Another dingy hotel room, the same but different. She had moved three times since returning to London. The first after a former associate identified her and called her name across the crowded room. He had paid later, the second after the bar man had seen fit to invade her privacy on number of occasions, and the third had been her decision. The place had been unsanitary. This room was small, the ceiling low for her liking but it would do and soon she would be moving to more permanent lodgings.

She re read the letter that had arrived from Baldur informing her that once again his found his skills to be lacking what was needed for completion of the project. From the way the ink scrawled across the page she could tell he had been frustrated, she could share the sentiment. That brought her to tonight’s meeting, Ferox was skilled, his potion has worked with an elegance and perfection that Shallah had been shocked by. Almost immediately after testing the concoction she had contacted the Squib and made the appointment she was now preparing for.

That had been weeks ago, and in those weeks she had researched. First the laws concerning Squibs in Britain, really they were treated no better than some of the creatures that Level 4 tagged and monitored. Humans had such a large capacity for cruelty toward their own kind. Next she had looked into the archives. Searching out bloodlines, names, any information she might have been able to find. That had turned up little, though Squibs were a shameful thing, not well documented.

The information she had was enough. The veela lifted the light cloak from where it was neatly folded on the duvet and fastened it around her throat. It was, perhaps, not as cold as November tended to get in London, just cold enough for the snow to stick to the ground; but she liked the way cloaks looked on her. The way they flowed, and all the things that could be concealed beneath them.

A final look around the room and then minimal concentration brought her back to that dark hallway, all she had really seen of Calixtus Ferox’s dwelling. The man was nowhere to be seen, nothing out of the ordinary. She took a step toward the kitchen, it was late evening, he could be breaking apart more of those sugared squares. The distinctive sound of something glass shattering and then falling to floor made her stop and immediately turn to the door that she knew led into the man’s lab.

“Mr. Ferox?” Absent minded scientist was a cliché but that didn’t preclude it from being true. More glass, and the light that spilled from under the crack in the door shifted colors for a brief moment. A chemical smell wafted up, and she screwed up her face against it. The knob gave when she turned it and the door swung inward exposing a very disheveled looking chemist. Face drawn, shoulders heaving, there was a mist of unhappiness surrounding him, more potent than usual.

“Is this normally how you work?” Not sure if he had heard, and having no invitation to enter, she hovered in the doorway. “We had a meeting arranged between us Mr Ferox. Have I mistaken the date?”

When Cal was angry--really angry--gut-churningly furious and prepared to just destroy, destroy, destroy--he stayed completely silent. He didn't curse or, as was so often otherwise his wont, pontificate. Even inside his head he didn't let himself think in full sentences, just a jumble of angry noise and fragmentary, screeched syllables.

His first response to all. This. Sh-t. Hadn't been anger. At first he'd been--what--terrified, bewildered--sad--but Jasper had been so infuriatingly Jasper and so glib and careless and he had finally stormed off. His sinuses still ached all the way up into his forehead from the doxy powder and whatever else he'd snorted, and his eyes burned. As usual when in pain, he'd decided to smash things.

Nothing important--his work was too central to his life--but beakers, failed samples, a few of the less lethal explosives--he nearly singed off one eyebrow, and his face was grimy with soot, which caught in his eyelashes and set him blinking furiously every few minutes--threw a pall, a blur, over the whole scene. Red-and-black smudged.

He'd just grabbed a whole rack of old vials and slammed it against the wall--rattle of glass--satisfying smash--when he heard the door open.

Reeled back.

Jasper-- was his first thought but--no.

Blonde hair, hawkish gaze... Kosa. Oh right. F-ck. The thirtieth... Breathing heavily, trying to regain control, Cal wiped his eyes with one swipe of his forearm and stumbled backwards, blinking rapidly and trying to fold himself back inside himself. He banished all thoughts, forethoughts, hindthoughts, and afterthoughts, and any wisp of Jasper. The room was plunged into a sudden, blank, icy chill. Numb. He was still high. It would be hideous coming down, but for now it kept him numb enough to be, if not suave, at least civil.

Hands tucked into the pockets of his now-destroyed suit, shoulders painfully hunched, he stared her down.

“Is this normally how you work? We had a meeting arranged between us Mr Ferox. Have I mistaken the date?”

He took a few long, deep breaths. "Ah--no. My apologies." He shook himself, more a tremor than a voluntary motion, and gestured in vague non-explanation. "Things... got out of hand--here, would you rather I--" He had to pause to clear his throat, as something in his upper chest seemed to have broken. "Come into the kitchen, it's--safer." He beckoned her with a twist of his shoulder and brushed past, out of the smoking, chemical-scented Purgatory of his lab, to drape himself bonelessly over a chair at the kitchen table, one knee drawn up into his chest.

"Now, what was it you wanted...?"

Her voice seemed to draw him back out of himself and the man turned to face her and she really saw him. Her eyes were drawn to his and she noted the dilation in his pupils, the lax and almost lazy movement as his body followed whatever command his mind had just given it. Something was altering his state and there was any number of concoctions he could have taken to make that happen, her eyes watered, or it could have just been from inhaling these fumes.

Layers of different ingredients were mixed together in the air, let loose from the broken vials, and she idly wondered how dangerous inhalations of such things could be for the both of them. Something had upset him deeply, she reveled in the emotions that crossed his face as he gathered himself back together. She was almost sad when he regained control and spoke babbling brokenly for a few stuttering sentences before saying, Come into the kitchen, it's--safer..

Sidestepping to avoid coming into contact with his stained and filthy clothing Shallah spared one more look at the ruined lab before following obligingly. She seated herself carefully in one of the chairs surrounding the table, facing opposite the boneless man draped before her. Not overly professional, but she found businesses was much easier without all the rules of etiquette.

Now what is it you wanted?.

