She had always known England to be a rather damp place, surrounded by the sea as it was it was prone to rain spells, fog, and apparently biting winds. Shallah lifted slender hands and drew her cloak tighter around her shoulders, trying to trap the slight warmth from her skin before it could escape into the darkness that constituted the alley ways around her. Prior to this evening she had always apparated to the chemists dwelling but this evening she had chosen to walk. The words of Carmen Snidgeton's article burned across her eyes every time she blinked them against the winds buffeting her, and below the words there was the anger. A burning simmering rage that she hadn't felt for another living creature in some time. Though her face remained as impassive and serene as ever the people she strode by drew back from her, somehow sensing the danger that radiated from her tall thin frame.

A series of side streets and crosswalks later Shallah tilted her head up, looking at a building that was by all accounts very plain, quaint almost. Such a strange place to house someone like her chemist. She wondered for a moment if he had chosen the place based upon that fact. Irony, a disparity between the man and location where he dwelled. It was late evening now and the streets were largely deserted. Muggles, even more than magical humans, had a very narrow perception of the world around them. Paying the few remaining muggles scattered around the street little mind, Shallah concentrated, felt the familiar pull, and then found herself again standing in Ferox's darkened hallway.

Lifting both hands she pushed her hood back from her face, looking up and then down the narrow corridor. No sign of the man, Shallah was capable of patience as deep and long as any trench but this was a night where her ample patience had already been pressed to its very limit. “Ferox?” She asked into the darkness.

Cal jerked upright when he heard Shallah Kosa's voice, though at first he had half-thought it a part of his dream, a surreal Munchian affair full of twisted, screaming faces and mad eyes. But when he started awake he heard her again and glanced, blurrily, at his watch. Damn. He had forgotten again, after a late night out with Jasper. Of course, things were still a bit awkward, but it was, as always, best not to think about that. And to do as many drugs as he could possibly manage.

"Just a minute!" Cal jerked upright and stretched convulsively, shoulderblades nearly meeting behind him, then swiped a hand over his face. It came away smudged black with eyeliner. Oh, damn, really? Not that he ever looked professional when he met with his clients. That was part of the point.

Still, he didn't think he had ever gone to talk business wearing half-smeared eyeliner. She would probably think it some 'quaint human custom', no doubt.

He stood up painfully and grabbed at the sheet of equations, both the original and his copied revision. Really a fascinating formula. He had streamlined it quite a bit, worked out a few kinks. It ought to work, though he hadn't dared to ask Jasper to test it. It would have been too suspicious.

Trailing one hand over the wall, he meandered unsteadily toward the front hall, to come face to face with a cloaked, obviously irate Veela. On second thought it was no longer clear how he knew she was angry. It was a feeling, some sort of golden permeation.

"Ms. Kosa." Carefully, he held out the pages. "I hope I didn't keep you waiting."

Shallah tapped her finger against her forearm in a steady rhythm, holding the rest of her body rigid as she strained to hear any sound coming from the dwelling. There was the sound of several something’s bubbling away, little crackles from burners, and other white noise, common place in such an environment. No heartbeat though, he wasn’t in the lab. She was preparing to move further into the home when a voice cut through, Just a minute!.

Shallah pivoted on one foot, turning the other direction to face the end of the hall that Calixtus request had issued from. There was the sound of shuffling, very similar to noises that rats and other vermin made under the floorboards of the inns she had been staying in since her arrival in London. The comparison was unfavorable; she did not see all humans as vermin, but the anger made it hard to see them as anything else at present.

She smelled and heard him before she saw him and took a step backward to avoid having the two of them collide as Cal moved into the hallway. She scrutinized his appearance in the half light, a bit more scrappy than usual, and…what was that? Seemingly of its own volition Shallah’s arms raised and with her right index finger she touched the trail of black underneath the chemists left eye. Ms Kosa. Her eyes flicked to meet his as he held out documents to her, [I hope I didn’t keep you waiting.[/b]. Using her free hand she accepted the documents. Withdrawing her finger she massaged the black substance between thumb and index finger, perplexed.

“No more than is acceptable, Mr. Ferox.” She snapped her fingers, igniting a small fireball in the palm of her hand. The flames illuminated the room and the face of the human standing across from her. She waited until the black smear on her fingers had burnt away before dispelling it and glancing down at the scripts he had handed her. “You have fixed the problem?”

