Cal let the sting of the November air bite at his throat. He knew he was walking positively jauntily, head thrown back and eyes skyward, hands jammed into his pockets, and he didn't care. The mad smile on his face hadn't erased itself for several days, and he wasn't even sure why. It hovered on his lips (chapped from the cold; he ran his tongue over their tattered edges, and--flash, the ghost of sensation again--funny how pleasure was more torturously voluptuous in memory). For no reason. No reason. At. All.

Usually he hated the cold, and stumbled through it head-first, as though pulled by a string affixed to the top of his skull. Today, it was invigorating. He reached the Shop and let out a long, hot breath, and watched as it unraveled into the air.

He could finally afford the demiguise membrane he had been eyeing forever. And by now, he really needed it; his latest business associate was unsettling, to say the least. Oh, well--it would be a pleasure mixing up protective potions, anyway.

Cal pushed open the door to the shop, and blinked. It was dark. Oddly dark.

Slowly, his pleasant mood ebbed, and he looked around warily.

"WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE!"

He waved a hand vaguely at the skeleton, frowning. "Unhelpful at the moment, thank you." You couldn't trust skeletons. They had nothing left to lose, apart from the odd metacarpal, and didn't even care about that. Cal had always considered 'nothing left to lose' rather a strength (one of his own); it was... no longer true.

Terrifyingly.

"Where's Atlas?"

His eyes adjusted to the dimness, and he eyed the tottering piles of paperwork on a table, the disarray of the store. It was quite possibly worse than his laboratory. Even Rudolph was stuffed with some sort of paper scraps, and torn edges clung to the insides of his ribs.

"WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE!" Rudolph pushed himself to his tali and phalanges, clattering against the floor like a lady in porcelain heels, and pointed. Oh, well, at least Atlas wasn't dead, then. Or perhaps he was, Cal reflected, eyeing the talking skeleton. A scrap of paper drifted free of his ribs, and Cal bent quickly to retrieve it, and was arrested by the equation written on it. He hadn't seen Porpriovich's Energy Theorem in... since he'd done his work for Garrow... frowning, he tucked the scrap into a pocket and followed Rudolph into the back of the store, tripping occasionally over some strewn bit of merchandise.

They finally emerged into a sort of alcove, and Cal stepped forward, brows raised.

"Atlas? Are you..." Coming dangerously close to human feeling there, Ferox. "Has something happened?"

"All Zs are Bs, Y is a B. Therefore, Y is a Z." He blinked at the formula again, not right either. He had taken to writing ingredients on scraps and then, in a manic parody of the muggle game 'boogle' he would shift them around desperately searching for the combination he was sure was there. "Wrong, Atlas." Gravely steady hands reached out and discarded the Asphadel seeds. "Not relevant....are all Bs Zs? Fallacy." He turned long enough to check the leather bound tome lying open at his feet. The words blurred and he gave the volume a punishing prod with one booted foot.

"Post hoc ergo propter hoc." He was talking to himself, had been for days. Disconcerting. Stopping wasn't an option he was allowing himself to consider. He had already ruled out two major probabilities, progress could be made. Was it colder? And was someone speaking to him?


Atlas? Are you...Has something happened?. He laughed, it really was quite funny. The laugh reverberated off the stone walls of the small alcove at the back of the SHOP and came back sounding rather hollow to his ears. He had cloaked much of the back of the shop, just under archway, which in turn led to the back room and the cellar. The runes he had painstakingly carved into the walls gave off a warm blueish glow and they hummed along with the laugh.

Ferox, he could see the man but it took a moment to confirm. He looked....happy? No that couldn't be right. Lack of sleep, the haze that had more or less settled over him, and the way the protective spells made the air shimmer had to be responsible. Atlas shuffled to the wall, crushing documents as he went and pressed his palm down, dispelling the area.

"Calixtus Ferox." Raising a hand he straightened his shirt, no tie. He wasn't exactly attired for servicing anyone. Cal on the other hand looked dapper. New clothes, finely chosen and well suited to him even. Atlas allowed himself to marvel at this. Another sign. Somethings not right.. "Nothings wrong, and everything." He shook himself, rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "Sorry, sorry. You look, well." It was the best word he could think of to cover all the changes he was seeing in the other man at that particular moment.

Was this how he'd looked to people? Atlas's eyes were red-rimmed, his face pale, his clothing out of place. So strange. Atlas tended to be one of the few fixtures in Cal's life. He always looked the same--and while he was undoubtedly eccentric, he had belonged to the race of Magazine-Quality People, simply because he'd worn his eccentricity with as much ease as Jasper wore his whatshisname brand suits. Something fundamental had shifted in Caedmon, and Cal wasn't sure he liked it.

I'm older than he is, too. He looked so--lost.

Cal cleared his throat and straightened his tie, fingers fluttering, a kind of awkward mirror of a gesture he'd gotten from Jasper. He looked away for a long moment, giving Atlas time to compose himself, and then looked back, moving a few steps closer.

"Nothing and everything covers all of your options," Cal said--almost gently--and leaned down to peer at Atlas's scribblings. "But I never volunteer specifics unwillingly when you pry... seriously, though, should I--" He made a vague gesture with one hand. "--should I leave and come back another day?" He'd have to tell Jasper something was wrong with his friend, he realized. Jasper knew Atlas better than he did. It was unsettling, having obligations. To people. Being--of all the infernal words to think of--mature.

"It's only that I've brought enough to buy that demiguise membrane, and I don't know how well it's preserved, not that I don't trust you...." He hefted his sack of Galleons. Cal didn't trust anyone, of course. But he was rapidly coming to realize how much he'd trusted in people to stay the same. Ridiculous, of course. Maybe Atlas was simply having some sort of personal issue. Perhaps he'd discovered yeti weren't real and was having a breakdown.

But those equations... Cal couldn't get a good look at the ones in front of Atlas, but he thought of the scrap he'd picked up earlier. No, this is something else, something bad.

Cal's only minimally twitching hands reached up and straightened his tie, he was wearing a tie? Atlas had seen that movement before, it was a familiar gesture. Not the straightening itself, plenty of people did that, but rather the pace, the way Cal curled and uncurled his fingers as he did it. Just where he had seen it though was proving difficult to determine. His eyes were still fixed on the tie when Cal stepped closer, and Atlas had to blink several times before his eyes would refocus on the gangly man.

Cal was bent at the waist looking down at some of the parchment that flowed and then spilled over the edge of the long oak table Atlas had been using since his real workbench had been lost in piles of discarding notes. Had he gained weight? Not much at all, but just enough to fill in some of the harsher lines of bone beneath skin. Not right. . He circled Cal looking for any places where the puppet stings might be, or where he was plugged into a power source, nothing visible.


... seriously, though, should I--" He made a vague gesture with one hand. "--should I leave and come back another day?.

"No." Atlas said, the word sort of falling out of his mouth and landing awkwardly between them. To reinforce it he gave a short shake of his head. Need to keep up appearances. Shop keeper, normal, your job.. If he had let himself think about it though, it was too late for 'keeping up appearances' at least as far as Cal went.

It's only that I've brought enough to buy that demiguise membrane, and I don't know how well it's preserved, not that I don't trust you..... Cal trailed off. Ferox didn't trail off, at least not that like. Not in a manner that might be construed as compassion rather than a drug induced twitch. Atlas bloodshot eyes narrowed.

"Cal," Moment of truth. be you real Cal or false Cal. "What was the last thing you purchased from me? More to the point who did I recommend to assist you?" It wasn't the best question, but it was something hopefully only the real Calixtus would know, whereas an impostor would be lost and flounder a guess. Stupid question, crazy.

Atlas glared at him, and Cal looked up, startled. The suspicion wasn't totally alien to the other man, but more usually, Atlas almost seemed to err on the side of uncannily naïve credulity. Now, however, he rapped out questions as though he were the bloody Auror office. Cal set his palms on the edge of the desk and rocked himself back upwards for a stunned moment, then leaned forward again so he could speak quietly.

"The last thing I purchased..." He looked around. Only Rudolph. This couldn't be some sort of... setup? No, no, Atlas's demeanor was not contrived. He lowered his voice nonetheless to a near-whisper. "... was unicorn's blood, five vials--expensive ones, I may add--and had you place preservative runes on four. I also bought some doxy powder."

"More to the point who did I recommend to assist you?"

More to the point? What was that supposed to mean, exactly? Cal fought down a renegade surge of heat that had rushed to his face, and looked down at his suit. It was probably evident to any of Jasper's friends that he had gotten close to him, given he wore his clothes all the time... maybe he'd stop dressing like this... it was, disturbingly, beginning to feel like habit. But he'd' just tell Atlas they'd become friends; it was true. "Jasper Christie." It felt strange to say his name aloud, when it played as a kind of constant background to his every thought anyway. "Why? It's me, Atlas. Who would want to impersonate me? What's happened?"

One of his hands had begun to clench on the side of the table. He could make out part of the equation Atlas was poring over. Something interdimensional, a rarity. And some of the configuration--he had only seen that in his own notebooks, or Logan's notes. What was going on here? The dust in the shop seemed to hang heavily around him; Cal felt a little dizzy, and blinked rapidly, backing a few steps away from the desk; he left the bag of Galleons sitting on top of a stack of paper. Secrets! He had too many of them.

It was his work for Garrow that... but Atlas couldn't know about that. Had Jasper told him something about one of the spells Cal had asked him to perform? He'd erred on the side of using Jasper a little too much, on a few projects he wasn't willing to discuss at length... but he wouldn't tell Atlas about that, surely? No, no, he'd have confronted Cal himself... he hadn't even understood some of the implications of the spells, since Cal hadn't told him the ingredients in the potions involved... still.... Cal's brain shuttled between fear and a kind of sick hopelessness, and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, one hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose, staving off a headache.

Cal leaned in, and Atlas had a very clear view into his eyes. Irises were large, but no more than if the man had just been in a particularly dark room for a time. Mentally Atlas clicked off the last time he had seen Cal, on the street, he had been heading toward Jasper's. He hadn't looked to be in any state other than normal then either. Maybe Cal had always been this way and Atlas hadn't noticed, there were so many things he had failed to notice.

The last thing I purchased... Atlas interrupted any thought process that might have been starting and devoted full attention to the well dressed lithe man, who was now simply leaning. Skin white where his bony hands made contact with the dark wood. .. was unicorn's blood, five vials--expensive ones, I may add--and had you place preservative runes on four. I also bought some doxy powder.. It checked out. Atlas didn't keep any records of sale on paper, none that actually mattered. Sometimes a coat would make it unto the official records, or assorted brick a brake but everything else was stored in his head only.

He was wondering though if perhaps that was a safe, sound place for keeping such sensitive information. More so, what if his mental block was due to mental overcrowding? Delete files, make room for new ones. Atlas had been mentally dumping inventory for three days and still nothing. Cal looked genuinely nervous for a moment before finishing his answer. Another new emotion to be added to Atlas files, Jasper Christie. Why? It's me, Atlas. Who would want to impersonate me? What's happened?.

Too many questions. They were piled on top of the precarious load he had been creating for days. But there was no movement, just a heaping of things one atop the other. normal, be normal his brain fought for a moment synapses firing in the wrong directions. A muscle in his left shoulder twitched.

Cal looked to be having a time of it as well. His hand was massaging the space between his eyes and Atlas wondered briefly if perhaps some of the cloaking spells were causing the squib discomfort. "Why....should always be careful." He eyed the bag on the table, his mind coming up with a sum. Generous, had Cal found work? "Innumerable reasons someone might want to wear your skin...." the Ministry knows, someone has to know. its only a matter of time. And that left the third question. The hardest question. "Saw something I can't seem to un-see." He was rubbish at lying, he always had been. It was ironic really, considering how he had chosen to live his life. "Can't let it happen again." He indicated the papers. Then closed his eyes for a brief moment.