Reaching into her cloak she produced the nearly empty bottle of the potion he had completed for her. “To begin, more of this. Beautifully constructed, you should be commended Mr Ferox.” Green eyes settled on him again, watching the little unconscious spasms in the muscles visible where his suit met his throat. “Secondly I would like to propose a more exclusive working relationship. Your talents are wasted in petty commission work for criminals such as the Syndicate, certainly you realize this? There is other work that needs doing.”

She paused watching his bloodshot eyes now and wondering how to proceed. “I conducted some research into your work. As well as work you conducted with a Mr. Carlisle? Fascinating research but I suspect you have been locked out of the field since his passing. I am in a position to offer you the resources to take up that work again, or any work of your choosing provided you assist my organization.”

Cal's judgment and tact were likewise in shreds. Between abject misery, drugs, and dull, thrumming rage--probably he wasn't in the best shape for a business transaction, particularly not one as delicate as this promised to be. He blew out a breath and rested his chin on his kneecap. Invisible fingers shivered over his shoulder, grace à the doxy powder he'd inhaled, and he twitched. Better to think of these small bodily discomforts, of the constriction of his heart and the heat in his fingertips. Than.

“To begin, more of this. Beautifully constructed, you should be commended Mr Ferox.”

"Thank you." His voice was clipped. "It won't be difficult. The same pay, of course--commendations do not count as currency." Cal inclined his head, his free hand fiddling with the leg of his pants. He'd manage it somehow, and he needed distraction in the next few days. "It may take up to a week." Distraction. He'd lack focus, and somehow he'd need to get someone to spell the potion for him. Someone. Hence the extra time.

“Secondly I would like to propose a more exclusive working relationship."

Cal winced, features drawn down like melting wax. This was a tricky problem. He couldn't very well give up his work for anyone else, and it troubled him that she'd made the effort of finding out he worked for the Syndicate. That... said quite a lot.

"I can't," he said at length, quietly, "make promises that restrict my income, which is--" He made a gesture with one hand, as though flinging dice. "--limited. My research is at present nearly unhampered. Even without Carlisle, do not imagine I keep to the restrictions set by the Ministry. I have my own colleagues." He should not have said that--to lead her to Jasper would be--but enough--

"However..." Long breath, unconscious twitch of his hand, which he pulled shut and withdrew. "It depends on your offer."

The same pay, of course--commendations do not count as currency.. She almost smiled, but instead simply nodded her head. Humans and money even the ones who lay claim to some sort of humble existence still craved and needed it. Looking at Cal she could hazard a few guessing about where the rewards for his labors went. “Is it so difficult for you to take a compliment for a job well done?” Her tone was level, curious rather than accusing. In his state it would be easy for him to misconstrued words, and English did not lend itself well to clarity. “Your fee is reasonable, and will be paid in full. In advance if you like.”

There were crumbs on the tabletop and she laid on hand flat running her hand along the processed none food bits. They smelled funny...a little like glue, she could smell the underlying components, flour, sugar, but something had been done to them. From the edge of her vision she saw him wince, the motion enough to register as more than a simple chemical induced twitch. Shallah rubbed her palms together to dispel crumbs and then watched him more intently. I can't make promises that restrict my income, which is----limited. . I have my own colleagues.. A marked pause. However…. Bringing a subject to light and then dismissing it so glibly was an excellent way to draw attention to it and Cal seemed to have realized it, but too late. Shallah should have guessed that he would be unable to accomplish everything on his own, but she had failed to consider the idea that he might be working in conjunction with someone. Adding it to a growing tally of things that needed her attention she composed her face and gave another tight nod.

“Perhaps if income was no longer a problem, Mr. Ferox?” His pupils kept contracting, retracting, like a shutter on a camera. “Monetary compensation is the least of what we have to offer you, though that does not make it any less important. Whatever sum the syndicate is paying you for their parlor tricks I will offer to double. Triple if you like.” Greed was a tactic that tended to work but with Cal she suspected that wouldn’t be enough. “Additionally, I am offering you a challenge. Is that not what every great human mind desires?”

Damn. He caught a flicker of motion, of birdlike avidity, after he mentioned his collaborators. He'd have to be more careful, to start using some of the concealment potion when he went out to visit--but he wouldn't, that would pose no problem in any--

"Money." Cal propped his chin up in his hands and leaned forward, pondering the problem. "No... no, the problem is, as I am sure you know--the Syndicate will not take kindly to my refusal to do work for them. Since I prefer to go on living..." He made a gesture of deference, which indicated he'd prefer it very much if she let him. He was under no illusions. His house was protected against most curses, but it was far from foolproof. "I'm obliged to accept commissions."

He wasn't sure, in fact, why he was being so stubborn on the matter. He could very well have brushed Mikhaylova off; he could have told the task was too difficult, or any number of other things. Maybe it was a touch of recklessness; maybe he was tired of bending to people's will. It hardly mattered. All he really knew was that something vicious and clenching in his chest kept him from backing down.

"The work I do for the Syndicate," he added, reluctantly, "is not of the same nature... it's rudimentary security, generally. I don't see why that ought to be a problem."

“Additionally, I am offering you a challenge. Is that not what every great human mind desires?”

"I don't need a challenge." He was going to get killed. For some reason he didn't particularly care. Maybe because he got all of his business-conversational skills from gangster movies... "Challenges present themselves. What you're offering is either an opportunity or a threat. Which is it?"

the Syndicate will not take kindly to my refusal to do work for them. Since I prefer to go on living.... He gestured and though he said no more his meaning was perfectly clear. She remembered meetings with the syndicate, tense and unpleasant. The room was always filled with smoke and eyes leering at her, she knew very well why Calixtus might be hesitant to break any sort of partnership he might have with them.

