//------------------------------//
// Chapter 24 
// Story: Shattered Pentacle 
// by Starscribe 
//------------------------------//

Lyra almost had it.
She’d been stalking this target for hours now, through alleys and dark corners, across one end of the city to the other. Distance and space were malleable things, even more so when she crossed freely between the unseen Shadow and the Material with some regularity.
Her hunting partner said nothing of course—words would give away their position, words were the tools of human hunters without access to the supernal weapons they wielded.
Capper needed no instructions from her, merely watching her movements was enough. Sometimes they ran together, sometimes they clambered over rooftops or stalked through decorative planter boxes. 
Once, other creatures threatened Lyra during these hunts. An enterprising owl might stalk her, or perhaps a young coyote would catch her scent and chase her.
Painful lessons taught the animals of Ponyville to leave her be, or else volunteer to join the hunt. A rare few had even earned her respect that way, or perhaps won themselves some loyalty in exchange for help. Most were turned away with a simple spell, leaving her to return to this critical task.
Nothing in the world could free her quite like a hunt. For as long as it lasted, nothing could restrain her—not property, not time, not culture or taboo. Only her prize, and whatever it would take to find it.
That, and the mild annoyance of a soft band around her neck, and a little weight there. Too bad Bonnie wouldn’t join her on her night-time adventures. She was a very strong fighter, and would make for a good hunter. But she refused, instead forcing Lyra to wear this annoyance. Frustrating, but she could manage. She was fast enough to make up for one small handicap. 
She caught it eventually, atop Ponyville's tallest cliff—a cement building with a single central dome—the one she'd been seeking finally backed itself into her trap. Her partner chased it over the rooftop, leading it past her hiding place.
Lyra pounced, both claws outstretched to catch the thing that was not physical and not alive. With the proper magic, her claws did not care about the distinction. They sunk deep in the spirit's ephemera, just as her jaws clamped down on its spectral flesh.
The creature thrashed and spasmed, struggling for escape. But Lyra was ready for this. She squeezed down harder, curling her body. It tossed and turned to fling her, smacking her furred back against the dirty tiles, then the cement dome. Still she held on, yowling through stuffed jaws for help.
Then her partner arrived, and it was over. The female wildcat was larger, stronger, and more knowledgeable of the spirit's weaknesses. That part still took some getting used to, but CApper had insisted that he never ended a contract with an animal as long as it lived. So he was she, for at least a few more years.
Once Capper got his jaws around the spirit’s neck, the creature stopped struggling, falling limp to the dirty stone.
Lyra released it, spitting a mouthful of slimy essence from her mouth. Worse by far was the debris left by birds, now stuck in her fur. Human ways would be better to clean that than her instincts, if she didn't want to taste it.
She brushed away the worst of it, whispering the silent words of a spell to mend a few slightly broken bones. They snapped back into place, leaving only a few faint red stains on the rooftop around her. A small price to pay for wisdom. 
The spirit before her was not visible to mortal eyes, of course. Cats were a degree more discerning than most, and often had a subconscious awareness of such things. But Lyra needed more than feline grace today. 
She saw the spirit for what it was, somewhere between an owl and a griffon, save it had a single glowing eye that encompassed most of its head. Its feathers were matted and many scars cut into its unreal flesh. Despite Capper's jaws around its neck, the spirit could still speak just as clearly. Not in any mortal language, or even the enlightened Atlantean that first spoke order to chaos. 
This was a fallen language, the guttural mockery that more spiritual mages called 'first tongue'. “I am captured,” it said. “Will the willworker kill me? With this last sight, will I watch my own death?”
Lyra could not hear the sounds of Atlantean without feeling called to something, driven to greater wisdom and higher action. The first tongue almost produced the opposite, especially when she was an animal. These were the words of beings that did not think as humans did. When they communicated, it was only to manifest their drives on the world. 
Why shouldn't she do the same? There were so many interesting places to go, so many smells. Her exotic companion wouldn't be so odd if she matched his species. Who could say what might happen then?
Nothing, because Bonnie was still at home waiting for her. She was probably watching the little GPS tag on Lyra's collar, wondering why she'd stopped.
“Not tonight.” Lyra prowled around the creature, keeping well away from its slashing claws or snapping beak. It might be frozen now, but that could change. “I came to bargain. For your life, I will hear you speak your name to me. Or I will draw the essence from you and cut your throat on this stone.”
Lyra the person did not much want to do that. It would make the night a waste, and slay a spirit that could easily be useful to her. But Lyra the cat would not mind a better taste of that blood...
“That is the oath?” it demanded. “My name, and I am released?”
“Your name, and your life is spared,” Lyra said. “You will stay to hear my offer. If you consider and refuse, then you may go.”
It wouldn't matter if the spirit left, of course. Once Lyra learned its name, she wouldn't have to chase it halfway across Ponyville.
“Then I am called—” and it told her. Its name would be just as unpronounceable in her usual languages as any other word in the first tongue. But that would only make it easier to remember. “Now, release me. I will listen.”
Capper eyed her, and his words came to her mind. “You didn't swear it to peace. Mind the claws.” Then he let go.
Lyra sprung backward at the same moment, just as the spirit lunged in her direction. It snapped down against the stone where she'd been standing, slashing with four sharp claws. Whether they could draw her blood or not, Lyra did not intend to find out. She sprung further away, yowling with frustration. 
“Where is your offer?” the spirit demanded, spreading too-huge owl wings as he yelled. His strikes drove her up the dome, retreating even as Capper harried the spirit from behind. But without the desire to slay it, they could only hurt it so much. “I am listening!”
Lyra couldn't give it, not while so focused on her movement. Thanks to Capper's training, the beast didn't get its claws into her, though it did take another few tangled chunks of bloody fur in a few near strikes. The trouble with making herself able to touch spirits, they could strike back.
