Erwin had already contacted the MACUSA liaison beforehand. He and Cassandra didn't have to wait long. A sleek black car pulled up outside their hotel, and the official hurried over, relief evident on his face. "Lord Cavendish, thank goodness you're safe!"
Erwin chuckled. "What, were you hoping for trouble?"
The man flushed. "Not at all, sir! I didn't mean—I apologize."
Erwin waved it off. "Just teasing. We need a ride today—appreciate the help."
"Of course, it's no trouble at all." The official opened the rear door with a flourish.
Erwin nodded his thanks and slid in beside Cassandra. The official took the wheel, glancing back. "Where to, my lord?"
Erwin turned to Cassandra, who murmured a secluded address in upstate New York. The official's brow furrowed slightly—he couldn't fathom why this British wizard kept venturing to forsaken spots, the kind whispered about in ghost stories. Perhaps the earl had a taste for the dramatic. After yesterday's close call, though, he kept his questions to himself. Youthful recklessness, he supposed. As long as the man's luck held.
The drive wound out of the city and into the misty countryside, taking about three hours. When they arrived at the overgrown drive, the official lowered the partition. "We're here, Lord Cavendish."
Erwin nodded. "Thanks for the lift. Same as before—you can head back. I'll owl if we need anything."
The official dipped his head and drove off without another word.
The Worre family estate stood in stark contrast to the Demos' opulent manor. Where the Demos favored grandeur, the Worres' home was modest, almost humble. Neglect had taken its toll: ivy choked the stone walls, and the iron gates sagged on rusted hinges. Weeds sprawled across the lawn like an untamed sea.
Cassandra's eyes misted as she gazed at the place of her childhood. Memories flooded back—laughing in the gardens, family gatherings in the hall—stirring a ache she hadn't felt in years.
Erwin glanced at her. "Feeling sentimental? If you want to reclaim this life, you can. I'll take the prophecy, and the Demos won't have a leg to stand on. You could pick up right where you left off."
A spark of temptation flickered in her eyes, but she squared her shoulders. "No. We fled here as refugees, broken and desperate. One day, I'll return on my own terms—with the strength to make the whole wizarding world respect the Worre name again."
Erwin grinned. "That's the spirit. I'll be watching for it."
She paused, curiosity winning out. "Sir, what if I'd agreed to your plan and dragged my family back? What then?"
He shrugged. "Wouldn't change much for me. I'd just lose an ally. If you can't stand on your own, you wouldn't be worth keeping around anyway."
She nodded, understanding dawning. "I see."
"Think I'm harsh?" Erwin asked lightly.
"Not at all," she replied firmly. "A true leader needs that edge. And you, sir—you're meant for greatness."
He smiled. "Flattery will get you everywhere. Let's head inside."
Cassandra pushed open the creaking gate, a puff of dust billowing up. She coughed and waved it away. "In just over a year, it's fallen to this."
"Time waits for no one," Erwin said. "Don't dwell—use it as fuel to get stronger. Then this place will gleam like new."
She stepped aside, and they approached the weathered front door. Erwin paused on the threshold. With a subtle flick of his wand—barely noticeable—a soft breeze stirred, sucking away the layers of grime like an invisible broom. The entryway gleamed once more, if only superficially.
Cassandra led him upstairs to a heavy oak door etched with a intricate crest: a stylized raven encircled by thorns, the Worre family sigil he'd spotted on her robes before.
"The Demos were right about one thing," she explained. "Our bloodline does carry a unique gift. But their scholars botched the details. Like the Dragon Whisperers, our prophetic power varies by lineage—and I'm the strongest seer the Worres have produced since our founders."
She drew a small dagger and sliced her palm without flinching. Blood welled up, and she pressed her hand to the crest. Crimson seeped into the wood, and Erwin felt a pulse of magic ripple outward—ancient and potent.
His interest piqued. This was no simple ward; it echoed the blood-locked vaults in the Cavendish Archives back home. Ancient Magic, no doubt. If the Worres had built this, their roots might stretch back to before MACUSA's founding—perhaps even to the old European migrations.
The crest hummed, gears clicking faintly behind the door. Cassandra's face drained of color, her breath shallow. Erwin tensed, ready to intervene, but the mechanism yielded. The door swung inward with a groan.
She pulled her hand back, swaying slightly. Erwin brushed his fingers over the cut mid-air, murmuring a healing charm. The wound knit shut.
"Thank you, sir."
He dismissed it. "No fuss. What's next?"
"I can only open it," she admitted. "The ancestors' clues say only the worthy can enter and claim the prophecy. You'll have to go in alone and find it."
Erwin eyed the shadowed chamber beyond, wards shimmering like heat haze. "Right. Wait here—shouldn't take long."
With that, he stepped across the threshold, the door sealing behind him with a resonant thud.
...
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