His mental filters had slipped, and he had just said far more than he intended. Cal was sharp, in any state, at any time and the slip wouldn't go unnoticed. He just prayed he could recover from the misstep. "We should find that demiguise."

"I'm sure obscure Squibs on the Ministry's sh-t list are much in demand as disguises," Cal said drily, brushing off Atlas's comment. "But concern is reasonable. I've--" He looked down at his suit, at the skin of his hands, clean and faintly pink over his more usual sallow tinge of yellow-green. "--cleaned up a bit."

He watched Atlas carefully. Thank God, it wasn't something he had heard, and he seemed not to be focused on Cal himself. So Jasper hadn't shared some damning detail with him... good... Cal didn't want to deceive Jasper, of course; didn't even intend to. They both knew their work had its own exigencies of secrecy. To keep safe.

As flimsy an excuse as the pretext for their secrecy, really. But that was beside the point. Cal clenched his fists in his pockets, thinking of what might be the matter with Atlas.

"Saw something I can't unsee. Can't let it happen again."

"What did you see?" Cal looked at him sharply, then tried to soften his tone. "If it's a spell you need help unraveling, you know I'm good for it, I owe you anyway." He attempted to sound conciliatory rather than rabidly curious, and feared his deception was painfully obvious. This was all very unsettling. Had Atlas run up against the spell somehow? Or maybe simply a Dementor. They sometimes unbalanced people this way. There were rumors of Dementors about, albeit... they'd been blamed for Garrow's mischief, Cal knew that much. He wouldn't fall prey to the same fallacy. Still, he wasn't entirely stupid. He knew he was more vulnerable to Dementors than any Wizard; he couldn't see them, and was terrible at sensing their presence over the buzzing background of his own misery.

No, no, it couldn't be something so trivial. Atlas had witnessed some crime, some frightening spell... even the spell... but how? Garrow was so careful, and Fletcher didn't seem the type to get up to anything on his own, from what Cal could recall of the man.

"The demiguise can wait, though we may all need more protection soon, if you're right in your concern..." He let the statement hang in the air, appealing to Atlas's moral sense. If he believed there was some danger, he couldn't very well not inform Cal about it. "I can help."

He hated himself the instant he said it, then submerged the feeling, and was all opaque still water again.

cleaned up a bit was a significant understatement as far as Atlas was concerned, which granted wasn't much but for him to notice such trivial details was momentous in and of itself. Jasper had made mentions of the man, allusions to happenings which Atlas had largely ignored. He wondered now if he should have paid what he thought base conversations with the jeweler more mind.

What did you see? There was an attempt to mask the tone. Which sounded like something balancing on a razor blade, too biting for concern. Atlas wasn't so far gone that he couldn't tell when someone wanted information. If it's a spell you need help unraveling, you know I'm good for it, I owe you anyway.. Cal was a man who lived his life with the abject goal of owing no one anything, ever. If he lacked money, he would hold off on whatever it was he wanted to avoid being in someones debt. He practiced the same in personal relationships, at least in Atlas's observations.

So why the change?. Atlas didn't feel in danger. His shop and home were lined with protections wrought into the very stones in the foundations. Traps, enchantments, everything a paranoid would need to feel secure enough to sleep at night. But he had no intentions of underestimating anyone at a time when he wasn't entirely sure of who he was able to trust.

I can help. . Atlas balked, and then he laughed. "You don't help people Cal, you help yourself." The laughter stopped as abruptly as it had started and Atlas felt his face running a small marathon of emotions before going slack. "A demiguise will hardly be enough at any rate, but it couldn't hurt."

Something settled into place and he turned, looking cal up and down, "The tie, Jasper has an identical one." He let the implication hang before stepping up next to Cal and attempting to organize a few of the papers. It was a hopeless task, but he needed something to do with his hands.

Cal went first hot and then cold with anger, one hand clenching so tightly his nails dug into his palm within the covering of his pocket. Damn. Atlas could be ridiculous at times, and often was oblivious to the little things about life, to their proper measures, to cruelty, too... but he wasn't stupid. Cal's ploy had been pathetically obvious. It might have worked if Atlas weren't in this strange, suspicious mood, but with someone as paranoid, even irrationally so, as Caedmon, and with whom he'd so often had dealings--given him so much opportunity to see that he worked only for himself...

It was just careless. Arrogant.

"Maybe I've had a change of heart as well as of clothing," he said at last, quietly, intently, brow furrowed. It was true that he felt something like genuine compassion for Atlas, not that he would act on it. Atlas was quite right. His offer of help was entirely insincere, and would remain so. He served only one person:

--and why did the name Jasper Christie spring to mind before his own?

He shook it off, and--

"The tie, Jasper has an identical one."

Cal bit down on his lip and tilted his head back, chin up in a gesture of defiance--and a gesture calculated to distort the angle at which Atlas could make out his expression, which was probably some unconscious mix of anger, fear, and pride. One hand went to the knot of his tie, and he settled it against his throat, even as it convulsed. He swallowed. Swallowed again, and looked away.

"He lent it to me," he said at last. Why not admit it? Friends did things like that (did they?). "You keep a record of all of Christie's ties?" Trying to lighten the mood. "That's a fearsome task. Look--I don't mean to pry." A bald lie. "If you really don't want any help--and yeah, I admit, OK--I'm just curious, it is selfish--curiosity--I'll take the demiguise and go." He wanted to escalate the argument, of course, he always--

Well, did he? No, Cal realized. For once his instinct upon receiving a verbal stab-wound was not to retaliate. How strange. Of course, he was still half in a panic over what Atlas might have seen, but he hadn't been suspicious of Cal until he'd been idiot enough to pry.

For now, he could afford to leave discretion the better part of self-interest.

Maybe I've had a change of heart as well as of clothing, Atlas leveled is full gaze at Cal. A think more dangerous than nearly any spell he could have cast, spells could be counteracted or dodged, but the gaze was really the most powerful thing Atlas had ever used to pin someone down. This I very much doubt. .

He had once met a muggle anthropologist who had expounded on the power of the human gaze. The evil eye,the xematiasma, fascinare, whatever different people choose to call it it was a magic that even muggles were aware of. And so it was what Atlas used to read Cal, not magic in the sense that he used a wand or a spell, eye contact was something far more archaic.

Cal broke eye contact, leveling his head at a strange angel that mimicked the way Atlas saw children face their mothers when they were being instructed to do something against their desiring. Then he fidget, well, at least some things were the same. Cal was still there, he had just been tempered with something else.

He lent it to me. . Very plausible. You keep a record of all of Christie's ties?. "Please," Atlas intoned hollowly, "I have an index of everyone's ties."

Look--I don't mean to pry." A bald lie. "If you really don't want any help--and yeah, I admit, OK--I'm just curious, it is selfish--curiosity--I'll take the demiguise and go.. Was he playing? Shifting tactics, perhaps attempting to make Atlas feel apologetic, feel weak. It wasn't that he didn't want help, he wasn't above admitting something was beyond him, and this wasn't about his pride, it was about lives.

But Cal's help came at a price Atlas couldn't readily estimate. And there was still the question of how he had come into the large sum lying on the table behind them. "Might take some time to find it. I've been a bit lax in my shelving." Atlas began walking forward, waving his hand to light some of the shops lamps. let the games begin. "The money, have you published whatever it was you were working on? Or did Jasper let you borrow that as well?"

Cal's first impulse was to grab Atlas by the shoulder, swing him around, and punch him in the face. Hard. And keep punching. But he wanted the membrane, had come for it, and Atlas was in such a strange, fragile state that--Jasper would be upset if he tried to beat up his friend. How f-cking pathetic. He based his every decision on--! Him! Jasper. Always. Like some sort of ineradicable outgrowth of himself, this strange attachment. It made life very difficult.

So Cal settled for kicking covertly at an old crocodile's skull sitting on the ground. A mistake; the thing tried to close itself over his foot, and he pulled free with effort, his foot bruised quite thoroughly. Limping, seething, he hurried to catch up with Atlas.

How could he know? Chalk one more point up for the theory that he'd talked to Jasper about...

About what, exactly?

No. No, he wouldn't have told Atlas about their arrangement, whatever you could call it. To be fair--Cal looked down at the borrowed tie, at the expensive suit--to be fair, if one didn't know how infatuated with close to Jasper he was, one could easily assume he was using him for his money. The idea was sickening. Because he did like it. He liked the careless freedom to buy clothing, expensive dinners, to go out to concerts. And Atlas was so damned perspicacious right now. Why? What had he seen?

It was maddening.

At last he felt he had numbed his emotions enough to speak. "I've sold a number of potions," he said at last, his voice chill enough to freeze alcohol. "One to a client who said you recommended me. But the means by which I earn my money don't concern you at all. I don't take Jasper's money. I don't take anything from anyone. As you pointed out, I don't owe a thing to anyone, not even my friends, and certainly not my enemies. A group you're in great danger of joining. I don't care what you saw. Cruelty has no excuse. Bastard."

And that was self-control. He had no right. Hope he'll still hand over the demiguise... Absurd, all of it absurd.

Jasper would be disappointed.

Why, why, why...

Cal bit off a sigh. "Look, can't you just Summon it? I'll leave you alone before either of us does something we'd regret." And enjoy incredibly, he thought, envisioning his fist meeting Atlas's face. But again, strangely, the thought, once it came to mind, only sickened him, gave him none of his usual pleasure. He felt sorry for Atlas. No, not sorry for. It wasn't quite pity, which was, at least, safe. How strange.

He's Jasper's friend, and you're Jasper's.

I've sold a number of potions. One to a client who said you recommended me. But the means by which I earn my money don't concern you at all. I don't take Jasper's money. I don't take anything from anyone. As you pointed out, I don't owe a thing to anyone, not even my friends, and certainly not my enemies. A group you're in great danger of joining. I don't care what you saw. Cruelty has no excuse. Bastard. Atlas stopped. Turned, and then considered.

Every muscle in Cal's rather diminutive frame were taunt and the tightness was matched in his face. He looked rather like a cat, all its fur sticking out and hissing words that would probably make people blush if they could be properly translated. Part of the speech intrigued him and he leaned against one of the large shelves, causing dust to float up into the air. "The veela?"She was a difficult creature to forget. She had come into the shop searching for assistance with a potion, Atlas, desiring to be rid of her had quickly recommended Cal. Atlas had thought very little of the meeting since then. What were the specifics of Cals work for her? She had been unwilling to let Atlas in on any specific information. Though one look at Cal told him now was not the time to ask.

Then he looked down, digesting the rest of what Cal had said, "Your right of course. About all of it. Jasper is generous to his friends, though it was cruel," Cal had chosen to most apt word. "To belittle your achievements. I have no desire to make an enemy out of you." as for the title of bastard A shrug. "I never had a father...so you're probably right."

Cal was watching him with an alien expression, Atlas had to commend his restraint. Some of his comments would have likely gotten him skewered with anything Cal could find within reach. Now the other man just seethed in relative silence. Atlas looked up and down the aisles. "Something we'd regret? We both have plenty of those I'm sure." Atlas said the phrase blithely but meant every word. He started walking again. "A walk never did anyone any harm, and health reasons aside, magic within SHOP is currently a bit...precarious."

Cal let his breathing slow, and ran a hand through his hair, pausing behind Atlas and tipping his head back once again. It felt as though he had swallowed the cold brew of his anger, let it slide sickly through his throat, where it stuck for a moment and burned. Let it collapse down into the pit of his stomach, and breathed it away.