“Is it true that Aleksandra is the new head of the Syndicate? I would not have anticipated that but I can see why you might be hesitant to cross her, or even be perceived as having done so.” The girl was a dim memory. A face seen in moving photographs on the desk of her father but these matters tended to stay in the family and Shallah had heard rumors that she was the new head. Most in the criminal world had thought the family was done for with the passing of its patriarch, but his daughter had beaten the odds. An accomplishment like that should be respected, and feared on some levels.

Calixtus seemed the kind of creature that feared on many levels, his reluctance was evidence of it. The work I do for the Syndicate is not of the same nature... it's rudimentary security, generally. I don't see why that ought to be a problem.. Security?. They were using people not directly tied to the family unit for something so important? It was possible that she had overestimated Aleksandra’s reach.

“It is not what you do for the Syndicate that is of concern to me, though that is fascinating.” She inclined her head to the left, and lifted her eyes to meet his. “Work for the family denotes a certain amount of loyalty. You are, by all appearances, a human of high intellect. There is no need to waste time explaining conflicts of interest. These are delicate tasks that I ask of you discretion is vital.”

I don't need a challenge. Challenges present themselves. What you're offering is either an opportunity or a threat. Which is it? . The level of his voice raised, and with it her anger. Was he self destructive? Or was he merely ignorant of the possible error he was making. Veela were in no way known for their patience, their leniency, and though she had learned to exhibit more control than was normal, Calixtus was pressing his luck. Who was this human to raise his voice to her?

Their eyes were still watching one another, Shallah smiled sitting up straight. “There is a marked difference between a threat and an offer Mr Ferox. Allow me to demonstrate.” The shift was simple, controlled, as simple an act as tying a shoe lace. Many wizards thought this form was something uncontrollable, born out of heightened emotion and beyond the veela’s conscious. They were wrong of course. She stood Fingers elongated and nails grew to form talons, small black feathers sprouted up in patches from her arms, bones shifted painlessly in her face. She let the transformation go until she could clearly hear the increase in heart rate from the man across from her, could practically feel the little fear punctuated with adrenalin, it was like watching a mouse that just realized it was in the same room as a hungry cat. Her body was still recognizable as humanoid, it was only a small glimpse of what she was capable of.

“You would be very much aware if I was threatening you.” Deep breath, a few blinks and she settled back down into the chair, her hands reformed, the feathers fell away. “A vulgar display, but effective.” She closed her eyes briefly, and elongated blink. “An opportunity if you will take it. I need to know that my secrets will not be for sale, should the Syndicate start bidding.”

He declined to answer the question of whether or not Aleksandra was the head of the Syndicate, but it did make him think: how long, precisely, did Veela live? He knew their span was far longer than human...

Cal sighed and ran a hand through his hair, which had soaked up its own grease in the last few distressing, sweaty hours, and felt unpleasantly sticky to the touch. Lowered his hand and wiped it on his shirtsleeve before leaning forward, chin on palm, to listen to Kosa.

"“It is not what you do for the Syndicate that is of concern to me [...]These are delicate tasks that I ask of you discretion is vital.”

Was that a barbed hint? Was she intimating that if he betrayed Syndicate secrets to her, it was possible he would betray her in turn? He had to admit he'd given her precisely no reason to trust him. Then again, he ought not to be the one bargaining; she wanted his services. Cal considered the matter with the blank apathy of depression and faint anger. He didn't have time for this sh-t.

"What you're offering is either an opportunity or a threat. Which is it?"

“There is a marked difference between a threat and an offer Mr Ferox. Allow me to demonstrate.”

Oh f-- Cal jerked back in his chair at the sudden change, though he ought to have expected it--she had already had a note of the birdlike about her pointed gaze and sharp cheekbones and chin, the bristle of her shoulders--but it all flickered and blurred hideously, and her beauty raked back into feral ugliness, a face out of a nightmare--incongruous, admittedly, in his kitchen. He clenched his fists and tried not to react, but it was too late--he'd pushed his chair back and he was breathing fast, an unconscious, instinctive response. Prey to predator.

And then it all faded. She settled back into the strange, blank mask of her human skin, and Cal tipped his chair forward (somehow he'd gotten the front legs off the ground) and breathed out. Her eyes flipped themselves shut once, and it was remarkable how much more at ease he felt with the pressure of her gaze removed.

“A vulgar display, but effective [...] An opportunity if you will take it. I need to know that my secrets will not be for sale, should the Syndicate start bidding.”

Of course.

"I doubt any price they could offer me would suffice," he said, at length, drily, unwilling to admit to fear, though the shakiness of his voice undoubtedly betrayed it. "I don't trade in secrets in any case. I trade in potions and spells, that's all. I'll be discreet, but I don't like to choose sides unless I have a very good reason."

There was silence in the room for a moment as Cal recollected himself. He had done very well really, though Shallah didn't tell him so, the man might think she was patronizing him. Battle hardened revolutionaries had dropped their guns and fled at the mere sight of her changed appearance, Cal had merely tipped back in his chair. Though whether the reaction had been bravery or the work of drugged stupidity she couldn't be sure.

Idoubt any price they could offer me would suffice.. She returned the statement with a slight nod of her head. His voice shook, the tone uneven and low but he pressed on. I don't trade in secrets in any case. I trade in potions and spells, thats all. I'll be discreet, but I don't like to choose sides unless I have a very good reason..

“I very much doubt it will come to a matter of sides. Neither myself nor my employer have any plans to interfere with the operations of the Syndicate. I do not have the energy to war with them over things as paltry as smuggling and petty theft.” Green eyes stayed on Cal, watching him as his breathing came back under his control as his heartbeat stopped, his eyes still darted from side and side and Shallah was, for a moment tempted to ask why he had poisoned himself. He possed about his person a certain air of melancholy, the kind that would feed a dementor for days. This was not the time to satisfy her curiosity. She had to get the conversation back on track.