Unless, of course, they couldn't. A weak spirit like this, not focused on violence—Lyra stood up, and focused her will on the desire to sever instead of draw. An instant later the spirit crashed into her, and passed through the other side, squealing in frustration.
“My offer,” she said, between panting breaths. “An assignment. You love to watch, so watch the ones I tell you. Come when I call you and tell me what you see. Every interesting thing you learn, I will trade essence in exchange. But you must always tell me truth, or your essence is mine and your substance will be broken.”
The strange owl took to the air in front of her. It looked to either side, and almost seemed like it might flee from her. Then it dropped back down, claws settling silently on the roof. “That is all? I won't be bound? Not trapped in a mirror? Not sealed to your Sanctum?”
“No,” she promised. “Fly far, and watch. When you learn, bring me word. If I find your offering interesting to me, I will give you essence for it. So long as you do not lie, there will be no violence. Agreed?”
She held out her paw to him, more by human reflex than anything demanded by magic or feline instinct.
“Agreed,” said the spirit. “What must I watch?”
Lyra settled onto her haunches, never taking her eyes from the spirit. While she sat, Capper stalked around it. Lyra had not granted him the ability to strike spirits—he could do it on his own. Hopefully he would strike it down if it tried to wield some numina against her.
“To the north is a mountain, and beside the mountain is a greater city. There are buildings of metal and glass near the center. One of these has false windows, where humans go to whisper secrets to each other.”
The spirit's single eye fell on her, and seemed to glow more brightly. “I have seen it.”
“Go then, and listen. Listen for what they plan to do to the Unaligned, and to witches. Listen to what they know of us. Most of all, watch for those who doubt. If you learn of any who suggest cooperation, learn their faces and their names. For these your reward will be greatest of all.”
“Then I fly, willworker. When I learn, I will find you.” The creature took to the air, spreading huge spectral wings against the starry sky. Soon it was gone, soaring off towards Canterlot.
Capper joined her a few seconds later, stalking past her, brushing his cheek against her on both sides. She let him do it of course, welcoming the touch of one she trusted. 
“How was that?”
He stopped beside her, meeting her eyes. Despite resembling her in essential body plan, the wild ocelot he'd taken as a host was larger than any domesticated feline. Evidently once he took a host, they were bound until death. “I do not believe you need my protection in this form any longer,” he eventually said. “I would invite you to prove it by remaining on four legs for a year, to demonstrate your mastery. But I don't think you'd be amenable to that.”
She laughed, or tried. Cats didn't have the right hardware. “And let my friends see me as the Sanctum pet? No thanks. They already put a pet-door in for me.”
Those friends all had their own work—but someone else in that Sanctum was waiting for her! Lyra stood, shaking away the dust one last time before hurrying down the dome with long, loping strides. She let the cat do what it did best—navigating the rusty gutters along the roof, until she saw something low enough to jump to on the floor beneath.
She backed up a few times, eyeing the distance—then sprang. She landed gracefully, rolling once before righting herself again and stalking along the lower section of Ponyville's city hall.
“Then you are near the apex of what I can teach you,” Capper said. He followed just behind her, easily replicating her jumps, or following her out onto whatever narrow ledge it would take to navigate down another level. “You've come far, Lyra. Further than most students I took. You should be proud.”
She slid down a sloped metal roof, then jumped onto a high wall around the building. Then she stopped, spinning around to wait for him. It only took him a few seconds to catch up, stalking around her again. She invited that contact, a cat's way of reminding her that she wasn't alone. 
Despite his words, Capper wasn't going to send her out here alone. Not yet. “Near the apex?” Her ears twitched, tail flicking against his leg. “What does that mean?”
Capper gave her one of his usual sly smiles. “The reason I stay with my students until the end. To death, or... something else, maybe. Both are stalking you now, eager to claim you. Perhaps death, or perhaps the other thing.”
She mewed in frustration, then hopped onto a dumpster, and finally the pavement. She padded along the sidewalk, hugging close to the storefronts. Thanks to her girlfriend, Lyra couldn't be mistaken for a stray. Where cameras watched, they might notice she was often in the company of a creature that shouldn't even live here.
“And you aren't going to tell me what that could be.”
Capper seemed to take special pleasure in walking in the middle of the sidewalk, where even the occasional human was sure to notice him. He did so now, easily keeping pace with her. “I think you already know. The real question is whether you'll be willing to pay the price that is asked.”
Soon she found what she was looking for, an old pickup truck in the parking lot of an empty grocery store. Sleeper eyes would not see it, not with such a powerful spell of disinterest surrounding it. But Lyra was not human just then, which made the discordant sense of “irrelevance” about the vehicle all the more interesting.
She took a running start, then vaulted into the open passenger window. 
Well, she tried. Her jump wasn't as graceful as in her head, and forelegs instead caught on the rubber insulator around the window. She yowled desperately, back legs kicking in vain against smooth metal.
Then something huge gripped her by the neck, and her body went involuntarily limp.
She was hanging then, dangling over the dirty interior of an old truck. A single bench seat covered in cracked leather spread out below her, though someone had settled a towel there. 
“Lyra?” Reagan asked, holding her up to her huge, smooth face. “Rough night?”
“Little,” she answered. Her limbs still wouldn't respond. When someone held her there, she couldn't fight. “Got what I wanted.”
“Cute. No idea what that meant.” Reagan lowered her to the towel, then the engine roared to life. “Your girlfriend is the one who pressured me to agree to this. You shouldn't take that for granted. Love like that doesn't come around often. Believe me.” Capper hopped in beside her, just as Reagan reached over to roll the windows up.
Then they were moving, in the always-disorienting rumble that came from automobiles. Lyra could do little more than curl up next to Capper and wait for it to end.