Cal's pulse rate jumped when her finger came up, to brush over the skin just under his eye. Rabbitlike skin, flickering likewise rabbitlike. Twitchy, Ferox, very twitchy. He shifted nervously from foot to foot, fingers fluttering, and tried not to take a step backwards, away from her grasp, or forward. Or. Anything. Really.

He pressed the papers into her free hand and let go himself. When she lit her fireball he had to blink against its twinging heat, turning his head aside. It fizzled out and he looked back, toward but not quite into the hawkish gleam of her gaze.

"Yes. I've--as far as I can tell, I've fixed it, it should work to your specifications."

Would she recall her promise to him? Slipshod as any promise was, she'd said she would take him to meet the other members of her organization. Cal was no longer sure why that idea excited him as it did. He didn't like, or knew it wasn't a good idea--he wasn't prone, whatever his reasons, to joining organizations--but--well, somehow this had become an inevitability. An exciting inevitability.

He was staring, and looked down, one hand coming up to rub at the remainder of eyeliner caked in a runnel down his cheeks.

"Eyeliner," he said briefly, in belated explanation. "It's a--a cosmetic."

Eyeliner. She glanced up from the scroll in her hands for a moment wondering if that statement had anything to do with the spell. It’s a ---a cosmetic.. Oh Her eyes darted from the document up to the rivets on his face, considering them. “Ahh…” She skimmed her mind for memories of the stuff and some presented themselves. Humans loved to paint themselves, but this was the first time she had seen a male of the race participate with this particular compound. “Is it now customary for the men as well as the women?” In speaking her voice lost a degree of its steel, returning to a more curious and conversational tone. Cal looked skittish, more so than usual, and her anger this night was not his doing.

While she waited for him to collect himself enough to form an answer she read the rest of the paper, marveling silently at the elegant way he had streamlined some of the greater problems. The spell would be far more easy to use with such a formula; the man had passed her test. Funny, she hadn’t even really realized that this had been a test. The hand holding the parchment fell to her side and she pressed past the anger to give Cal a small charmed smile. “Impeccable work Ferox. As you have maintained your end of our bargain I think it only fair that I in turn uphold mine. Will tonight suit you for accompany me to meet some of our merry band.” Her fingers brushed the eyeliner again. “Or do you have other plans which would prevent you?”

“Mind you,” She removed her hand. “There is business that must be attended to and I would grateful for your opinion. Certain,” the anger rose again as she saw that mans smug features, “Complications have presented themselves and we will be unable to move forward until those complications have been remedied. What say you?”

“Is it now customary for the men as well as the women?”

Some of the tension seeped out of the air, and Cal let his body relax, air blowing out one corner of his mouth. Embarrassment aside. He rubbed his hands together. Later, he would excuse himself to wash off the traces at his kitchen sink. He was beginning, however, to feel strangely comfortable around Kosa, strangely oriented and aware.

"It is," he said, trying not to think of what was passing behind the strange opacity of her eyes. She moved on, smiling at him. She was so strangely pale and clear, luminescent... unhealthily, as though lit by glow-worm from within. He had to look away.

"..Will tonight suit you for accompany me to meet some of our merry band.” Her fingers brushed the eyeliner again. “Or do you have other plans which would prevent you?”

Cal was unused to being touched. He avoided physical contact with anyone but Jasper, his aggressivity toward Atlas aside. Shallah's fingertips made him twitch backward, arms coming up to cross over his chest.

"No. Of course I'll come." He wasn't thinking clearly. He was unused to personalities. Cal knew he couldn't think well in company, not frightening company, not any company.

Her sudden anger was palpable. He could feel it from teeth to toenails. "Yes. yes, I'll come. What--have I done something wrong?" No, it was something else, even Cal could tell it was something else, but she was completely unreadable to him. And dangerous. It was difficult to look up into her avian eyes.

He tilted back and away from her as her hand brushed against his face and then crossed his arms over his chest. The gesture was familiar and common and usually defensive. But like anything humans did that nature and exact meaning of the gesture could vary greatly. No. Of course I’ll come.. Whatever the gesture meant the outcome was still in her favor and so she left it well alone. There would be time enough to create a glossary of his mannerisms, and the meanings behind them, she would look forward to it. Every human she encountered was so vastly different from the last.