"I know my regrets," he said, finally, running his fingers over a dusty clock on one shelf whose hands were both pointed toward the twelve and twitching rapidly. He caught the hands briefly between two fingers, and let them go, fingertips vibrating. "I don't know yours. Nor do I particularly care. What's the problem with the magic in your shop? Have you been establishing new wards?"

He looked around, perfectly aware he wouldn't be able to sense anything--likely even if he were a Wizard. Atlas tended to be meticulous. It seemed strange that he'd leave incomplete wards, or any spell that might disrupt something so simple as an accio. Very strange indeed. What had seen? The question burned beneath his throat, in his upper chest, but he couldn't press any longer. Maybe he'd come back... steal a few scraps of paper from Rudolph's ribcage...

Ask Jasper, later...

The notion made him unaccountably uneasy. He didn't pause to examine, but followed Atlas through the labyrinthine and more than usually disarranged rows of shelves.

"A stroll in here can hardly be good for anyone's health," he said at last, coughing up what tasted like mold spores but were probably worse. "You know, Caedmon, there's no excuse for letting things deteriorate this way." While Cal often let himself fall into disrepair, his lab--while disorganized in appearance--was always rigorously subject to certain careful measures. It was work. It was important.

Whatever had happened was probably quite important. What was it-- Cal's fist clenched in his pocket, and he had to smooth his face carefully into an expression of vicious calm (paradoxical) when they stopped in front of a loaded shelf. There. At least he'd get what he wanted... if not everything he wanted... well, wasn't that just how it was to be Calixtus Ferox.

What's the problem with the magic in your shop? Have you been establishing new wards?

Atlas faltered and turned long enough to watch Cal's long neck swivel about. He looked rather like a Punch puppet moving independently of its swizzle. His eyes had a searching expression and Atlas wondered what it was he was doing. He didn't ask, turned and resumed the walk eyes on the floor.

Sets of jet black, crustacean eyes glinted up from the spaces between the floor boards, and the click clack of little claws followed both men as they continued on through. "It's not an issue with SHOP Calixtus." He spoke up, hesitating in word rather than deed. "My wards are sound, I haven't had cause to add any since I purchased this establishment. The fault is with me." Admitting weakness wasn't the best idea. Considering the blows Atlas had delivered to Cals rather fragile ego, Atlas saw sharing his alarming handicap with the man would act as a kind of a apology. Whether Cal would catch the meaning was unknown to the shop keeper.

"Potions are fine, but somethings..." He tapped a finger against his left temple. Feeling a faint pulse as he did so. "Not right." It had started almost immediately after he had returned home. Simple spells backfiring, or not working at all. As if someone had placed a stopper in his collective unconsciousness. He could feel the spells, the way they bloomed in the stomach and chest, but they stayed where they were birthed. Leaving a heavy, queasy weight with them. "Bottled contents, dangerous when shaken."

He sounded like Zippy Sinistra, another victim of Level 9.

You know, Caedmon, there's no excuse for letting things deteriorate this way..

Who are you to judge?. The comment was halfway to his lips when he clamped his mouth shut. Atlas looked and he saw what Cal meant. There were expanses of cobwebs, merchandise lay in piles on the floor where Atlas had ransacked shelves for needed ingredients. To there left was a large hole in the floor, Atlas had torn the board out when he was in dire need of another surface to write on. He hadn't replaced it.

They stopped in front of the correct shelf, and Atlas reached a hand back to his elbow, capturing the jar and pulling it free. He brought the demiguise to eye level, searching for any flaws, or signs of ill preservation. Seeing nothing he offered it to Cal. "Jasper is a good friend." He watched Cal's hungry eyes watch the membrane. "No harm should come to him by your hands."

"My wards are sound, I haven't had cause to add any since I purchased this establishment. The fault is with me. Potions are fine, but somethings... Not right."

Cal frowned. It always made him a little sick when Wizards complained of fatigue or stress sapping their power. If that was the root of Atlas's problem. The spell he had worked on might have some destabilizing effects, but certainly couldn't be responsible for anything on this scale. Atlas couldn't even manage an Accio? It was... pathetic. In some way Cal couldn't articulate, he felt a sort of gut-clenching rage. If you've got magic, it has to be trustworthy, or else all isn't right with the world.

He was already angry with Atlas, but now contempt joined his tamped, damped rage, and he stifled a strange, bright-eyed, canine-exposing grin, ducking his head and turning to look at the bottled demiguise membrane. His fingers twitched possessively, and at once he felt calmer.

Atlas turned to him, holding out the container.

"Jasper is a good friend." He watched Cal's hungry eyes watch the membrane. "No harm should come to him by your hands."

Rage. White-hot-sudden-gut-chilling--rage. The world went red and white. Drawing himself up inside, channeling the lava-flow of it, Cal doubled up his fist and punched Atlas as hard as he could, heedless of the bottled membrane, heedless of everything. It hung suspended in the air and then fell to the floor, where it shattered into a thousand sparkling pieces. And his fist slammed into Caedmon's jaw, and then he had seized him by the collar, fist (smarting--he had forgotten how much it hurt to punch people but that was--wasn't it--part of the furious pleasure--wasn't it--) raised, trembling. Slammed him back against a shelf with the kind of strength he only found when he was white-hot with anger.

"I would never. How dare you." I love him.

No no no no.

His teeth were clenched hard enough to hurt, enamel grating on enamel. "How f-ucking dare you."

ow....OW.... The whole of his face stung and when he swallowed he tasted cooper. There was a tickling at the back his throat and it took another few milliseconds to realize that he had just swallowed a molar. No matter really, the tooth was artificial potion made, and therefore weaker. He had lost it and regrown it four times. He could do it again easily enough. Using his tongue he worried at the inside of his mouth, feeling the places along the inside of his cheek. It felt like raw hamburger.

Then he cast blue eyes downward and noticed, with almost detached interest that Cal's hand was bunched in his collar. Pining him against the shelf with enough force to keep Atlas from moving. Atlas let his eyes search out Cal's over hand,the smaller mans knuckles were red and a small bleeding slit was open where the skin had been stretched to tight over bone. He might have smiled in satisfaction, but the motion would have been agony.

I would never. How dare you. How f-ucking dare you. .

Cal's whole frame shook with each word. His face contorting in a kaleidoscope of anger and rage, and fury. An interesting reaction, and one Atlas never would have anticipated. Had he missed something? He knew Cal was fickle but physical violence did seem a bit much. He should keep his mouth shut, for a number of reasons but now he was curious. it killed the cat you know. He waved the thought off.

"Appears I hit a nerve. Did you find the implication unsettling?"

He was so bloody calm. Cal felt his body quivering. His hand had begun to throb, a dull kind of ache spiced with the piercing, sour agony of split skin. It radiated up his arm and met a kindred sort of agony, which pooled in his sternum and coursed up his throat. He hadn't been this angry in years, hadn't hit anyone in years, had been able to control himself--through seclusion, though a cocktail of drugs, and through punching a hell of a lot of walls.

But Atlas's voice was so arch, despite some garbling. Cal noted, with some satisfaction, that he'd done damage.

Satisfaction mitigated by a strange stabbing in his gut.

Gritting his teeth, he redoubled his grasp on Atlas's collar, using both hands, and slammed him back against the shelf, which rocked. Again.

"Jasper--" The word emerged painfully, dryly. "--is--" Everything to me. "--a very good friend. I would never hurt him. You can't say that--"

He sounded.

Ridiculous.

That he'd get so upset over something so trivial, and then the playground 'you can't say that'--words were words, weren't they?

But Cal had given up on believing words couldn't do damage when he'd taken up spellcrafting. A single word...

"If you had no idea I could--you--you--" Something flashed in his head and went out, and he blinked rapidly, letting Atlas go. He stepped back, holding his right hand in his left. The knuckles had begun to swell; it felt like a bad toothache, the pain bone-deep. It was satisfying. The smashed glass on the floor twinkled up at him through dusty air. "Oh--sh-t. No, no, no." He bent down, all but ignoring Atlas, and tried to find the membrane. It might still be usable...

Now he was starting to cry. Damn. Damn damn damn.

He felt around uselessly on the floor for the invisible thing. Atlas wouldn't retaliate; he wasn't that sort--was he? Fished around in his pocket for a handkerchief when he cut one finger on a bit of glass, and wrapped it around his right hand before recommencing the search. Blood bloomed against the cloth, poppy-like, and he began to feel nauseated; shut his eyes and bent his head, hands pressed to his temples.

"No, no..."

For a moment Cal let up his grip and Atlas was about ready to try and break the contact. End this, then he opened his rather large mouth and found himself now held with two hands rather than the one. Adrenaline was known to make a person faster, stronger, even but this was a bit much. The shelf rocked dangerously when his shoulder blades connected with it a second time but it remained upright, a small blessing. He could hear the lobsters under the floor boards skutling out of the area, animals had a keen sense for danger. A sense he appeared to lack.

Jasper----is----a very good friend. I would never hurt him. You can't say that--. Every word tumbled with the force of a small missile, and Atlas found himself slightly relieved that Cal was a squib. This could have gotten very ugly otherwise. can't say that? His eyebrow arched upward, traveling nearly into his hairline. Was Cal so defensive of all of his friends? It seemed unlikely, the sheer amount of energy that he would expend in the effort....

If you had no idea I could--you--you--. The words were difficult to discern. Babble. Atlas could have antagonized him further but Cal's ferocity had fallen away and now Atlas thought it would rather be like kicking a puppy. Bad form. Then the pressure at his neck fell away, along with Cal's hands.

Oh--sh-t. No, no, no.. Before Atlas could say anything more Cal was kneeling in the shattered glass. The liquid from the jar seeping into his pant leg as his hands twitched and searched for.... the membrane Atlas had all but forgotten it. Was he crying? Atlas ceased rubbing at his face and crouched to a get a better view of Cal's face. Confirmed. How did the other man deal with those mood swings? Atlas would have found them unbearable.

Cals hands were at his temples, eyes squeezed shut so tightly the muscles in his forehead twitched. "WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE?" Drawn my the commotion Rudolph came creaking around the corner. Atlas put his hand in the air, indicating the skeleton should stay where it was. He removed his wand from his coat pocket, eying it like it was snake that might spring to life and bite him.

"Accio membrane." There was a strange sort of sputtering noise and some of the glass shifted but nothing more. Atlas made a frustrated sound at the back of his throat and winced when it sent small waves of pain from his jaw. It was a lost cause, he wouldn't find it until the thing began to smell.

He glanced at the mess of a man to his immediate left and sighed audibly. "Come on Ferox, I have a better sample in my private stores." Cal didn't seem to hear him, he was still muttering, and he had begun to rock. Merlin. Atlas stood and placed a hand under Cal's armpit, pulling up, and then changing his grip until he had the man upright. "Calixtus? Can you hear me?"

"Of course I can f-cking hear you." Cal wrenched his arm free and swiped his sleeve across his face, staggering upright and away from Atlas. "Suddenly you care so much." There was something incredibly re-infuriating about the man you'd just tried to pound to a pulp deciding you were the one who needed help. Condescending to you.

He shook out one pant-leg and heard glass fall away to hit the floor.

"Go and get the item and bring it back. I'll wait at the door." He backed away, stiff-legged, watching the lurid bruise that had started to form on Atlas's jaw with a kind of vicious satisfaction. My handiwork. Pride.

Pride and a kind of boiling sickness. He'd just beaten one of Jasper's friends to a purple pulp. He'd be angry. Particularly because Cal had no logical explanation for why he'd done it. Of course Atlas had been rude. He had accused Cal of intending... of... intending to hurt Jasper. As if that were the remotest possibility.

A small voice somewhere in his head warned him that possibilities he wasn't even willing to consider faintly, remotely, or at all, usually held some sort of truth. But that was preposterous. It was simply too painful to contemplate, that was all. Entirely different.

You only help yourself.

Only yourself.