“Potion and spell dealers have significantly longer lifespans than secret sellers, you have made a wise vocational choice.” A tendril of blonde hair came lose from the clasp and she brushed it back into place carefully. “With that in mind, my offer of work still stands. If you are prepared I would like you to start immediately.”

Reaching into a pocket she carefully unfolded and smoothed a sheet of parchment. Several formulas scrawled across it in a lazy and sluggish script. The man had been small and mousy fellow. Brilliant but then he had begun to ask too many questions. His willful stupidity had led to his untimely end, and Baulder had found himself unable to decipher the half completed work. “This is meant to be a concealment spell but it is unfinished. Useless to me in its current state. Do you believe that you might be able to make it operational?”

She slid the paper across to him, moving slowly and obviously, not wanting to startle him. “I would like you as ally Ferox, I believe the relationship could prove mutually beneficial to both of us.” It was a change of topic, and something she suspected would be one of those taboo subjects in polite society; but the social conventions of this world were hardly her concern. “Does it bother you? The way they treat you?”

Cal breathed out as the moment settled. He felt oddly disappointed in himself. In himself, or possibly with the situation, or possibly because nothing drastic had happened. It was all a sort of leaden let-down. Do you want to be mauled, Ferox? queried the tart, dry, Jasperian voice in his head.

“With that in mind, my offer of work still stands. If you are prepared I would like you to start immediately.”

"If I don't have to make any promises regarding my associations," Cal said, unclear as to how they had settled that point. "I..."

She wisely chose the tactic of offering him a sheet of paper scribbled with unfinished formulae. It wasn't something he could refuse--not because it was a challenge, not because he felt his pride was invested--simply because of curiosity. Curiosity was going to get him killed one day. He examined the page, trying to drink in the equations and ensnare them in memory in case she were to refuse his terms.

"I would like you as my ally, Ferox."'

"Yes, I--I can do that." He looked up, one hand flattening the page to the table covetously. "I can finish these, it won't be too difficult. A few days perhaps." Well, a bit of pride; it was difficult, difficult to follow a train of thought he hadn't started. And that meant she couldn't and wouldn't ask just anyone else. Good.

“Does it bother you? The way they treat you?”

He looked up, startled, and narrowed his eyes. "What bothers me," he muttered, eyes darting between her feral-tinged face and the page. "What bothers me--" He shook his head, suddenly aware that 'they' could be any number of people, and Squibhood was only one of his handicaps. "Ms. Kosa, I do not do what I do for revenge. I--" Did he? "It has no bearing on the nature of my work." Lying through his teeth. But to admit the truth would be to show weakness, and that was unnecessary. Her questioning reminded him of something...

Himself, when he'd first met Jasper, probing at strength. Why test his strength? She'd find out soon enough it was a façade.

"Does it bother you?" he asked, abruptly, leaving the question of 'what' ambiguous.

If I don't have to make any promises regarding my associations, I... The matter was settled for now and she nodded but in the back of her mind she knew it would arise again. She had been hoping to avoid involvement of any kind with the Syndicate but sooner or later rumors of her return to London would reach them. For now though she would take Cal at his word, possibly a dangerous venture but she needed his help, and was confident that should it come to it she would be able to take care of any problems that might arise.

Yes, I—I can do that.. She let the smile slip through her features and nodded. This man was difficult to an extent, unstable certainly but his willingness to complete tasks, the grace of the final project, and his restraint when asking questions made him someone she felt she didn't have to waste time and energy monitoring at every turn. Eventually he would dig in too deep. He was a smart man after all, he would learn too much and then decisions would have to be made. All that could wait though, for now she could be reassured that he would complete his work and her secrets wouldn't not yet be for sale.

What bothers me, Shallah watched as he repeated himself, What bothers me. She wondered if he repeated himself for emphasis or if she had stumbled on a subject that fell under the realm of taboo. Ms. Kosa, I do not do what I do for revenge. I--It has no bearing on the nature of my work..

A fascinating response to her rather vague question. Revenge had been his first thought, what he had automatically assumed she had meant and that was a telling gesture all on its own. Human nature was a varied and strange creature but she had experienced enough of it to suspect that Cal was, whether consciously or unconsciously, lying. It was information to store, to dissect later. For now, she concentrated on Cal's question.

Does it bother you?. It wasn't meant as mockery his tone made that clear and so she thought for a moment. Lying her elbows on the table she dropped she shoulders and cradled her chin lightly in the palm of one hand. “Yes.” She answered finally and held his eyes, waiting for him to look away before she continued.

There were any number of possible meanings Cal could derive from her answer and so she decided to try and clarify, “Your situation is marked example of why Veela and other higher races fervently avoid you. Your Ministry has such a narrow view of things, such a base understanding. They can pitter about in the 9th level of theirs for centuries and still they will understand nothing. Yet someone like you, all that stopped up potential.” She paused looking both at and through him at the same time. “They label you as squib and think nothing more of it. So they permit you to live in their world, just as they permit beings like me to live in their world. How can it not bother me?”

Cal stared blankly at the Veela. She had not, up until this point, seemed possessed of anything he might have called humanity or compassion. It surprised him, genuinely shocked him, that she would care about something as trite as social injustice. Besides, he thought, watching her askance, besides... how strange that she would be open with someone she only wanted as a researcher. He would almost suspect she put on the façade of power falsely, had he not seen the sophistication of the formulae she'd presented him, and the impressiveness of her presence in Veela form.

Was this really why she did--whatever she did?

What was that, exactly? Cal looked down at the formula, frowning. He hadn't been presented with something like this since Garrow. This sort of concealment would offer protection from magical tracking, beyond even what he'd devised for the damned Everard caper. It was always intriguing to put together pieces of the puzzle. He was getting close to something here.

She couldn't be responsible for--her group--what was her group? Cal realized he had no idea of her ideological agenda. Garrow was simply mad and power-hungry. Shallah Kosa seemed almost dangerously rational, and that frightened him. He looked down at his hands, turning them palm-up on the table and examining a blue stain spreading across his skin.