Then the anger had come and with it an expression to Cal’s face, which matched the defensive stance of his still crossed arms. He began to speak faster, Yes. Yes, I’ll come. What- a beat of tense silence, she would see his pulse as it pressed against the skin of his throat. Have I done something wrong?. He said it with hesitancy, as if knowing that he could not be the cause but making the suggestion anyway. Appeasement? An attempt at understanding? Not wanted to startle the man Shallah stayed where she was and made no attempts to reach for him.

The silence in the room held as Cal avoided her eyes, and then Shallah sighed. Nothing more than a small expulsion of air from her nostrils. Dipping her head she reestablished eye contact with the chemist before speaking. “No,” She searched his expression. “You have not. I must apologize for this vulgar display.”

Watching him she supposed that an explanation might be in order, otherwise he might persist in believing he had done something untoward to her. Evenings that began under such pretenses rarely ended well. Stowing the spell in the crook of one arm Shallah regarded the man across from her. “There has been a complication, an unplanned variable if you will. You read the newspapers? Even if you didn’t surely you would have heard by now about Carmen Snidgeton’s latest discovery.” She enunciated the word discovery as if it were a curse that she wished flung away from herself. “One involving your Junior Undersecretary to the Minister.” As if she could be speaking about any other article.

“My anger stems from the audacity of that protects architect, not from you Mr. Ferox.”

Carmen Snidgeton.

Cal felt his fingers turn icily cold.

The Junior Undersecretary.

It was suddenly very difficult to breathe, as though a block of ice had formed between throat and lungs.

“My anger stems from the audacity of that protects architect, not from you Mr. Ferox.”

And now his heart had begun to beat very quickly and his word had narrowed down to the very small tube between his eye and Shallah's. She had to know. But she didn't--but she'd brought it up--but she'd know very shortly if he responded like this and probably already did. He was going to die.

He shut his eyes, then opened them again.

At times like this he realized how much he loved life, every color, scent, and painful moment of it.

"I worked for Garrow."

Cal's heartbeat, typically erratic, went into small convulsions. Then the smells coming off him changed, what had before been fear had now changed to complete terror. Something was wrong, she looked into his eyes and nothing looked back. Their eyes were still locked up he was no longer looking at her, not really. The man's pupils where like pin pricks and any color that graced his features in the best of times had drained away. The veelah's eyes narrowed.

I worked for Garrow..

The space between them in the narrow hallway was in no way difficult to traverse. The spell she had been holding in the crook of her arm fell to the floor, forgotten, as she stepped forward. The rage that she had been carrying surged forward and now the chemist had provided an outlet. Where fingers nails had been talons slid forward, and with it dark molted feathers. Her right arm came up to clutch around the Mans throat, the momentum carrying through to shove him roughly into the wall. Maneuvering her thumb so that the nail rested directly over where she could now feel his pulse hammering against her skin.

The fire that she had summoned to her palm only a few minutes before returned, engulfing her left hand, which she raised alongside Cal's face. The light served a dual purpose allowing her to see his face clearly while at the same time conveying a proper amount of menace. The rest of her anger she contained, stoppered, in truth she would have enjoyed nothing more at that moment than to apply pressure with her thumb and end his miserable life. The instinct was banal, and primitive and the information Ferox might have, the information he might have given away, was much more important than any of her personal desires.

For a time she said nothing, just held the man there against the wall with a fire blazing next to his ear. Only when she trusted her voice to be understandable and controlled did she speak, softy as one might speak to a child. “You worked for Edward?” A slow smile came to her features, but did nothing to soften her expression. “Past tense, yes? A wonder you survived the experience, Edward has such a tendency to break his toys.”

“Now then,” She applied an infinitesimal amount of pressure at his throat. “When did this relationship terminate? Or has it?” to think that I had been worried about the cartel having my secrets sold to them. “Is Garrow aware that I am in London? Have you sold any of my secrets to him?”

Cal couldn't breathe. He was suddenly very aware of the red blood pounding through his head, swarming over his field of view. At the same time his heart rate sped up. He wasn't sure--on some level, he was analyzing the moment, and it was remarkable, the excitement. Nearly suffocating, but--also--Cal rarely felt so alive. She hadn't killed him.