Why did he care about Jasper the way he did? How much of it was for the Jasper Jasper's other friends saw?

How much was for the Jasper that was exclusively his?

How much of it was just for him?

And what had Atlas seen? He had felt a sick kind of shame after he'd heard of Baines's murder, felt a kind of guilt the day he had met Jasper, for that specifically. But. But. It had nothing to do with the other.

Cal bumped into a shelf on his way to the front of the shop. Faintly, behind him, he heard motion that indicated Atlas was approaching again, and the sound of Rudolph's perpetual shout, muffled by dust and distance. "WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE!"

He shoved his knuckles into his pockets until the touched the rough inner stitching and leaned against the wall.

Of course I can f-cking hear you. . A look of coherence came back into Cal’s eyes as quickly as it had left. Atlas released him immediately, taking a step back with both hands out, a small gesture of truce. He could have said any number of snide remarks in response but the fight that he had so willingly started had gotten a bit rough for his tastes. He much preferred dueling; it was at least somewhat civilized.

Suddenly you care so much.. Well, Atlas wouldn’t quite go that far. In the interest of maintain the peace Atlas said nothing and instead watched glass shards fall from the fabric covering Cal’s knee. The demiguise fluid smelled awful, he’d have to clean that up as soon as possible.

Go and get the item and bring it back. I'll wait at the door. .

Probably what was best for the both of them. Atlas watched Cal’s beady eyes travel upwards and settle on what was sure to be a rather unbecoming bruise. Cal’s eyes were still watery from the tears he had been shedding moments before but there was anger and pride there as well. Not wanting to see anymore, Atlas turned away and walked briskly to the back of the shop.

“WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE?” Rudolph’s well worn phrase seemed to indicate some concern for Atlas jaw. He waved a hand dismissively, “I’ll ice it late, stop mothering me.”

He lay his palm flat on the wall, which swung inward revealing his own private storehouse of ingredients and rarities. Where the shop was hopelessly disorganized this room was impeccable. He would risk nothing getting lost in the shuffle. He plucked the pristine example of a demiguise from the shelf and contemplated it for a moment. It was a perfect sample…shame to waste it. He tucked it underneath and arm and returned to find Cal standing at the door.

“Mr. Ferox.” He offered the rather large bottle to the seething man.

It took rather a long time to calm down.

It always did.

Cal snatched the bottle from Atlas without a word and turned away, his swelling hand clenched in his pocket, the pain a kind of pleasure, or at least a bolster against his confused horror. There was something about what he'd done that put a moldering hole in his gut. Something fundamentally awful. Not that he'd punched Atlas. That was almost clean, and anyway, he'd been asking for it.

Something about the way he'd thought, a confused, green-gray smoke of thought. That he owed Atlas, that was it. Still owed him.

That he still cared about that.

There was no use thinking about anything. Cal had no time for the train, so he ducked into Diagon (after going through the humiliation of asking someone for help, flashing his Squib card) and took a public Floo to the nearest stop, then trekked home. His head pounded, and it was quite incredible and quite distant, when he thought of it--that he'd been cheerful at the day's beginning. Now he felt as though something had burned out and left only ash. He didn't even want to see Jasper. Well, proddings of conscience no doubt. You're not beyond that. Downright Raskolnikov. Awful book, awful, because, well, why...

He forced his thoughts back onto a more productive track: the invisibility potion. It wasn't quite the same as a cloak. Less convenient, for one, since you had to drink it and the effects were irreversible for two hours--more convenient, because if he did it right and got Jasper to Transfigure it a bit, it would also work for evasion against most Magical tracking.

He settled into the brewing. Luckily, he had enough pre-spelled components that he'd only need help on the last stage--lucky, because he couldn't be around anyone at the moment. It took him twelve hours to brew. Only the late train was still running to London proper, but Cal didn't mind, and didn't like to Floo while carrying the potion, so he hopped a ride and fell asleep halfway there. He had to be shaken awake when they got to his stop.

Outside of Jasper's shop, he paused for a moment, clasping the paper parcel that held the large bottle of potion, and assessed himself, as he always did. Jasper would be appalled, of course. His suit was crumpled, his tie loosened, dark smudges under his eyes, and his hand (though he'd tuned out the pain to work on the potion) had turned shades of purple and green.

He rang the bell and slumped exhaustedly against the doorframe to wait.

Jasper was in his bathroom, trying out the new hair products he'd gotten earlier in the day at Lush. The girl in the store had informed him they would make him look even more charmingly rumpled, which had been all the encouragement he needed to break out his wallet. He was testing out the new hairstyle at a gig tonight; Maximo Park was doing a secret show in a loft somewhere in the East End. Genius.

As he turned in front of the mirror, the bell rang in the shop, surprising him. He glanced at the clock, it was approaching midnight. Cal, of course. Who else would it be at this time? Turning off the light over the mirror, he bounded down the stairs. Late night visits from Cal were usually fun. Opening the door to the frigid night air, he waved Cal in, leaning forward habitually for a kiss before he got a look at his face.

Luckily he caught a glimpse at the last second, because Cal looked like he'd kick Jasper in the shins at any moment. Jasper leaned back and surveyed the situation. He looked...dreadful. Like he hadn't slept in days, and had possibly moved his lab to a gutter. He was wearing what had once been a charcoal Dior Homme suit that Jasper remembered fondly. Alas, poor Slimane, I knew thee well. Jasper reached out to touch the creased fabric of the sleeve sorrowfully, and noticed that Cal's hand was swollen and blotchily bruised. So bruised that he winced when he looked at the puffy fingers. He was gripping a slightly grubby paper bag tightly.

Jasper lead the way upstairs automatically, sliding his hand into Cal's good one. In the study, he turned to face the other man, who looked sallow and ill.

"Cal are you--"

No, "Are you okay?" was the wrong question. He hated to be patronized. And he looked in no mood for cheerful banter this evening. Jasper took a long breath before trying again. He wanted to offer a quick healing spell, but thought that might fall too strongly in the pity category at the moment. Which was what he honestly felt as he looked at the man, but he knew how that would go. Better to start simple.

"What happened?"

Cal wanted nothing more than to--

Well, as ridiculous as it sounded, to fall into Jasper's arms. Some sort of comfort, anyway (since when was Jasper a comfort?). But he was so grubby, covered in potions spills, and gripping the precious container. So he offered up a wan smile. Jasper had his 'oh God what have you done to my glamor-boy outfit and in point of fact my glamor boy' (which Cal was afraid he had somewhat become) expression on.

He took Jasper's hand gratefully when it was offered, and let himself lean against his shoulder on the way upstairs. There, he carefully set his parcel down on the table and extracted the bottle; took a deep breath, and turned back to Jasper, running his hands over his face. Slowly, he sank down onto one edge of the couch, aware enough of how Jasper would likely react to the condition of his clothing that he didn't let himself sprawl full-length, as he usually would have. He did remove his jacket, which he laid carefully across his lap (it had gotten a bit stained) and loosen his tie.

"Long story. I went to go and get some demiguise for that potion--which--you can easily finish for me, and then it's yours, I only need a small vial myself, but it's good protection. Anyway, I got into a..." He held up his hand ruefully. It was beginning to stiffen. "... an altercation with Atlas, who was being--well--he'd obviously suffered some sort of shock or--anyway, I didn't want to subject you to my mood after that so--"

He shrugged, feeling a little sick. It was always awful to see Jasper when he was like this. Usually he was able to take the time and distance to clean himself up, but tonight he'd let himself get... what was it? Needy? And then, once he did see him, he was so horribly aware of the sticky film of chemicals he seems to attract after long lab-work; of the beginnings of sweat under his arms and at his temples, how greasy his hair felt.

"I'm fine. Atlas may not be, I'm not sure; after the way he behaved I almost don't care. But he's your friend." He took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I haven't been this angry in years."

Cal perched on the edge of the couch, shoulders hunched despondently. Jasper hovered for a moment, uncertain whether he should try to be close right now. He finally sat down on the other cushion, carefully pushing aside the ruins of the Dior jacket. There was something green on it. Jasper had to look away in sorrow, at which point he met Cal's eyes as he spoke.

"Anyway, I got into a... an altercation with Atlas, who was being--well--he'd obviously suffered some sort of shock or--anyway, I didn't want to subject you to my mood after that so-"

Jasper was sure his jaw was somewhere downstairs in the shop, because it had dropped to the floor so quickly. Atlas? Caedmon? Cal? He had to be making this up, as some kind of weird joke. In a moment he'd explain that he'd hurt his hand in the lab or something and they'd have a laugh. That had to be the case.

There was a long pause during which Jasper gaped unattractively and Cal looked a bit ill, flexing his puffy, discolored hand. There was no hint of the sardonic smile that usually crept in after his jokes, and Jasper had a sinking feeling that he was telling the truth. Splendid. One of his oldest friends and his...Cal, in a fight. This wouldn't be awkward next time he had a party. Apparently too impatient to wait for Jasper's shocked response, Cal pressed on.

"I'm fine. Atlas may not be, I'm not sure; after the way he behaved I almost don't care. But he's your friend." He took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I haven't been this angry in years."

He looked honestly remorseful, and Jasper felt the odd need to comfort him, somehow. Even if he had just gotten into a fistfight with one of his childhood friends. He put an arm cautiously around Cal's shoulders, hoping whatever was causing that blue stain on his right sleeve wasn't going to burn him. Cal felt clammy under the once starched fabric, unsettled and coldly damp, like one of those strangely humid days in winter. Jasper sighed, thinking of the right question.

"Atlas?" He finally managed. "What did he do? He's so...well, mad, but pretty affable, unless you mention Shirley Temple. You didn't, did you?" Momentary flash of horror recalling the time Jasper had accidentally offered Atlas an animal cracker. This had ended with Jasper shaking like a leaf and clutching a box of crumbs. Maybe he would tell Cal that story later, cheer him up a bit.

For now he picked up his bruised hand gently, fingers barely touching the palm. "Should I go see him? D'you want to stay here for a bit and get some sleep?" He pulled out his wand, hoping Cal wouldn't choose this moment to be too proud for magical assistance. "Can I, first? That looks so terrible."

Cal settled stiffly into Jasper's embrace, holding his shoulders high, as he always did when uncomfortable. Jasper would be able to smell the miasma of sweat and chemicals coating him now... absurd to be anxious about it--absurd. He had so much more to think about. Atlas, for one thing. Atlas and his accusation. And his secret. What had he seen?

But he couldn't think about any of that. Gritting his teeth, he willed himself to relax, and let his head fall forward, sticky hair obscuring his expression.

"What did he do? He's so...well, mad, but pretty affable, unless you mention Shirley Temple. You didn't, did you?"

Jasper's friends were so odd. And to think he was ashamed of Cal--wait--what? No--there was no sign of--but he is. Who wouldn't be... ridiculous how much being dirty could discomfit him around Jasper.

"Shirley Temple?" Cal gave him a blank look. Typical Jasper--because the comment had, in part, been a joke. Jasper always wanted things to be lighthearted, or to have an easy explanation. They didn't. Around him, however, you could almost feel it was the way of the world and everyone else mistaken. "No. He was... he was baiting me... he implied that I would..." It sounded ridiculous, when the time came to say it. "He implied I was going to hurt you somehow. Which--" Cal looked away. "Obviously... I wouldn't." His lips closed numbly over the words. "He was being very cruel. Still Atlas. But cruel. So I hit him." Sudden flush of pride. "I'm sorry," was a hasty addition.

"Should I go see him? D'you want to stay here for a bit and get some sleep?" He pulled out his wand... "Can I, first? That looks so terrible."

Cal nodded, shutting his eyes while Jasper ran his fingers gently over the warm, swollen center of his hand. "Yes to all three. I need--I just need a shower and a good sleep. Thanks." His fingers fixed, he flexed them, shaking his hand back to painless life.