Stopped-up potential. What does that mean? Dad can't possibly be correct. There is no way to cure Squibbery. It isn't a malady. Is it? More to the point, did Shallah or one of her associates have some inkling of how it was possible?

Curiosity was a danger. But he hadn't lied when he'd told her it was the reason he'd agreed to work with her.

"Then is that," he said, in a low monotone, turning his hands over and watching as they trembled involuntarily above the equations (with which he would deal later), "why you do whatever it is you do?"

Ferox was starring at her now with an expression that she felt hard to place. She must have struck something in him because he didn’t retort with anger, or a snarl, a snort, just a gaping confused expression she would have liked to study the expression more. Memorize it and reproduce it later to try and figure out just what it meant, but Cal broke the eye contact a moment later and began to examine the formula lying between them. Shallah allowed herself the barest of smiles before looking down as well, studying the swirls of the formula upside down.

She only looked up again when she felt him grow tense, heard a momentary leap of his heart beat in his chest. Surely nothing in the formula was shocking enough to warrant such a reaction? She could only assume it was some personal revelation that Calixtus had come to. Human brains had such strange ways of piecing together events and information into a conclusion.

He turned up his wrist and she could see the blue veins zig zagging underneath the flesh, they were stained, working hands. The moment was broken when he spoke quietly. Had she not had use of her advanced hearing she might not have caught all of what he was saying.

Then is that, why you do whatever it is you do?.

Her shoulders were stooped and her head forward, she straightened the line of her spine, squared her shoulders and then turned her lips up in the barest imitation of smile. “What is it that you imagine I do Mr. Ferox?” He was highly intelligent, analytical and perceptive, he had to have at least a few ideas but Shallah was fascinated by the prospect of what he might come up with left to his own devices.

“Your question is complicated enough to keep us in this place for days. While I would not be opposed to such a discussion I would not wish to take precious time from you. The briefest answer to your query would be ‘yes’. It is a large part of why I do, ‘whatever it is I do’.” Shallah rested the knuckles of her right hand against her lips, tapping a few times before continuing. “I look at you people and I see abuse, a child toying with something it cannot understand. But rather than seeking the advise from others, more learned, more experienced, you bull onward. Headless of the destruction and the chaos you leave in your wakes and cause for higher races. You take from us what you can, charm spells from Veela, astronomy and divination from the Centaurs, and then they’re twisted and made ugly.” Somewhere during her speech her hand had clenched into a fist. She looked at it, momentarily confused then unclenched her fingers, flexing them in the air.

“There are so many things they do not know.”

Cal paused, taken aback, breath coming a little faster. He was frightened. There was something in Shallah Kosa, some echo of her birdlike form, some terrifying trace. He parsed her words, and her anger, which spoke more eloquently than whatever information she had let slip. He made note particularly of the term 'higher races.'

She looked down on Wizardkind, that was certain. She had chosen to confide as much in him because--why?

Maybe because she had few qualms talking about anything.

Whether due to race or due to native hubris and hatred, they had something in common, a loathing for a common enemy, an enemy inimical precisely because it was common. Granted, Cal was uneasy of the eugenical suggestion quivering under the surface of what she said, like some foul larva, but unless his worst fears were founded on more than whim, there was little she would actually be able to do. He hadn't heard of her, after all, in the years he had been in Wizarding London. Which was full to brimming of beings who had sworn to destroy one part or another of the world. But clearly the itinerant Goblins hadn't routed the free House Elves, and despite Purists' greatest efforts, Muggles and Muggleborns were still alive and well, not to speak of merpeople and werewolves and giants.

It was only fashionable to have an ethnic hatred or a vendetta these days, and it didn't mean Kosa was involved in the Apparition buggings. Even if the spells she'd requested indicated...

"Are there," he said, propping his chin up in his hands. He knew better than to coolly question a rant of that sort. It wasn't a matter of rationality. It might, however, be a matter of learning her weaknesses. "The Wizarding world can be an ugly place." Mildly. "As for what you, collective or otherwise, do..." He shrugged studiedly, taking refuge in the posture of suave interrogator, but he couldn't meet her glittering raptor's gaze.

Calixtus was watching her no doubt processing what she had just said. For her part she watched him very carefully noting very flicker of his eyes and every twitch in the small muscles of his face. Human faces were fascinating, they could tell you just about anything you had need to know provided you had been schooled on what to look for. Some emotions were easily found, anger, lust, joy, others were of a more subtle variety but the reward felt for seeing them was far greater.

Careful that her gaze wouldn't be to intense she watched and waited for him to process. What did he think of her? She wondered idly. It was something she had never had cause to care about in her old life, but humans placed such importance upon what others thought of them, how others thought of them. Knowing was in no way vital to her being, but it was a curiosity that had bled through the humans she encountered and into her.

Supporting his head on one hand Cal spoke. His voice said what his face didn't he was choosing his words very carefully and there was a hint of questioning beneath the natural tenor of his voice. Are there,. She raised an eyebrow, a subtle prompt that he should continue. The Wizarding world can be an ugly place. As for what you, collective or otherwise, do....

The veela gave a shake of her head, sending tendrils of hair over her shoulders, framing her face. “No Mr Ferox, it is beautiful. Magnificent in fact.” There was a smile on her face but it was genuine. She remembered her first steps into this world, the way her sisters had teased her, it was madness they said. Madness to want to leave the marshes and wander alone in this world with these stumbling little beings, but it was exhilarating. “Strange, sometimes grotesque, but always beautiful.”