He was pressed against the wall, one hand, unconsciously, clamped around a suddenly scaly, clawed wrist. Her face was contorted entirely, inhuman, fiercely angular. His neck stung. Her other hand, claw, upraised, flamed.

He felt himself flinching away from the heat, mouth dragged into a grimace.

She was speaking. Cal forced himself to listen.

"No. No. I haven't." Edward? She knew him. Cal recalled, almost fondly, the first time he had met Shallah Kosa, and assumed she was a lone operator, bluffing. Ha. What could he say? The truth. That was... he could hear his own breathing again. It was rapid.

"I haven't worked for him since we began our--" His throat worked against the clamp of her claw. "--association. I've shared none of your secrets with him and none of his secrets with--with you--that's how I--I told you that's how I operate. But I like to live, I really--I--"

He had his hand on her, he dared. Air flowed in and out of her lungs in a steady rhythm as she watched his eyes dart all around, never really landing on any one place. Poor thing, it was an ill conceived survival instinct, even if he did attempt to pull her hand away it would be no use, but humans didn’t think that way, particularly when they were panicked. Attempt to survive, do anything, even if it’s hopeless. She let his arm stay where it was.

No. No. I haven’t His heartbeat stayed in the same erratic rhythm, and his eyes didn’t dart so much, the smell of fear remained unchanged. So he spoke truth. She kept the pressure on his throat and now his breaths were coming in short little gasps, the words were tumbling out of his mouth now, with little thought applied to them, I haven’t worked for him since we began out- He swallowed the motion caused her nail to prick at his skin. Association.. Her head cocked to the side and she squared her shoulders. I’ve shared none of your secrets with him and none of his secrets with-with-you that’s how I- I told you that’s how I operate. and then he said something altogether shocking.

But I like to live, I really-I- His throat worked again and this time she feared she might cut him. It wasn’t begging, he hadn’t tried to fall to his knees, he wasn’t pleading for her to spare him he simply admitted to a desire to continue on as he was. She let him go, keeping his hand in plain sight and making sure he didn’t collapse. The hand cradling the fire was still aloof, and still close enough to his skin that he might find the heat uncomfortable.

“As you say it then.” She grimaced at the feathers ribbing her lower arms. “But if you worked with him you have intimate knowledge of his spell?” She placed her free hand along the wall next to Cal’s head drumming her talons on the flat surface. “Were the circumstances natural I would of course have to respect your policy, but what Edward Garrow has done could become a very serious problem for me. In fact that meeting which you are to attend this very evening is chiefly concerned with just what he was building, and how. You posses intimate knowledge which makes you more useful than ever. Rather than your conjecture we might have real answers. The question is are you willing to give them?”

She leaned close enough that her breath caused his bangs to flare back against his forehead. “Bear in mind Edward will not hesitate to cleanse anyone involved. Your smart enough to know that. I’ve seen the things he does…” None of them were any worse than her own actions but that was hardly the point.

She released him. Cal stumbled and fetched up against the wall, one hand coming up to touch his own neck. He felt something stinging and wet; blood. Her nail had broken skin. That was the least of his concerns, but the pain reminded him he was still alive to feel it. He hadn't had such an exciting day in recent memory, Cal thought, now that his survival seemed more real and present.

Shallah Kosa stil had one hand, engulfed in flame, uncomfortably near his face. The skin on one cheek tautened and twitched. He couldn't quite look at her face, distorted into birdlike angles, or at the down growing grotesquely along her arms. He focused on the scintilla of her irises, green and gold, fanning outward as though poised to fold shut, clamping down on his gaze.

“As you say it then.”

Thank God.

“But if you worked with him you have intimate knowledge of his spell?”

She leaned close, hand on the wall, fingers drumming near Cal's head. He flattened himself, tucking chin to chest, stare still anchored to Shallah's. He struggled between hubris (he could tell her--he had to tell someone) and the troubling, frightening thought that if he did tell her, she'd never trust him again, and would probably kill him. There was no right answer.

“Were the circumstances natural I would of course have to respect your policy, but [...] You posses intimate knowledge which makes you more useful than ever. Rather than your conjecture we might have real answers. The question is are you willing to give them?”

Cal swallowed again, and slid a fraction down the wall. Shallah followed, leaning toward him until they were so close that her breath shifted the hair from his forehead. He opened his mouth to speak and found he couldn't.