Jasper touched Cal's hand briefly, pleased that the skin was cool and pale again. He put an arm around his waist and stood, walking him up the stairs to his bedroom. Dug around until he found a stack of fluffy towels and shoved them into Cal's hands, then waved his wand so the shower turned on. Normally Cal was capable of these things himself, but he looked like he was in such a state that Jasper wasn't sure. Left alone, he might have just stood and stared at the wall until his return. Plus the actions gave him time to sort out something to say that didn't involve him gaping and muttering "What the hell?" at the revelation that he'd punched Atlas.

"You're totally mad. Mad." Pushed a hand through his hair and found a jacket. "You hit him? I mean, it's chivalrous in an entirely disturbing way, but-- Look, I'll go see him. For the record-" He turned in the mirror and looked at the vague outline of Cal's teeth on the angle where his neck and shoulder met, then looked back and smiled- "you have hurt me, on recent occasions. But Atlas should know that I can take care of myself. I'll sort it out, don't worry. Get some sleep. Shower first though, don't you dare touch my sheets like that."

Turning at the door, he watched Cal waver slowly toward the door of the bathroom. "I'll see you later. Relax, I'll talk to him."

Bounding down the stairs, he burst into the chilly air of the Alley and quickly reached SHOP. And-

My God, what was that smell?

He stopped in the doorway, surveying the shop in horror. It was...worse than normal, he thought. Not that it was remarkably neat on most occasions, but usually there wasn't reeking slime on the floor. Jasper skirted around it cautiously, aware that his Sperrys were in imminent danger. He could hear Rudolph making apocalyptic prophecies in the basement, so he peered down the narrow stairs. Atlas' tall form could be seen, rifling twitchily through something. He wondered if the lobster bandits were on the loose today. Looked around his ankles nervously and checked to make sure he had all his shiny possessions. Phew.

"Atlas?" Jasper descended a few steps.

"WE ARE ALL GOING TO DIE!" Rudolph piped up.

"Yeah, thanks Captain Optimism. It's Jasper. I just--saw Cal. What happened? Are you okay?"

Following Cal's departure Atlas had just stood starring into the quickly congealing pile of solution and wondering what he should do. Clean it up was one thought but it was small and couldn't quite find its way to the top of the list past other concerns like, 'saving humanity', or 'fortifying the proletariat', there was also a thought about cheese... A twinge of pain to his jaw and Rudolph clacking around behind him brought him back to himself.

More important things at hand. being careful to avoid stepping in the large puddle now occupying the shops main aisle Atlas made his way back into the depths of shop.

*******************

He didn't hear the door open, nor did the sound of boots on floorboards register, he was aware of dust falling around him, getting into things, possibly ruining formulas but if it were the Banditos there was very little he could do to stop them that wouldn't amount to a gross waste of time. There were glyphs floating around the space in front of his eyes and as he rifled through the tome on the table he lifted his index finger, writing notes into the air.

The sound of shoes on the stairs elicited a response from Rudolph and it was at that point Atlas turned, wand raised. A spell was halfway out of his mouth (he didn't imagine it would work but he had to try) before everything came to a halt. Squinting in the dim lighting Atlas recognized Jasper's lithe form, hesitating on his 5th stair. The wards wouldn't have warned him against the jewelers approach, Atlas lowered his wand and then let it fall to the floor.

Yeah, thanks Captain Optimism. It's Jasper. I just--saw Cal. What happened? Are you okay?

Atlas lifted a hand, turned his head and pointed to the lump along his jaw. "An altercation. Ran straight to you did he? Interesting." He scowled at his voice, which garbled a bit as he spoke around his swollen gum's. "Though that doesn't tell you anything does it?" Something occurred to him and he jotted it down before the thought could vanish back into the ether.

"I implied something unsettling, Calixtus reacted as someone with little self control and far too many feelings would." Jasper was looking at him, glancing around occasionally, then looking back appraising. Atlas broke eye contact, turned his head. "He was prying...." He said at last, he sounded like a child.


oooc soooo kinda crap? Do better next time I promise

Atlas looked...puffy. His face was swollen from jaw to mouth, quickly purpling around the obvious outline of familiar skinny knuckles. He surveyed Jasper with his usual sort of narrow eyed uncertainty, as though there was a distinct possibility that this was a Jasper impostor and he might have to do some kind of DNA testing to make sure before he got out a taser. Atlas would have a taser too. If he could find it.

"An altercation." He replied finally, his voice sounding a little sloshy behind the swelling in his mouth. Ran straight to you did he? Interesting...Though that doesn't tell you anything does it?"

Ran straight to you. There was something in the tone. More suspicious than usual. Insinuating. Jasper's stomach flipped nervously. Like he sensed something. Which was ridiculous, but then again, Cal had punched him in defense of Jasper, which was also ridiculous. Jasper raised his wand slowly, taking the final step or two down to Atlas, then looking up slightly at the welt on his face. Hoped this would be distracting for a moment and his eyes wouldn't give something about Cal away. For a mad one, Atlas was very perceptive.

"Can I? I'm good with healing spells. Might make talking easier."

"I implied something unsettling, Calixtus reacted as someone with little self control and far too many feelings would. He was prying...."

Atlas looked defensive, and Jasper sighed, realizing this would be damage control part two. He ruffled up his hair and tucked his wand carelessly into the waistband of his pants.

"He...thought I should know. Since it involved me. Thought I might be able to sort things out between you two a bit, you know? Sorry about your face, by the way. Cal takes his friendships seriously."

He kept his voice totally flat, light. Atlas seemed out of sorts, maybe he wouldn't question further. He hoped he wouldn't.

"What did he ask you, anyhow? Was it about Shirley?"

Jasper was approaching him with a raised wand and there was a brief moment of panic before the other man spoke, Can I? I'm good with healing spells. Might make talking easier.. Jasper was offering to play nurse maid? Maybe it was a cover and second now this Jasper that might not be Jasper would say a word or a string of words and it would be all over. His hand twitched in the direction of his wand, but by the time he got to it it would be too late anyway... Atlas was calculating how much force he'd need to knock the man to the ground when Jasper dropped his wand and ruffled his hair in a very Jasper-like manner.

Perhaps tackling wasn't in order. Better to be safe than sorry. "Jasper, what happened on November 19th in 5th year?"

He...thought I should know. Since it involved me. Thought I might be able to sort things out between you two a bit, you know? Sorry about your face, by the way. Cal takes his friendships seriously.. Atlas was still weary but he tried to act normal, well, normal for him at least. "Is that why your here? To mediate?" When Jasper apologized for the bruise Atlas waved a hand in front of his face, knocking one of the glyphs into blueish smoke before it reformed. "Had no idea you two were so close, shouldn't have pushed him, needed to distract him. Had to get him out of here." He was the one at fault, though he was loathe to admit it.

What did he ask you, anyhow? Was it about Shirley?.

He stooped down and reclaimed his wand before leaning against the table, palms down and forearms turned out at Jasper and tried to focus. He opened his mouth, began forming a word, then closed it again. "No. Shirley remains on the Good Ship Lollipop...." He ran a hand through his hair then lifted his wand, aiming dead center at Jasper's chest. "November 19th Jasper, I can't say anymore until you tell me."

Jasper had his wand raised, healing spell at hand, when a strange look crossed Atlas' face. It was the one usually reserved for when he saw Will now, who he still thought was a member of a Satanic cult from time to time, in spite of his decidedly angelic appearance. Apparently Jasper was on the list of suspicious figures this evening. It could be for any number of reasons; slight crease in the knot of his tie, missing eyelash, usage of too many words with the letter 'R'. One never knew with Atlas.

"Jasper, what happened on November 19th in 5th year?"

Jasper rolled his eyes. This was no time for cross examination. He forged on, and for a moment Atlas responded like a sane human being.

"Is that why your here? To mediate?" He sounded slightly bitter, surprised, and still suspicious. "Had no idea you two were so close, shouldn't have pushed him, needed to distract him. Had to get him out of here."

Jasper listened to the clipped sentences and breath caught in his throat with Had no idea you two were so close. Did bloody everyone suspect these days? Everard had given them such a look in the shop before the duel, Walmsley seemed oddly keen (well, Jasper hadn't exactly been overly discreet in that scenario), Dorian-- not that it mattered in his case, but he was certainly onto something. Maybe he had been too indiscreet, as Cal frequently asserted. If Atlas was making comments, it was practically a certainty. He wasn't the most observant, at least not of things that were actually occurring and not just theories he created while digging through Arty Sinistra's garbage. Jasper asked the all-important Shirley question, hoping to distract him.

Atlas, rather than emitting a horrible shriek at the mention of the curly-haired she-devil herself, leaned forward on the table like an interrogator and intoned, "November 19th Jasper, I can't say anymore until you tell me.

Jasper sighed. He knew the answer, of course, but it wasn't always good to play into Atlas' suspicions. Then he just believed them more.

"Bott-Gate Part 6: Operation Banana Bean." One of their most successful endeavors at Hogwarts, smuggling firewhiskey into the castle inside thousands of individual Bertie Bott's. Popping each one later had been hellish, but the profit margin had been a thing of beauty. He reminisced contentedly for a moment, then looked sternly at Atlas.

"Satisfied now? You should know that I know Cal, anyhow, I suspect you were the one who recommended him to me when he needed some transfiguration done. He does interesting work, as I'm sure you're aware." He let it go there, as just a business relationship. Atlas knew he kept his associates close. And the implication that his own secrets weren't so well hidden would hopefully quiet him down in his speculations. "So what was going on? What was he prying about?"

Bott-Gate Part 6: Operation Banana Bean. A few simple words and Atlas relaxed, tossing his wand onto the table behind him and then allowing himself to sink down to the floor. The scheme had been perfectly planned, even more perfectly executed. The profits had funded just about anything either boy could think of for months. Jasper had passed the test; it was something neither of them had mentioned to anyone, real Jasper then, that was reassuring. “Go ahead with the spell then.”

Satisfied now? You should know that I know Cal, anyhow, I suspect you were the one who recommended him to me when he needed some transfiguration done. He does interesting work, as I'm sure you're aware.

He nodded indicating sullenly that yes, yes he was satisfied. Though he thought that lowering his wand had been a fairly good indication of that fact. He nodded again in admittance, “You’re the best in the field, of course I would recommend you to him….” He trailed off at the end, still nodding, “Very interesting work….” From his place on the floor Atlas looked up at Jasper catching his eyes, was he keeping something from him? No, that was paranoia and lack of sleep filtering in from his subconscious. He almost didn’t watch what the jeweler said next.

So what was going on? What was he prying about?.

Atlas swallowed, opened his mouth, closed it, and tried again. Rinse and repeat. “Calixtus came in looking for an ingredient. I was working, he showed too much interest…too much compassion.” He looked at Jasper pointedly then away and began tracing little runes in the dust on the floor next to him. “…Its not important.” Jasper was giving him a look that communicated that becoming embroiled in a fistfight at his age was definitely something that would constitute the use of the word ‘important’. Atlas ignored him; he was good at ignoring people.

“I think I went too far this time, Jasper.” He rummaged in his pocket and offered a scrap of mapping to Jasper, clearly showing a shimmering image of the Department of Mysteries. There was a brief moment of silence and then Atlas spoke, his voice a quiet monotone. “Junior Undersecretary Edward Garrow has been stealing human souls for God knows how long…and doing God knows what with them. I helped Carmen Snidgeton break into the Ministry.” He brought both hands up to his head and massaged his throbbing temples. “I saw some things that I can’t unsee.”

“You’re the best in the field, of course I would recommend you to him[…]Very interesting work….”