The other statement dangled in the air between them. “You want to know, but you hesitate to ask directly? Does the possibility of my answer unnerve you? Or is it me that unnerves you?” He wasn't looking at her. “I am a mercenary Mr Ferox, part of a larger employ. Enough digging and you will see traces of me in all manner of conflicts going back the past 5o years. It is no different now, I am employed by someone who wishes to help and so that is what I do. I help. The nature of that help could be open to interpretation."

She was smiling. It unsettled Cal more that her mood seemed so changeable or, no--impermeable; she either felt things differently or not at all. But she wasn't like Garrow, either cold or possessed of that disturbing, cold effervescence. She didn't seem sociopathic. She was not human, and that was more frightening than anything else. He didn't understand her in the least. Had he thought they might be similar a few minutes ago? Recalling, he found the notion absurd. She had the absurd confidence of someone entirely out of the social equation; nearly every human she met could certainly be controlled at her will and whim (why he couldn't, Cal would think more on later).

He looked down at his hand, splayed on the table, though he remained at rest with his head propped up on the other palm. He looked at the fine hairs growing along the line of his metacarpals, at the gnawed edges of his fingernails. Then, abruptly, back at Shallah Kosa.

“Strange, sometimes grotesque, but always beautiful.”

Maybe not so different--he would have said precisely the same thing--often did--precisely. But she wasn't a Legilimens, he hadn't made eye contact, and anyway, she had so little to gain from reading him.

"It's true," he said, quietly, thinking--for some reason, and quite suddenly--of Jasper. He swallowed. "The word you are looking for." He paused to resettle his head against his hand. "Is 'sublime.' What is incomprehensibly, not precisely beautiful, but striking, but possessed of something which we liken to beauty." Now, looking at her, he could make out a little of that, because what she had (Veela charm?) wasn't exactly beautiful, but it drew the eye in much the same way Jasper...

Only not quite as much, which was, perhaps, the point. He looked down again.

Or is it me that unnerves you?”

Back up, his mouth open in wordless agreement.

“I am a mercenary Mr Ferox, part of a larger employ. Enough digging and you will see traces of me in all manner of conflicts going back the past 5o years. It is no different now, I am employed by someone who wishes to help and so that is what I do. I help. The nature of that help could be open to interpretation."

"Fascinating. 'To help' has so many meanings, but I have a feeling there isn't much I'll gain from parsing them. You do unnerve me, Ms. Kosa, as I've said I haven't dealt with your kind before. Doubtless you've noticed that for whatever reason I'm not subject to your charm, and I can't explain that, but I'm unsettled nonetheless." Why had he even mentioned that? Because he thought she might know why. He'd been in love with a woman before, anyway. Sort of. With the idea. But more importantly, his honesty might draw her out in turn. He very much wanted to know who he was working for; their purpose; all of it. It might be a worthwhile purpose. He could use one of those himself, as he was not the sort of person who wantonly manufactured such things on his own.

"You've got little to lose by telling me, and after asking my allegiance, Ms. Kosa--" He drew in a breath and almost choked on it; coughed; set both of his hands firmly on the table, clasped. "--I have to ask. The spells, the potions you've asked from me, they point to the--what people--" He noted the emphasis, which was for her benefit. "--are calling the Apparition Bug. Has your organization been taking people mid-apparition? I ask for no reason of judgment, only curiosity, which is, Ms. Kosa, my motus anime. Entirely so. As it were."

Its true. Is 'sublime.' What is incomprehensibly, not precisely beautiful, but striking, but possessed of something which we liken to beauty. A philosopher? She had heard the term before, come across it in the pages of books that she had pulled from the shelves of homes where she was conducting jobs, or when overcome with boredom. “Sublime then. I have heard the term before but never described so eloquently. A man in Ireland once told me that the sublime was something that was both beautiful and deadly, like starring into an abyss. You realize that it might kill you but you look into it anyway.” She remembered the day, there was ash in her hair and on her skin and the heat from the fires of the homes and lives burning around them had made her think of home for some reason. “But he hardly a scholar.” A week after he had waxed philosophical to her they had found what was left of his body, blown apart by a back fired spell. She had not had cause to think about him in years.

Fascinating. 'To help' has so many meanings, but I have a feeling there isn't much I'll gain from parsing them. You do unnerve me, Ms. Kosa, as I've said I haven't dealt with your kind before. Doubtless you've noticed that for whatever reason I'm not subject to your charm, and I can't explain that, but I'm unsettled nonetheless..

His head went down again his hair falling over his face, and then he looked back up, mouth slightly agape. Admitting fear was an important step, it allowed you to concentrate on other things aside from suppressing it. Fear wasn't something Shallah actively cultivating in others but she wasn't above encouraging it if she found it was present. After all it was such a useful vehicle for all manner of deeds

So he noticed he wasn't susceptible? She didn't see how he wouldn't have, she had read in Magical Creature textbooks that veela made both male and female members of the human race feel, 'airy' and 'off balance' but the fact that he had chosen to comment on it was interesting. An unspoken question on his part? “Your lack of susceptibility to my 'charm' is very curious to me...but I have no explanation for it. It happens sometimes, rarely, and the circumstances always seem to be different. I know one other who is like you in that regard. I find that it makes working relationships much easier, humans tend to become uneasy when they feel as if someone is controlling their actions for them.”

She paused, leaning back in her chair and folding her white hands over on top of one another on her lap. Happy with the weight the way they pressed down on the fabric of her robe. “It is good though to be unsettled, it makes you aware. It is also natural, a survival instinct exhibited by every living creature when enclosed with a predator.” She lifted a hand in a stopping gesture. “Please do not take that as a threat. Charm, at any rate, is one of many abilities at our disposal. Often resorted to because of its ease and effectiveness but I am not insulted by the fact that you seem unaffected, merely curious.”

Cal was watching her intently as if attempting to read through her thoughts, discover what she had not yet disclosed. She would feel his curiosity seeping out of him but he held back, treading carefully, likely worried about insulting her or worse agitating her temper as he had earlier. She lowered her chin a silent prompt for him to speak.