“Bear in mind Edward will not hesitate to cleanse anyone involved. Your smart enough to know that. I’ve seen the things he does…”

Couldn't speak. His mouth worked. He bit at his bottom lip and let it go. Garrow wouldn't find him worth it. Kosa--but would he? Now that he had the spell, had his proper Wizards refining it... "I don't go back on my promises, even--even to people like Garrow--but the theory you request is one I developed on my own. The rest would be conjecture in." His lips were dry, his mouth was dry. It took three swallows before he could speak. "Would be conjecture. But I can sort it out easily. I just wanted you to know. That it isn't." He couldn't go on.

In his chest his heart was tapping out a rhythm staccato beats that she could hear and see at his throat. There was a small trickle standing out on the pale expanse of skin, nothing even remotely lethal but a little bit of blood could work wonders on a human. They had so little of it to spare. Movement above where she was watching drew her gaze as she watched as the man tried to speak. He was doing well actually, no tears no begging, blind terror but someone could learn to cover that with enough practice. The muscles in his face flexed pressing the skin into strange expressions but no sound came out. She wondered if she would have to remind him to breath.

I don’t go back on my promises, even—even to people like Garrow— The rage billowed again somewhere low in her stomach. Just the name from someone’s lips was enough, such an insignificant politician should not have the power to cause her so much annoyance. but the theory you request is one I developed on my own. The rest would be conjecture in. In the back of her throat she made a series of clicking sounds and moved the flames closer to his face. Not enough to burn the tender flesh but certainly enough to make things uncomfortable, his eyes looked even larger in the fire’s light. So there had been others, the information was spread out, not comforting in the least. Cal spoke again as soon as he was able, Would be conjecture. But I can sort it out easily. I just wanted you to know. That it isn't. He would say no more, the air had all but ceased weezing through his lungs and he was turning a rather interesting color.

She spat a series of curses, all strange high pitch sounds and glottal stops. Did he hope to gain her confidence by keeping Garrow’s secrets and in doing so proving he would keep hers? To do so even in the face of her fury for all that he had disappointed her this night he could be as helpful as his broken morals allowed and she had not lost interest. Curiosity it seemed would be the death of her. The hand resting at his throat moved to his chest and she pressed down, “Breath.” She demonstrated, exaggerating her own breath, taking large gulps of air and finding herself surprised when the act lessened some of the tension sleuthing off her.

“You will keep his secrets but you are willing to attempt to understand the process? I admire your audacity, inconvenient though it is.” Her hand closed and the fire died, leaving only the smell of sulfur in the air. The skin was warm but not overly so and she thought for a moment before stroking the back of it along Cal’s clammy cheek. “You will collect yourself and then you will explain what you are able to me? Could a counter curse be developed? And do you know Garrow’s motives?”

Breathe. He did; he realized his head had begun to spin dizzily, and his throat hurt. Beneath the skin, he could feel the bruised ridges of his trachea. He cleared his throat and blinked the spots from his eyes, breathing in--and out--and in--and out; his breath hit Shallah Kosa's face. He hadn't been this close to many people and wondered, inanely, whether she'd take the moisture of his breath as an offense.

"It--is not--"

The fire in her hand blinked out and left him with only a stinging heat-welt on the right side of his face. Cal licked his lips.

"It is not--audacity."

She reached out, slowly, and ran the back of one hand over the numbed skin of his opposite cheek. He'd hardly turned the other. Her hand was cold, very dry; he felt the plastic chill of nail-polish, a thick, solid gloss, hit his cheekbone and skid.

"Listen. Listen." He slumped against the wall, and slid down--and down, until he was sitting, knees up loosely. One hand went to the spot on his cheek where he'd felt the cold press of Shallah's nails and palm and fingers, the other delicately explored the other, burnt side of his face. It stung. Briefly, he ran both hands over his face, past the wetness of mouth and nose and leaking eyes, up to his hairline. Filthy habit.

"Listen. I don't... I don't know what he did with my theories. Fletcher, his Department of Mysteries patsy, designed the spell itself. I do know the basics; I know how the spell could work. As far as I'm concerned that's yours. He certainly didn't ask it from me." Cal let his lip curl in a forced, tremulous show of revulsion.

