"Yes. It must be my son, Michael," Strathus said to Otto, his mind having entirely drifted from the notion that the man was an illusion. "I wish for him to be returned to me. And he will bear this curse in the stead of the friend in question."
Thoughts raced through Sharon's mind. A conflict: Disbelief, that Otto would simply play into the mage's sick demand, coupled in the very same moment with a solid respect for Otto's willingness to do what seemed necessary.
If only it were so easy for Sharon.
But she could already feel herself slipping inevitably down. Sinking into the murk of what she knew she would do. Of the moral line she knew she was all too willing to cross.
Still, she fought against it.
"No," Sharon said firmly. "There has to be another way."
"This is the way."
Her nostrils flared. "Bullshit."
Merissa glanced at Sharon. An uncertain look.
And then Sharon whipped out her pistol. Snapped the dog's head back. Raised the gun into the air, her finger on the trigger. Prepared to fire. The deadly spark it would produce a threat to everyone.
"You have to do better than that, mage," Sharon said, her mouth twisting into a vicious snarl when she spoke the last word.
Merissa, an actual look of nervousness ruining her normally unflappable demeanor, said cautiously, "Sharon, we can simply—"
"I will not allow you to infect an innocent man, your own son, with that vile magic," Sharon said to Strathus, interrupting Merissa. "You can cure it from my friend. I know you can. Don't lie to me. There must. Be. A way."
A rush of air from his mask. And Strathus, unfazed by the threat of the gun in Sharon's hand, said, "Perhaps there is. Perhaps there is not. It changes nothing. This is the offer you have been given."
Merissa looked to Otto. To Volkhard. Unsure, for once, of what to do.
Sharon's hand shook with a growing rage. The pistol trembling in the air.
No one deserved a fate that horrible, to be eaten alive by black magic. That's what Sharon told Gabriel over two months ago about the very same curse. And even if Strathus' son, Michael, was the most gentle man who ever lived and would never harm a fly and thus would never break the seal on the curse, simply having that vile magic, that darkness deep inside your own heart, was still too much. Horrific in its own right. A sickening taint that would scar the soul.
Sharon thought all this about Aven's curse, and now Strathus, this repulsive mage, wanted her to willingly put that curse on someone. To actively participate in his disgusting arcane wiles.
Sharon clenched her teeth. Pursed her lips.
And she knew she would.
She knew this was the evil she was willing to commit. The necessary evil that would allow her to do what she felt was good and righteous.