You've got little to lose by telling me, and after asking my allegiance, Ms. Kosa—. The think man coughed, and the force of it went through his whole body, and then he was clasping her hands, fingers white where the pressure was pressing the blood out of them. She stayed silent, waited. --I have to ask. The spells, the potions you've asked from me, they point to the--what people-- And now he was bold. --are calling the Apparition Bug. Has your organization been taking people mid-apparition? I ask for no reason of judgment, only curiosity, which is, Ms. Kosa, my motus anime. Entirely so. As it were..

“Motus anime.” She tasted the words, she had always loved latin the language that Wizards used to spin their spells into reality. “If that is true then it is possible that you and myself have something in common. Curiosity is not considered a desirable trait to my people, but it is one I have cultivated within myself nearly my entire being. Not desirable to your people either, what is the idiom? Something about cats...” Now she clasped her hands on the table, mirroring as best she could Cal's current posture. “Little to lose is not nothing...” With her thumb and index finger she turned the simple silver ring on her opposite hand around and around. “So it has a name? Humans love names don't they? I had never thought to call it anything.” The movement of her hand stopped and she looked right into Cal's eyes, strange coolers but actually very becoming. “Yes.” She disclosed finally. “I see no reason to lie to you, you have the formulas the information would have been yours in short time.” She leaned closer to him, waiting for his reaction. “Are you going to tell on me Mr Ferox?”

And just when he thought he had lost his grip on her entirely, she took a turn for the all-too-human. Human--what an appropriate Nietzscheism, after all, because:

"...A man in Ireland once told me that the sublime was something that was both beautiful and deadly, like starring into an abyss. You realize that it might kill you but you look into it anyway.”

Cal realized his own gaze, toward Kosa, lit the last few words with the flame of menace, and he dropped his eyes. You look anyway--that was, more or less, Cal's life's work. The abominate abîme, naturally, less something outside of himself, less like this particular case. Shallah Kosa fascinated him. It prompted him to speak up, to air his confusion and interest in his lack of reaction to her charm.

The query also worked to bolster the rising, nagging fear that maybe he was susceptible, not precisely to attraction, but... Cal knew himself all too well. The pull of a powerful persona could destroy him. Kosa, however opaque, had some of the magnetism he always found so unsettling.

“It is good though to be unsettled, it makes you aware. [...] I am not insulted by the fact that you seem unaffected, merely curious.”

He inclined his head. Curiosity was his own reaction, though he had some suspicions, and fascinating ones. Was there a place in him that reacted, with some special resonance, to the charismatic? And had that place been keyed to, or filled by, or somehow upswept in the direction of Jasper, precluding others? Something like that.

He had to ask; he had to. The segue into the dangerous waters of curiosity... she was baiting him. He had the feeling she had set the stage entirely and now spent her time drawing him out, or testing him, or both, and there was only one way he could react. The only thing he could do was pursue his own goals as relentlessly and aggressively as she pursued hers, or he'd be sucked under.

He asked. She deferred.

“Little to lose is not nothing... So it has a name? Humans love names don't they? I had never thought to call it anything.”

"We do. Because we fear uncertainty."


He stared at her, trying not to blink. It was like looking into the eyes of a snake, a shark, an eagle; the motionless dark pupil sucked in light and let nothing out. Flickering movement of the lid meant as little as leaves blown across the sun.

“Yes.” She disclosed finally. “I see no reason to lie to you, you have the formulas the information would have been yours in short time.”

She leaned forward, mirroring him, and Cal jerked back as though burned, suddenly, hideously aware--through her parody of his position--of his own body. Of its fragility. She'd mentioned it earlier, what he'd already sensed: she was predator and he was prey.

“Are you going to tell on me Mr Ferox?”

The words, nearly coquettish if they hadn't been so cold, felt incongruous as they fell jaggedly into place. Cal inspected the tiles of his tabletop, as though he could retrieve them there. His mouth was half-open, his breathing shallow. Surreal. He hadn't expected to get an answer, and he certainly hadn't expected to find himself working for the engineers of the Apparition Bug. It was fascinating, it was incredible, it was the opportunity of a lifetime--the magic involved! Its complexity, its ambition... his political interest had always bee shoestring-spare, so he shoved aside the question of Potter's fate. A tiny mote of conscience winked on somewhere in the back of his mind (fascinating maybe, incredible maybe, but definitely wrong)--and died, overlaid, snuffed, by the hot lightning-run of excitement.

He laughed, breathlessly, then rocked back in his chair and put his head in his hands. Forward; back. When he took them away he knew his eyes were a little wet. Excitement? Tears? Overemotion? Something. In that strange limbo of personal, post-Jasper-fiasco, willful blindness, and this sudden revelation, he was very...

confused.

"No. No, not at all. You've only--heightened--my curiosity... you must have others working for you. I could--" He stopped, hands trembling, and waited for the front legs of his chair to hit the floor.

We do. Because we fear uncertainty.. Cal would find no argument from her on the subject. It was a small comfort to them, to name what it was they feared and in doing so obtain some sort of armor against it. The process though was capable of working both ways. By giving something a name it could be used as a weapon of fear against themselves and others. Shallah very much doubted that the death curse and the imperio would have such reputations if they did not have the extra tag of ‘Unforgivable’ attached to them.

Any further rumination on the subject was brought to a close when her admission sank down into Cal. The reaction was immediate, startling in its severity and there was a flicker of doubt in her mind as to whether or not she had made the correct choice. She killed the thought with a stone, remained perfectly still, allowing the man the time he needed to digest this revelation and all that it entailed. So many emotions at once, a result of the drugs or were the drugs the result of the emotions? Humans were so transient, so brief that they needed to feel everything at once. If they did not feel everything all the time then maybe there would be missed emotions, things lost and never to be felt at all; but even with this explanation in mind Shallah thought she might burst were she subject to that particular trait of humanity. Watching however was fine; she could enjoy and savor the emotions from a distance, an art critic in a gallery. What a picture this man presented.