Atlas' voice wavered a moment, and he looked at Jasper curiously. Not "you are a pod-Jasper from the planet Zeta" curiously, just "I want to discover some dark secret about you" curiously. Jasper's eyes flickered away from his friend's uncomfortably. For all his paranoia, Atlas sometimes had alarming moments of clarity. He spoke, hoping for distraction.

“Calixtus came in looking for an ingredient. I was working, he showed too much interest…too much compassion.” He looked at Jasper pointedly then away and began tracing little runes in the dust on the floor next to him. “…Its not important.”

Oh yeah, nothing important about instigating fist fights in your shop. Happens to me every day. Jasper shot Atlas a look, not deigning to respond to such a ridiculously throwaway answer. He knew Atlas would crack and say something more, because Atlas knew that Jasper wouldn't leave until he found out the truth. That was the beauty in old friendships, at any rate; there was no wasted communication. A good glare said everything.

“I think I went too far this time, Jasper[...] Junior Undersecretary Edward Garrow has been stealing human souls for God knows how long…and doing God knows what with them. I helped Carmen Snidgeton break into the Ministry. I saw some things that I can’t unsee.”

Atlas handed Jasper a crumpled map, clearly of some area of the MInistry, which Jasper studied in confusion. Ministry break-ins with Snidgeton? Garrow stealing souls? This seemed...entirely unprompted, considering Jasper had just asked about why he and Cal were arguing. Unless Cal was related to this somehow, which was-- disturbing. Jasper realized that he didn't really know what Cal did in his lab, they kept their work lives separate from one another in most cases. But he doubted in involved stealing souls. That was a little harsh, even for Cal. He looked back at Atlas, who was practically crumpling into himself.

"Junior Undersecretary Garrow? Souls? I mean, really Atlas--" Jasper had a vague mental picture of the man; young, thin, vaguely smarmy looking. Not exactly Jasper's ideal friend, but not Satan incarnate either. "Is this like the time you were convinced that Sporty Spice was in league with Russian spies? We had to go to that concert to look for hand signals--" He had a brief and terrifying flashback of said occasion, then forged on. "What does this have to do with you and Cal anyway? And why was Snidgeton breaking into the Ministry? Is she out of other locations to find torture victims?"

Jasper took the map and spent a few moments studying it carefully. Atlas watched the other mans face carefully, brief confusion, touch of that patronizing frown he had developed somewhere between 4th and 5th year, a spot of worry, and then finally incredulity as he lowered the map and they were again looking at each other. I mean really Atlas..... Atlas closed his eyes against the words, grinding his palms against his sockets, of course it sounded ludacris. More far fetched then any number of conspiracy theories in explanations Atlas had thrown out before but the patronizing disbelief in Jasper's voice just made everything worse. Is this like the time you were convinced Sporty Spice was in league with Russian Spies? We had to go to that concert and look for hand signals..

Atlas remembered the incident, “We had to get to the bottom of the arms trafficking,” He had modeled the theory off one that had been tried in Japan. A girl's pop group had been revealed to subliminally be urging people to join a cult, placing them in touch with said cult through the use of various hand signals on promotional posters and at concerts. It was only logical that another criminal organization might try the same thing. Especially with song titles like 'Two Become One' which clearly expressed some sort of numerical reckoning. Raising a hand he held up fingers in an alternating sequence, “If you call the number on any muggle telephone a child's voice will urge you to help smuggle grenades.” He chuckled for a moment, felt ill and stopped. “This is nothing like it, this happened.”

What does this have to do with Cal anyway?. “Possibly everything, probably nothing.” He was babbling he had to get back on track, had to get Jasper to understand. “ The Snidge has been suspicious of him since the Minister was assassinated... went to her. Offered to investigate.” possibly sold your soul in the process. “I needed someone who would be credible. I could find out what he was up to but I'm a well known crack pot no one would have listened and people have a right to know what they're government is up to.” Atlas flailed on the floor for a moment, reached under the table and produced a few scraps of scroll, offered them up. “I did some research, Garrow isn't as clean as he leads on. I thought maybe he had assassinated the Minister, maybe even made the apparition bug. But he doesn't have the skill, and he didn't do either, that led me to Mysteries. I dug, I thought if I can get Carmen into the Ministry she can blow everything wide open. Then everyone would know.”

“I wish he had assassinated the Minister,” Atlas admitted miserably. “Carmen got her story...she's probably at the Prophet writing it now.” He could imagine her claws click clacking against the keys, that grinch smile curling on either side of her face. Headless of the ramifications of what Garrow had been doing, uninterested in the why and how, uncaring for the innocent people who had been killed in the crossfire. Thinking about Darien hurt more than anything else and Atlas dropped his voice, not sure if Jasper would be able to hear him. “Darien Holywell is dead, I got him killed. I have to fix it.”

Jasper determined three things as he listened to Atlas speak. First, he was utterly mad. Sporty Spice, honestly. After all these years... Second, something was going entirely wrong with society, and Jasper had been largely oblivious. Wrapped up with his parties and gigs and import deals and well, frankly, he spent a lot of time distracted by Cal, he didn't exactly keep up with the more political side of the wizarding world.

Jasper didn't keep up in general with what was going on in proper society. Like the Christies who had retreated from public life during the rise and return of Voldemort, he had decided that the best way to handle turmoil was to remain outside it. Outside Ministry dealings that could affect his ability to do business, he had little interest in government. He had no desire to contribute to the public good, no concern for the delicate inner-office finagles of the Ministry that Will detailed sometimes. Jasper had decided, before he even left Hogwarts, that he would live entirely for himself. No ties in politics, no ambition to that life. It returned only...this. Exactly the sort of disaster that Atlas was detailing to him.

The third thing he'd determined was embroiled with his utter disinterest in the politics of the wizarding world, and in the realization that Cal had more than a little interest in what was going on. If Atlas was correct, at any rate. Not that Atlas was an infallible provider of knowledge, but he seemed close to the source in this case. Possibly everything, probably nothing. That wasn't exactly the most helpful thing Jasper had ever heard, and certainly wasn't enough for an accusation, not that he could think of a convenient way to bring up the subject. So, Atlas, the crackpot one, thinks you're at least partially responsible for some heinous things going on in the Ministry. Also, did you put more poptarts in the cabinet behind my highball glasses, because we're going to have words if I find them there.

He didn't know what Cal did when they weren't together. Knew he had clients, didn't know who they were or why they needed his services. Their lives had such separate spheres outside one another. Cal didn't ask what he did on the nights they weren't together, and Jasper returned the favor. So far it had worked out, but now--

Now, at least, there was something more pressing at hand. He could worry about Cal later, but Atlas clearly needed his help. Not that Jasper was the best to provide advice in matters of Ministry espionage and coverups of murders, but Atlas was one of his oldest friends and he at least deserved the offer.

First he was going to have to understand what the bloody hell Atlas meant by all this. He cleared his throat and looked at his friend, leaning forward with his tall shoulders hunched tiredly. Atlas, for all his physical overbearing and overwhelming eccentricity, had always seemed the most fragile of Jasper's friends. Apollo was simply too bright, too happy to be hurt, Will had a kind of inner strength, and Wendell was....Wendell, he bounced back. But Atlas was easily riled, dependent on his tenuous theories. Jasper put a hand on his shoulder briefly, trying to sort out his own thoughts.

"So Garrow-- you think he's working with people?" Do you think he's working with Cal?, he wanted to add, but that was too much interest. Too personal. "What did you find out in Mysteries? And what happened with Holywell? Can I-- I'm sure the answer here is no, but can I do anything to help you, Atlas?"

He heard Jasper sigh and braced himself for what he was certain was coming. Jasper would just think it was another theory, another twisted story that he had thought up in a fit of boredom or after a light night going through all the trash in the greater London area. It was a persona that Atlas has spent years cultivating and perfecting. It had seemed a completely logical thing to do at the time. The Ministry wouldn't leave him alone, no one would leave him alone unless they thought him to simple and eccentric to bother with.

For years it had worked, he had avoided anything that wasn't of direct interest to him. People, events, politics, hiding in SHOP collecting and researching, and for what? He didn't often entertain thoughts of 'what could have been' he had very consciously chosen his life and lived it exactly as he please. How many men could say that and really mean it? Had he worked for the Ministry he would either be dead or somehow involved in these horrific dealings. But he should have paid more attention, kept a closer eye on things, instead he had ignored the Ministry and most of the rumors about what went on there, until it had been too late to stop it.

A hand on his shoulder brought him back to the basement, he flinched as his train of thought ended. He prepared for the joke Jasper would crack next, something about werecats, of the mysterious lives of may flies....

So Garrow... Atlas lifted his head. you think hes working with people? Something came and went in Jasper's eyes and Atlas wondered if he had meant to say something else. What did you find out in Mysteries? And what happened with Holywell? Can I... uncharacteristic hesitation. ...I'm sure the answer here is no, but can I do anything to help you Atlas?.

“You believe me?”

Jasper was taking him seriously? Atlas blinked several times in a sort of dazed confusion then rubbed the heel of one hand hard against his eye. When he removed his hand little black spots danced in front of his vision. He should really brew a pep up potion...sleep would be an absolute waste of time. Meeting anyones eyes was hard and so he look up but past Jasper, he could see the mans face in his peripheral vision but wasn't directly caught in his gaze.

“Garrow is undoubtedly working with someone. I can confirm two unspeakable, purebloods from Sluytherin house...Garrow's employment decisions are so cliché. But they can't have been the only ones. Ministry drones by definition lack finesse and inventiveness. Its trained right out of them as soon as they sign there employment papers.” His voice was subdued , communicating vital facts in as mechanical a way as possible. “Whoever did the bulk of development had both qualities, and that makes it a rather narrow list. 675.3 in greater Europe.”

The floor was cold and he should probably get up, but the effort just didn't seem worth it. “I took Carmen into the Ministry...her and a few others. It was all wrong down there Jasper...it felt wrong. Everything was bent, unstable. Do you remember in fourth year? When they demonstrated the unforgivables? How the air felt afterwards, think of that and then multiply it. Until its crippling.”

A few deep even breaths and he continued. “I had heard rumors about people coming into to Saint Mungoes with no souls... but no signs of having been attacked by a dementor. I did research into Fletcher, one of Garrow's unspeakable. The man had been taking trips to azkaban for months. Only ever reported to Garrow. I pursued the connection it all led back to Garrow. I didn't expect...” His voice broke and he had to pause, swallowed, kept going. “It was a spell...it...I think,” The uncertainty in his own voice made him angry and sick in equal measure. “It tears a soul from the body, severs the connection. He used it on Holywell...I brought him there. I thought he could help, a medic was an excellent strategic choice. There wasn't any choice, I left him.”

He finally met Jasper's eyes pleading with the man for some sort of vindication. He had gone over everything a hundred times at least. Every move he had made and he could see all the flaws, the mistakes. Everyone made mistakes, even him but it was rare that one of them resulted in someones death. “I have to recreate the spell.” He pulled himself from the ground with visible effort. “Its the only way to figure out how Garrow did it. Who did it for him.”

Digging through the parchments strewn all over the main work desk Atlas produced a series of hastily scribbled notes, pressed them into Jasper's hands. “I don't want you to be heavily involved Jasper. If the Ministry comes for me, I don't want anyone connected with me be under suspicion. I'm a well documented crazy, the reputation of my friends will survive whatever actions I might take. “ That having been said . “But I've hit a block...Croders formula of transfiric exchange, The Jenkins Charm model, enough potions spell fusion to exhaust a whole research team. None of them fit in any discernible pattern,” He hesitated. “Also...” He lifted his wand from where it rested, eying it like it might spring to life and attack him. He aimed at a large tome of potions ingredients, open on the table in the corner. “Accio book,” A brief sputtering sound and then nothing. “Something is very wrong with me.”

