mind wandered down dark corridors.
"There is one thing I must warn you about, Mr. Green," Maurise said suddenly, cutting through the man's spiraling thoughts. "This magic only works on animals. Humans cannot be brought back. Please do not entertain any ideas in that direction."
Harold froze. A moment later, he let out a bitter, resigned smile. It seemed this child had seen right through him.
"I see," Harold sighed, his voice heavy. "Then... is there any other magic that can bring a person back to life?"
"I don't know," Maurise said, raising his arm to let Cinder fly back up to the roof. "Maybe. But that would be a miracle beyond the scope of standard magic. I advise you not to dwell on it."
Maurise knew exactly what was happening. From the moment they met, he had sensed that while Harold feared magic, he was drawn to it by a desperate, consuming need.
Resurrection.
It was a logical, if tragic, motivation. When technology and science hit a wall, people turn to the supernatural for a glimmer of hope. That was the only reason a man like Harold would risk associating with a wizard.
"This magic only works on animals."
Strictly speaking, that was a lie. The undead transformation would almost certainly work on humans. However, Maurise wasn't ready to cross that line. Unlike simple beasts, turning a human into an undead thrall required a level of resolve and moral flexibility he hadn't yet mustered. Furthermore, whether the resulting creature would retain its soul or personality was a dangerous unknown.
He needed to run more tests first. Besides, Maurise didn't believe in giving people false hope; hope, when crushed, only leads to a deeper, darker despair.
Harold watched the owl disappear over the eaves. "I understand... thank you for telling me, Maurise."
"Mm," Maurise acknowledged.
"Do you want to hear my story?" Harold asked softly, looking for a connection.
"No," came Maurise's crisp, immediate reply. "I have zero interest in other people's tragic backstories."
"..."
Harold choked on his next breath. This kid really didn't play by the social rules. He threw his head back and laughed. "Well, it's not that tragic, but... since you don't want to hear it, never mind."
The sky had darkened without them noticing. Heavy clouds rolled in from the horizon, and the air grew thick with humidity.
"Looks like rain," Harold said, glancing up at the gloomy sky. "I must go. My daughter is waiting for me at home."
He gave Maurise a warm, slightly more relieved smile. "Goodbye, my friend."
"Goodbye," Maurise waved. "If there is anything I can do, feel free to find me."
By the time Maurise returned to the orphanage building, the sky had been completely swallowed by blackness. Under the dim hallway lights, Cinder quietly melted into Maurise's shadow.
Seconds later, the heavens opened.
A torrential downpour battered the building. The wind howled, forcing rain through the cracks in the old window frames. The corridor echoed with the excited screams of children and the hurried footsteps of care workers rushing to secure the shutters.
Maurise usually enjoyed rainy weather, but he detested the noise. He decided to retreat to his dormitory immediately.
Inside the room, the atmosphere was decidedly less chaotic.
"Where've you been?" Scott didn't even look up. He was intensely focused on polishing a small, rusty knife he had scavenged from who knows where.
"Just wandering around." Maurise peeled off his damp coat. "By the way, do you have an envelope and some paper?"
He remembered seeing Scott writing a letter once.
Scott continued using the tip of the blade to clean the dirt from under his fingernails. "Left drawer. But who are you writing to?"
"An acquaintance."
Maurise pulled open the drawer and found a stack of yellowing paper and a few envelopes with curling edges. He didn't ask where Scott had acquired them; the boy had sticky fingers and wasn't nearly as innocent as he looked.
Finally looking up, Scott added, "You have to sort out the postage yourself, though."
"Oh, that won't be a problem."
Owl post was free, usually costing only a few owl treats. Since Cinder was undead, even the cost of food was eliminated. Efficient.
The fountain pen scratched against the rough paper. Maurise was writing to a man named Ezra Frick to inquire about the whereabouts of a specific skeleton. Buying it would be the ideal solution. If possible, he planned to visit in person later. But not yet. Knockturn Alley was not a place one visited without comprehensive preparation.
...Knockturn Alley, Number 21, Basement. To Ezra Frick.
He folded the letter, stuffed it into the envelope, and addressed it. He tucked it into his own drawer for the moment. The rain was too heavy right now; it wasn't a good time for a delivery.
"By the way... are you okay to deliver in this?" Maurise muttered, looking down at his feet.
The upper half of the owl silently emerged from his shadow on the floor and gave a firm nod.
"Sorry for the trouble."
Cinder gave a proud puff of its chest feathers before sinking back into the darkness.
Magical owls possessed an innate, supernatural ability to locate recipients without needing an address. Being dead, apparently, did not hinder this magical GPS.
"Who are you talking to?" Scott asked suspiciously, squinting at Maurise. He hadn't noticed the shadow.
"Don't worry about it. Just talking to myself," Maurise replied calmly, walking to the window to watch the rain.
It was coming down harder now.
Suddenly, the window was pushed open from the outside. Tin, the undead cat, squeezed through the opening with surprising agility. It stood on the windowsill and shook its body violently.
Ice-cold rainwater and graveyard mud sprayed everywhere, splattering directly onto Scott's face.
"Hey! Control your bloody cat!" Scott wiped the dirty water from his cheek, glaring at the creature.
Tin ignored the stupid human completely and casually licked its front paw.
"Don't be mad, Scott," Maurise grinned. "I'll treat you to cake tomorrow."
Scott's eyebrows shot up in suspicion. "Where did you get money?"
"That," Maurise said, patting the pocket where he kept the small allowance he'd charmed out of Harold earlier, "is none of your business."