He rocked back and forth, hands going up to his face and thought she could still make out most of his emotion she felt a pang at the loss of eye contact. Faces were the best possible judges and there was still the matter of exactly how Calixtus felt about that statement, what he might do. Questions had to be answered before any kind of security could return to this meeting. When his hands did come away from his face there was moisture around his eyes, another strange reaction. One with infinite meanings, each individual to a persons opinions and experiences, very little could actually be discerned from tears.

No. No, not at all. You've only--heightened--my curiosity... you must have others working for you. I could—

Still curiosity then. Shallah stopped calculating the speed at which she would have to move to take him unawares, ceased thinking of ways to dispatch the man, no explanations would be needed for his disappearance. The veela relaxed, no more than a small fall in the shoulders and a deflating of her posture. He would not run and tell the authorities, she could see it in his red-rimmed eyes. This made everything much easier.

“Not as many as you might think.” It was a truth in some sense. Many of their researchers had developed unfortunate cases of conscience or else been plants, or lechers, or merely lacking in the skills needed; all of these were unacceptable. The front legs of Cal’s chair struck the floor, sending a small tremor through the floor and up her chair. “So very few in fact. Skills like those I require can be difficult to come by and then still more difficult to obtain. I am very selective in who I will share knowledge with. The architect of the spell and myself were alone in its development for some time, until others became a necessity.” The level of magic needed to bend the skill to a veela had been a block, which Shallah had been hesitant to remedy. To use the magic of wizards was below her, she still believed it, but if she hoped to bring about her plans she could think of it as a small step.

“You could what?” She asked, her voice layered with a coaxing tone.

Tension. Tension.

And then it dissipated. Cal sat back, thrumming with nerves, fingers tangling with each other, jumping as though electrically.

"The architect of the spell?" he repeated, frowning. His shoulders shifted. Shifted again, back and forth, drawing in on himself. He'd caught the hint of a threat in her stance and glance; it was time to back down. No, no. That was the wrong kind of thinking. Cal cleared his throat and straightened his back, trying to meet Shallah's cold and somehow electric stare.

"I am sorry. There are certain boundaries, and I..." He paused, retreating into a prolapsed pause. Fidgety.

"What I--I mean, I'd like to meet them. Your--" He looked up again. Her face was utterly blank, utterly predatory, incalculably old, planar--lunar. Cal had to shake himself loose from it... was that the charm? Something, something--no, he didn't feel foggy-headed, he was still thinking of--of Jasper. Not that Jasper was worth the mention at the moment.

"I'd like to meet your associates," he said at last, quietly.

The architect of the spell?. He frowned and she followed suit a moment later before nodding. Did he imagine that she had been solely responsible? Magic that could be used by humans needed a human hand, had she compiled the spell no her own it would have been next to impossible for a witch or wizard to master enough Veela magic to make it useful. She didn’t offer the information merely waited to see if he would be bold enough to press further. For a few brief moments she wondered if she would be disappointed. But then he sat up in his chair, the vertebras in his spine making ever so slight creaking noises.

I am sorry. There are certain boundaries, and I.... Apologies? That wouldn’t do at all. Not understanding his explanation she tilted her head, eyes narrowing slightly. ‘I’m sorry’ was such a well worn phrase with so many meanings. Sorry for what? Had her insulted her and she hadn’t noticed? Or did he think his questions might be perceived in a negative light? Ferox lacked the confidence of most of her former associates but then maybe that could work to his advantage. He had utter and complete faith in his own work, that was enough reassurance for the veela. Still, as she watched him squirm there was a feeling that she had mistepped. This meeting would end soon, and Ferox had precious seconds to seal his impression upon her.

What I--I mean, I'd like to meet them. Your— And there it was. Unconscious of the motion she leaned forward, and expression of a little girl waiting to hear a secret flitted across her features. I'd like to meet your associates. The indecision settled into conviction and were she human it was very possible Shallah would have clapped her hands together, or possibly giggled in that way she saw so many girls do. But Shallah was Veela and as pleased as the squibs words made her, decorum had to be maintained.

Rather than some sort of obscene display she rose from her seat, leaned across the table and extended her hand. She offered it to Cal. “Then you will. It will please me to count you among them. You will finish the work I have just offered you, and upon its completion you and I will go to meet them together. Agreed?”

Suddenly, fleetingly, she had flashed back to menace. Cal looked up, eyes moving rapidly over her face, but it was as slick as ice, hard to find interpretory purchase amidst the smooth planes and hard-cut angles of her face, which deflected the gaze as much as it drew it. Was that the sublimity of Veela? That illusion of beauty--was it created precisely by averting the gaze, rather than drawing it? Power was in deferral.

He hurried on headlong to his offer and then sat back, surprised at his own eagerness. He shouldn't cultivate new contacts, not ones so dangerous and not with a creature he didn't understand. Even Garrow wasn't so difficult to understand, once you accepted that he was in some way not fully human. Shallah Kosa was not human at all. But her associates, people worth knowing, worth--and the Apparition Bug. He couldn't give it up now. The group represented, what was it--power.

Suddenly her face shifted into a mockery of warmth, the apples of her cheeks lifted in a chilly reprisal of the exaggerated schoolgirl coquetry. Then it was gone, leaving unsettling ripples on the edges of Cal's vision.

"Then you will. It will please me to count you among them. You will finish the work I have just offered you, and upon its completion you and I will go to meet them together. Agreed?”

She had her hand out. Cal stood also, unfolding himself with some difficulty, and took it. Her skin was cool and powdery, dry.

Count me among them, was that what I'd agreed to? There were worse bargains than Faustian, he supposed.

"Agreed."