"He wouldn't ask too much of a Squib. That's yours." Yours. "I don't know his motives; the man is insane. A counter-curse would be useless at this stage; the spell doesn't destroy souls, merely separates them, and it's not difficult to fix that without any innovation at all... I don't know his motivation, believe me, I don't know." He'd lapsed into thought by now, anything around him--the area nearest--a bluish blur. "I don't know. He's insane. I--" Cal shook his head, slowly, still too unstrung to get up. At last he tilted his chin toward her and, with trepidation, raised his eyes. "Your guess is as good as mine."

"Believe me."

] It—is not-- He was like a train attempting to start, rolling backwards a few times before it was able to gain any sort of forward momentum. It is not—audacity. Had she chosen the wrong word? English was so malleable a language. Then he was sinking. Inelegantly sliding downwards until his rear was placed firmly on the floor. Shallah knew that standing over a person could prove to be rather intimidating but Calixtus seemed frightened enough and she also knew that it was considered rude to look down upon someone. His hands came up, testing the skin on both sides of his face before he gave himself a vigorous scrubbing. When his hands came to rest in his hair he ceased moving, just sat looking miserable. Taking a step back she braced her back against the opposite wall and then lowered herself swiftly to the ground. She was kneeling now, knees and shins pressed to the floor. The position brought her to Calixtus eye level without leaving her particularly vulnerable should something untoward happen. Though she doubted that was something she should be at all concerned with.

It was really a very interesting thing to be so small, she watched the waited for the answers to her questions. Listen. She leaned forward, a non verbal indicator that she was doing little else than what he asked. I don't...I don't know what he did with my theories. Fletcher, his Department of Mysteries patsy, designed the spell itself. I do know the basics; I know how the spell could work. As far I'm concerned that's yours. He certainly didn't ask it from me.. His expression twisted and Shallah could not be sure but felt she could understand the anger at being used, at least on some level. Fletcher, the name sounded garbled and harsh, someone who Garrow would work with. The man would have certainly been dismissed by his employers when Carmen's article had printed but where was the man now? Cal continued to speak and she continued to listen, both for his words and his inflections.

Gradually as the words came forth his energy seemed to droop. The adrenalin wearing off but she allowed him to come to his own stopping point, babble such as this was very telling of a person. I don't know. He's insane. I-- He gathered himself and finally looked at her. Your guess is as good as mine. Believe me..

With a sigh she let her posture go and leaned back fully against the wall her lips twisting into what she supposed could be considered a pout. “I would have to see the spell performed, I suppose that is not likely to occur at any near time? Basics will have to suffice for now and you have my thanks for them. Fletcher,” As she said it she made a face at the “tch” sound in the middle of it, “Garrow has not disposed of him? I suppose it would be difficult to kill another wizard in a city such as this, where you all imagine yourselves to be so civilized. Should your information prove insufficient I will have to seek him out, though I believe I am growing old for these human hunts.”

Her eyes fell closed as she thought, when she opened then Cal still hadn't moved and she smiled at him, just a brief upturn of her lips and then it was gone. “Squib yes but your clever, more clever than him and thats why he asked you. You are alive meaning he underestimates you, these are both compliments backhanded though they may seem. Is he insane now? His mind seemed to be running toward that end when last I knew him but that was a war and exceptions needed to be made.” She folded her nimble hands in her lap. “Theories then?”

Growing old? How strange. Cal studied the Veela. He'd read about her kind since he'd seen her; her lifespan was significantly longer even than a Wizard's. How old was she? At least seventy, if he could believe the Syndicate story. At least seventy and thoroughly inhuman. Even her expressions missed the soft edge of humanity, and seemed molded around a harder inner structure.

Slowly, he shook his head. It was surprising that she'd taken steps back and sat down, though her posture was predatory.

"No. I don't see what use you'd have for the spell." He put up his hands, palms open. The side of his face she'd heated still stung, and his eyes watered, his nose ran, his tongue felt clumsy. Her effect was troubling and unusual. He was easily frightened; he always had been, but he'd have to get over it in this case. "It allows for control more complete than the Imperius curse, but you have your charm." Did it affect him? Possible, possible... confusing. Probably not. He was probably playing games with himself, he was probably imagining weaknesses.