Jasper watched Atlas speak as though his voice was coming from somewhere else. Atlas looked like his face was melting off from fatigue, as though whatever stitches held him together were fraying apart. Which, according to Atlas, was essentially what was happening with...the world. Jasper found this moderately disturbing. He suddenly wondered if offering help had been a wise move. Maybe he should have taken heed of the Christie tradition and gone into hiding right away. Better safe than...soulless.

It was a spell...it...I think. It tears a soul from the body, severs the connection. He used it on Holywell[...]

"You saw Garrow murder him?"

This was rapidly becoming worse than he'd imagined. If Atlas was right it meant total corruption in the Ministry. Not that Jasper was theoretically opposed to corruption in the Ministry, in fact he usually encouraged and exploited it. He was, however, opposed to having his soul sucked from his body by Junior Undersecretary Garrow, which sounded both unpleasant and potentially disfiguring. Atlas was still speaking, his voice rattling along like it was coming from a cadaver.

I don't want you to be heavily involved Jasper.

Well, that was a mild relief, at any rate.

[...]But I've hit a block...Croders formula of transfiric exchange, The Jenkins Charm model, enough potions spell fusion to exhaust a whole research team. None of them fit in any discernible pattern.

Jasper forced himself to stop wondering how much of a disaster the wizarding world was going to become, and focused on the technicalities of what Atlas was saying. He didn't know a lot about most of the things his friend had mentioned, but Croders formula...it was hugely complicated. He'd worked with it very briefly when he'd been experimenting with palladium, but the energy required to deal with it was immense, too taxing for the kind of repeated use he needed. Luckily Cal had come along and seen the solution that routed around the formula right away. Odd that he'd been working on something so similar--

No, no, that's stupid. Atlas is just being paranoid. He's clearly in a state right now and he picked a fight with Cal, because Cal was being how he always is. That's all.

He came back from his thoughts to find Atlas watching him, clearly debating whether or not he wanted to say something else. Also... he finally managed, and picked up his wand, pointed it at a book nearby and Accioed it. Jasper waited for it to fly into his hand, but there was a fizzling sound in the air, and nothing more. Atlas' face was a greyish, unhealthy shade

Something is very wrong with me.

Jasper, halfway through inhaling, choked on his own breath. Atlas was saying-- no, that was impossible. You couldn't lose magical ability like that. Maybe it was something in SHOP, some other spell or charm that had gone wrong and was inhibiting him. He pointed his own wand at the book and Accioed; it flew into his outstretched palm, but he was so stunned that his fingers didn't close and it fell to the floor with a dusty thud. He looked at it for a moment, as the little cloud of particles settled on the shiny toes of his shoes, then back up at Atlas.

"This happened--after the Ministry? Did Garrow try something on you?" He pushed a hand through his hair too hard, feeling a few strands catch on his fingers and snap. The pain made his mind blink alive. "Atlas, this is scary. That's-- not normal. What's Garrow doing down there? If he's killing people, someone needs to bloody well stop him."

You saw Garrow murder him.. Atlas swallowed, his adams apple bobbing along the collar of his shirt and finally nodded. It took a moment for his head to come back up, it felt awfully heavy. “It was like he was cutting down a dog. Or some sort of unpleasant vermin. I didn't see him coming Jasper, he was supposed to be in the room not behind us.” Atlas wrung his hands, trying to distract his mind from the replay of Holywell's death that had been running on all screens for the past few hours. “Garrow called him a traitor, I didn't even know they were connected. I should have done more research, I should have anticipated Garrow... I stationed the Sinistra's in the back. Artemis is a competent dueler, but she didn't hear him.” Atlas rubbed at his face, “There was nothing I could have done Jasper, but I should have done more.”

Jasper looked queasy and a bit like he was trying to determine where the perfect hiding place was. Atlas couldn't blame the man, in the least. Jasper had always had passive feelings about the Ministry it was one of the first things that both of them had been able to talk about. The Christies were an old family but many suspected they had come to old age solely through there policy of non involvement with the Ministry's politics. Jasper was just maintaining family standards.

When Atlas words of non involvement reached the other mans ears he seemed to visibly relax and for a brief fleeting moment Atlas almost felt guilty about having said anything to his friend. Someone had to know though, if the Ministry came and wiped out everything Atlas was working for someone had to be able to get information to the right people. And really, after goading Cal to a fight how could he have not expected Jasper to involve himself. Maybe the attack on the other man had been a subconscious call for help...Atlas coughed , shook his head. That was a rather self involved train of thought and there were more important matters at hand.

Then he demonstrating his sudden lack of practical magic and all the horror came flooding back into Jasper's face. Atlas watched with mild interest as Jasper tried the same spell on the same book, his eyes didn't even follow the book as it flew effortlessly across the room. His mind came back to itself with the hollow thud of paper and binding striking the floor. Blood shot blue eyes met Jasper's as the other man gaped.

This happened--after the Ministry? Did Garrow try something on you? Atlas, this is scary. That's-- not normal. What's Garrow doing down there? If he's killing people, someone needs to bloody well stop him..

Fiddling with his wand Atlas watched the small rivets in the wood, he had tested it as many ways as he could think, yielding no results. “Almost immediately. I had enough energy to get out of the Ministry, barely. Everything was wrong in the department, the magic was all bent and wibbly and wrong. And now I'm wrong.” With one final look at his wand Atlas slid it onto the table behind him before burying his hands in the pockets of his trousers. “Garrow has been building a spell, must have done it from the ground up. It should have taken years but he hasn't been in England for that long, he cut corners to streamline the time. It made everything unstable.” As for the question of killing people, “Garrow has been using Muggles as experiment subjects for months. Its what put me onto him in the first place. Muggles disappearing, turning back up missing bits and pieces of their souls. Theres a small ward of them in the London Mercy Hospital and those are just the ones that were released and found. I can't say how many subjects were used in all.”

“Theres no one to stop him. The Minister is a puppet, theres no one to stand up to Garrow, hes built up his public persona and without hard evidence against him no one is going to stand against him.” Atlas realized he had been raising his voice and cast an apologetic look at Jasper before adding softly. “Whos going to stop him? Will? That Robards woman? Garrow is the organizing force keeping the Ministry from sliding into chaos. Who would think to suspect him?”

There was silence for a long moment while Jasper absorbed what Atlas had just spouted and Atlas debated what he should do next. The same queasy feeling and aches he had felt since entering Level 9 hadn't stopped he was beginning to wonder if maybe they wouldn't.
“Cal came in looking for a protective potion material, he'd been eying it for some time. I should have sent him away but I...” He paused trying to pinpoint the reason he had allowed Cal to stay. “He was asking too many questions, he was too eager to be of assistance. I needed him gone and the quickest way to do it was to goad him into a fight.”

Kneeling suddenly Atlas pried at the soft plaster along the western wall of the basement and came up with a satchel covered box. “I don't trust him Jasper.” The words were simple but there were layers of meaning, Why do you trust him?, what does he want?, hes dangerous. “And I couldn't risk anyone seeing what I'm about to show you,.” He unwrapped the worn cloth as if he was uncovering a holy of holies and held the box that it had covered as if it were a child. Cradling it to his chest and feeling the warmth that pulsated around it. Atlas set it on the table with uncharacteristic gentleness. “I tried to carry Holywells body out, but there wasn't enough time and he was to heavy.” He paused and swallowed dryly. “So I took this instead, the culmination of Garrow's work. Extraxi Phasma. Thats the spell. Speak that, aim correctly and the following results.” Atlas unlatched the box and opened it. The pounding in his head increased painfully as light spilled into the room from the wisp lying at the bottom of the chest. “Its a soul Jasper. An extracted human soul, feel how much energy it gives off? Imagine what could be done with enough of these? Its not Holywells I don't think...but I don't know who it belongs to.” The wisp wafted back and forth and resonance it gave off made the potions formulas around the room shimmer and the runes lighting the room to twist. Atlas moved out of the way to afford Jasper a better look.

Everything was wrong in the department, the magic was all bent and wibbly and wrong. And now I'm wrong.

Jasper thought about the day in Cal's lab a few weeks ago, the moment of transfero potens and the spell that had come so close to sapping his magic out of him. He was struck suddenly with the complete horror of what Atlas was implicating-- he was suggesting something fundamentally wrong with magic, an amplification of the way Jasper had felt that day on an impossible scale. Jasper felt as though something slimy was crawling up his spine. Without magic-- without magic his life would be over, everyone's life would be over.

Garrow has been building a spell, must have done it from the ground up. It should have taken years but he hasn't been in England for that long, he cut corners to streamline the time. It made everything unstable. Garrow has been using Muggles as experiment subjects for months. Its what put me onto him in the first place. Muggles disappearing, turning back up missing bits and pieces of their souls. Theres a small ward of them in the London Mercy Hospital and those are just the ones that were released and found...

Jasper felt ill, possibly the most physically ill he had ever felt. This was mental, it was mad, but he believed Atlas because it could be true. Atlas' theories were usually absurd to the point of utter uselessness; they could be dismissed as the ravings of someone who was harmless, but slightly off in the head. This could be happening right now. Jasper didn't know Garrow well, they obviously didn't travel in the same circles, but he'd seen him in the papers frequently, that smug, slick face with the barest hint of asymmetry, the smile that Jasper knew was fake because he could put on one just like it. The man seemed capable of it. Jasper, frighteningly, saw a shade of himself in Garrow, an easiness with manipulation, a comfort with lies.

Theres no one to stop him. The Minister is a puppet, theres no one to stand up to Garrow, hes built up his public persona and without hard evidence against him no one is going to stand against him. Who's going to stop him? Will? That Robards woman? Garrow is the organizing force keeping the Ministry from sliding into chaos. Who would think to suspect him?

"You suspect him," Jasper said. "Holywell and Artemis too, apparently. You're not alone in this."

He wanted to offer his own support, but something held him back. Jasper wasn't cut out for heroism, and he wasn't good at dueling. If anything he would be a liability in live conflict. He tried to think, but Atlas was going on, back to Cal this time.

[...]He was asking too many questions, he was too eager to be of assistance. I needed him gone and the quickest way to do it was to goad him into a fight. He started digging through the things littering his floor as he continued. I don't trust him Jasper.

The words were surprisingly acid for Atlas, and Jasper blinked. Why? He realized Cal didn't come off as the most charming person sometimes but this kind of adamance concerned him.

"I--" He started to say I trust him, but it suddenly wasn't true. His mind flashed again to the day at Cal's lab, his reticence, his evasion. "He's a friend. A good one."

He let it drop there, unwilling to expose himself to more of Atlas' scrutiny. His friend seemed otherwise engaged anyhow, uncovering a box made of gouged, age-blackened wood.

I tried to carry Holywells body out, but there wasn't enough time and he was to heavy. So I took this instead, the culmination of Garrow's work. Extraxi Phasma. Thats the spell. Speak that, aim correctly and the following results. Its a soul Jasper. An extracted human soul, feel how much energy it gives off? Imagine what could be done with enough of these? Its not Holywells I don't think...but I don't know who it belongs to.

Sh-t, sh-t, oh f--king hell. Jasper lost all sense of coherent thought as Atlas turned the box toward him and the light blinded him momentarily, not because it was bright but because it was so entirely unexpected. He stepped back, blinking and stumbling over something that had the distinct texture of a lobster bandit. Looking at the twining light of the thing made him feel sick, weak and wrong as though something inside him was mirroring its twisting movement, pulling him toward the leaden power of it and repelling him at the same time. Everything was wrong here. This made it true, of course. Everything Atlas had told him about the Ministry and magic and how the wizarding world was apparently teetering on the brink of collapse. He turned away from the box, feeling as though he'd be ill if he looked at it a moment longer.

"Put it away, God, please." Jasper waited for the click of the box lid before he turned back, wondering why the soul wasn't as beautiful as he'd imagined. He suspected the spell was a corruption, somehow, that fundamental feeling of wrongness about it couldn't be what it was like inside someone. "That thing is-horrible. Do you feel it too when you let it out?"

He took a few short steps around the room, fingers closing and relaxing around his wand nervously. Came back to a stop before Atlas.

"You did Garrow's spell? How hard is it? What do you think he's going to do with these things? It can't be anything good--it's--it's unnatural. Who is going to stop this? I'm-- you know I'm worthless at dueling, Atlas, but if you need something else, if you need money or supplies or anything, ask me straight off. This can't go on."

He thought of himself, Apollo, that innocent girl who owned the bakery down the street, all their souls tangled up in boxes like this, and wondered if there even was a way to stop it.

You suspect him. Holywell and Artemis too, apparently. You're not alone in this. He felt a sudden urge to correct Jasper's inclusion of Holywell in the present tense had suspected Atlas supposed that was true, otherwise why would he have allowed himself to be dragged along so easily? He should have done more research, checked the fact but even Atlas brain, prone to absurd conclusions as it was, hadn't thought to suspect that there could be a connection between the two men. Instead it felt nice to leave it alone, pretend for just a brief moment that the healer was still in a position to actively think anything. A dead man and a clothing store shop keep, and a well known crackpot....not exactly a standing army. Jasper did not include himself, and Atlas supposed that he should have been offended but no such feelings rose up. There were strategic reasons for those thoughts but far surpassing them was the thought of Jasper ending in the same situation as Holywell. The blow would be crushing, Atlas had hardly known the healer and found himself stricken...no it was better to be alone. Alone meant he was only responsible for his own life. Though unspoken code of masculinity kept the words down the very fact that Jasper was here, listening, and as far as Atlas could tell believing, then it was more than enough.

Instead Atlas turned the conversation to Calixtus watching Jasper's face very attentively as the other man formed a hasty reply. I... There was a sudden pause, as Jasper's mouth moved to form words and then ceased doing so before any sound could accompany. Jasper at even a minimal lose for words, that spoke greater volumes than anything he may have been preparing to say. He's a friend. A good one..

That doesn't mean you can trust him. Atlas snorted, an act he had acquired from his grandfather. Taking a tone very similar to one a professor might use when dealing with a student attempting to avoid giving an answer to a relatively simple question he interjected. “And do you think thats enough? Strong word for you to use Jasper, use and mean it at least.”

He didn't wait for answer, h suspected he wouldn't get one a any rate. Jasper had taken on that guarded expression, the one that informed Atlas silently and definitely that the subject was closed, for the moment. Acting ignorant of its meaning and pressing on would be counterproductive and there were so many more important things. The box and its contents for example.

The expression on Jasper's face changed the moment the box was open, spilling light over everything in the room. Horror, and seeing it on Jasper's face Atlas wondered if he had ever really seen the expression before. The other man stumbled back, squinting against the pulsating light, an unconscious movement Atlas guessed. Jasper was hardly ever anything but graceful and composed, here and now he looked like a lost child trying to escape. The other man quickly fought for, and gained control over his motor functions, the soul shimmered with a light that was now more manageable to the corneas, Jasper blinked, whether it was to clear his sight or his mind was open to interpretation.

If Jasper had had any doubts they were gone now, Atlas saw the exact moment when indecision had been replaced with pure conviction. Jasper jerked where he stood eyes gazing into the box, like he was staring into a pit. He looked afraid. When he finally looked at Atlas his eyes were pin pricks against the canvas of the rest of his eyes. His expression drawn, confused, and almost as ill as Atlas felt.

Put it away, God, please. The words were hushed and more moaned than spoken, a plea. It was the shock at hearing this new tone rather than the words themselves that compelled Atlas to exert the pressure needed to close the box. The light was gone instantly but a small hum from the energy remained, white noise coloring the room. Jasper wasn't looking at him, shoulders hunched inward, shying away from the box. That thing is horrible. Do you feel it too when you let it out?.

He didn't answer at first, cradling the box against his chest, feeling it pulsate ever so slightly. He watched Jasper pace around the room in his peripheral vision, flexing his hands, clutching his wand as if it were a lifeline, a talisman against the dark that now filled the basement room. Atlas wondered if it provided any comfort.

“Every time.” He laid it on the table with as much reverence as a parent might give to their child. “I have been trying to identify who it might belong to...but its taxing to even be near the box. Exposure to the soul itself is....” There was a pause and he found that he didn't know how to describe it. “Difficult.” He settled on the term that one might use to describe a naughty child, or a Sunday cross word puzzle he had to distance himself.

The pacing stopped and Atlas found himself with Jasper directly in front of him, eyes still wide but more composed than a moment ago. Confidence under pressure, one of the mans most admirable traits. You did Garrow's spell? How hard is it? What do you think he's going to do with these things? It can't be good—it's--it's Jasper flailed for words before coming up with the unstated obvious, unnatural. Who is going to stop this? I'm-you know I'm worthless at dueling, Atlas, but if you need anything else, if you need money or supplies, or anything, ask me straight off. This can't go on..

A weary sigh pushed past Atlas lips, and he leaned back against the solid surface of the table, turning his head to look down at his notes, some of them useful, most dead ends. “I tried to reproduce it from a theoretical level....I tried cats,strays from the alley. I even Rudolph considered using Rudolph.” He had killed that thought with a stone. “Have you ever used an unforgivable before Jasper?” The question was personal, not acceptable in any decent conversation but they were two neredowells, standing in a basement, with a soul in a box, now was the perfect time no nix political correctness. “Think of the way it makes you feel, like something has just torn in you, and then out of you.” Atlas let his head lull back, watched the ceiling, counted the cracks. “It's worse, you have to fight yourself to make it work, your mind and your wand rebel against. You fell empty after,” His head still back he turned his face to better see Jasper, “And that was with a cat. I doubt I would have the energy for a human. I suppose that its like the others though, you have to mean it.”He indicated the glyphs, “I'm trying to work backwards. If I can break the spell down I'll be able to know exactly what went into making it, find a counter curse if there is one to be found.”

Atlas didn't look at the box as he moved on to the next of Jasper's questions. “They're people Jasper, not things!” The statement had more anger in it than Atlas had ever intended. He rubbed at his face, letting his head fall against his chest, “I have some ideas of what his intentions might be, but not having the privilege of being a leigmens I can only speculate. If he could harness the energy from them properly he'd have almost unlimited power. The souls body could act as a sort of homuculus, alive but not, a puppet but at a scale much greater than an imperious curse, there would be no mind to rebel against the control. The mere threat of such power could be enough for him to seize control if he's clever enough and he is very clever.”

Atlas lifted his head to watch Jasper, animated, talking in a rushed voice, but not panicking.Who is going to stop this? He lifted both arms and placed his hands on his friends shoulders, “I'm going to have a go at it, see how far I can get.” Atlas loathed physical contact, but right at that moment, it felt very nice to have feel the warmth through the fabric of Jaspers jacket, reassuring.”I wouldn't ask you to place yourself in danger on my account. I wouldn't,” He stopped working his jaw for a moment, swallowed. “I can't repeat Holywell” The admission was almost more exhausting than anything he had said thus far. “But if I can't conceive of another option....” He didn't finish, dropped his hands, turned back to the table, “No, it can't go on...it literally cant. If it does there could be disaster. The spell isn't stable, the adverse effects have the potential to be catastrophic.” He blinked rapidly for a moment. “The light in here is all wrong...” He mumbled.

“Have you ever used an unforgivable before Jasper?”

Jasper opened his mouth and closed it quickly.Yes, once. He couldn't say it, ever. Atlas was one of his best friends, but this was something-- it was too personal, too painful. Once had been too much. He'd been young when it happened, a year out of Hogwarts and trying to get the money together for the shop by stealing rare goods and a Muggle had-- gotten in the way. Imperio. It had been like his entire body was fraying apart. Jasper had always known he was unusually sensitive to magic, but that had been horrific, like living death. He hadn't felt that way again until-- Cal's, last week. He's a good friend...But I don't trust him. He swallowed. Looked at Atlas wordlessly. The other man seemed to have assumed the truth; he doubted he had hidden the look in his eyes very well.

“It's worse[...] I doubt I would have the energy for a human. I suppose that its like the others though, you have to mean it.”He indicated the glyphs, “I'm trying to work backwards. If I can break the spell down I'll be able to know exactly what went into making it, find a counter curse if there is one to be found.”

"Atlas be-- careful. I'm not trying to sound like your mother, but I've done spells--" for Cal, mostly "--that were too strong. It's a horrible feeling to lose control."

“I have some ideas of what his intentions might be[...] If he could harness the energy from them properly he'd have almost unlimited power...

Unlimited power? This whole thing sounded more nefarious by the second. Also more unbelievable. Garrow was using souls to raise an army of what were essentially zombies? The terrifying thing was, considering what he'd found out so far tonight, Jasper was finding the idea less implausible than he might have otherwise. He had a thousand more questions, but he thought he should let Atlas deal with the barrage he'd offered up before.

”I wouldn't ask you to place yourself in danger on my account. I wouldn't, I can't repeat Holywell.”

Atlas' shoulders slumped defeatedly. Jasper thought he should say something here, but he wasn't sure what that would be. It wasn't your fault wasn't exactly accurate, and Atlas wasn't the type for empty consolations anyhow. He was much too smart to believe them. Jasper had never been good with that sort of thing anyhow, even when it was true. He wasn't sympathetic by nature. With some people he could fake it, but Atlas had always been more perceptive than most, when it came to Jasper's lies. It was one of the more difficult things about the man, but also something that he admired.

“But if I can't conceive of another option[...]The spell isn't stable, the adverse effects have the potential to be catastrophic.”

"Do you think it could--" Jasper was no expert on magical theory. His interest in Transfiguration was spurred by his desire for success, not some noble pursuit of knowledge. But the interactions of magic, the way one force met with another, had always held a particular interest for him. Maybe it was because he felt the magic of others more acutely than most people seemed to. It was why he had never been a good duelist; the presence of other spells while he was trying to cast always felt like interference, like there was static in his head. He could almost picture the effects of this spell, surely it was powerful enough, if the soul was any indication, that there would be effects, spreading like ripples. The thought made him nauseous.

"The light in here is all wrong...”

Atlas' voice made him jump. The other man was blinking at the exposed lightbulb on the ceiling as though it had changed somehow. He was paler than usual. Jasper took a quick step and put a hand on Atlas' back, guiding him toward the stairs. He didn't want to be around that bloody box anymore, and he suspected that Atlas had been exposed to it entirely too much. There was something so unnatural about the thing, some sickly energy that he could feel even when the box was closed, now that he knew it existed. It made silvery dots dance in the corners of his eyes like the onset of a migraine.

"Come on, let's get out of here. That thing cant be good to be around for too long." He put a foot on the first step, waiting for Atlas to follow. "Adverse effects-- do you think this thing has potential to, I don't know, interact with other magic? The way it kind of pulls on you, you know?"

He didn't know how to explain what he meant, and it sounded stupid when it came out. No wonder Atlas' mind seemed fuzzy, if this was what only a few seconds of exposure did.

"I'm completely serious about helping you, all right? With your magic, if you won't let me do anything else. That's something you've got to sort out, especially if you're doing things this difficult."

He turned and looked at his friend, white and stoop shouldered, the shadows under his eyes darkened even more by the unnatural light of the basement, and something that had never happened before occurred. Jasper felt truly bad for someone. It was probably the wrong time to be conciliatory, now, but he thought it was better late than never.

"I'm really sorry, Atlas. That all this is happening to you."