"And the energy it would take to contain the soul is--great. The spell is very imperfect. I think Garrow and his lackey weren't finished with it when they were caught." Cal shook his head, slowly, and wiped his nose with the back of one hand, which he patted idly dry with his shirt-tail. "It has--potential--" He'd been doing some work along the lines of spell, but unrelated... dimensional work... but for some reason he was reticent, or terrified, or in any case couldn't tell Shallah Kosa. "--but it is very much, so far as I can tell, Garrow's warped pet project, neither a threat to you nor--but then I don't know your designs in completeness. Whatever theoretical work you'd like me to do I'll do for you." He bowed his head, thumbs meeting at his hairline. He was, he noticed, rocking faintly back and forth.

"Was there something else you wanted?" She had said something about a meeting, but he supposed he might have lost whatever she mobilized instead of trust.

He lifted his palms turned them over and then made a small spectacle of checking over his face. Shallah having nothing to do herself, lifted her own hands in a pantomime gesture. Turning them this way and that and pointedly trying to give the man a moment or two to properly collect himself. No. I don't see what use you'd have for the spell. At that she looked up and cocked her head to one side, considering. It allows for control more complete than the Imperius curse, but you have your charm.

"Even that has it limits." Tired of examining her hands she lowered them. "People are less likely to work with veela because of it, they think we are up to something. Most of the time rightly so, but in my dealings I try to make as little use of it as possible. I suppose you could say I find it rude. Not that I can stop it completely." Her explanation done she wondered how much the scientist might have read on her kind. Then she wondered how much of the information would have been accurate, or at all relevant. From what she had heard and read the veela were by and large considered a harlot race, a living aphrodisiac that wanted nothing more than to pull wizards and witches alike from their families and into bed. Silly really. All people ever thought of was sex.

Cal was still speaking, giving the details of the spell, talking about the power involved and the difficulty. "--but it is very much, so far as I can tell, Garrow's warped pet project, neither a threat to you nor--but then I don't know your designs in completeness. Whatever theoretical work you'd like me to do I'll do for you. He finished speaking and commenced rocking in small tight motions. Had she broken him? There was always a faint tremor running through the man's skin but whenever he became agitated or nervous it appeared to grow worse.

"It remains to be seen whether or not it will prove to be a threat to me. In the meantime I will have to conduct further investigations. If the spell was unfinished at the time that they were caught do you think Garrow would try to finish it? Or his accomplice? Anyone really."

Was there something else you wanted? This needed consideration. The man had worked for Garrow but had readily admitted it, and then told her all he could while clinging to his minimal personal code at the same time. He had worked for Garrow and should Garrow come searching for him, looking to eliminate any who could incriminate him he might learn of Shallah, and that simply wouldn't do.

"It is my desire that you accompany me tonight as we had planned." She rose from the floor soundlessly and extended a pale hand to Cal. "You will compose yourself, clean up if you wish and then come with me?"

"Garrow's in prison and his accomplice--" Cal nearly spat, but kept himself back. Instead of any other gesture, he defaulted to his customary wobbling forward bob of his head, as though suspended by a string on limp neck, and pushed himself up. His legs shook. Steadied. He set a hand on the wall and bent to examine his shoes. The regular pattern of laces and leather kept his field of view narrow and staved off a faint. His feel, out of control of mind and body, did their own compulsory shuffling dance, and he sagged at the knees, shoulder set against the wall.

He found Shallah Kosa had moved soundlessly in front of him, hand out. He took it.

"Right," he said. He realized he was somewhat taller when she looked human; the thought came as an embarrassment and he looked away, taking his hand back (it felt numb).

At the kitchen sink, where he'd gotten somehow, he splashed cold water over his face several times, and again, and again, and wiped at the black circles around his eyes until they were only red and the pale memory of gray.

"I'm ready, Kosa, at your will."

Garrow is in prison... She of course heard the rest of what Cal had said but before she processed the information pertaining to the accomplish a moment had to be spared to reply those fine words over and over. Her eyes drifted closed and an emotion as close to human definition of happiness as there could be stole over her. The wizarding prisons of the UK were hardly as savage and underdeveloped as she'd like but imprisonment would do. She was sure the loss of his reputation was a greater punishment than anything else. He was pure blood after all and a blow to their precious names and titles was as harmful as a physical wound.

The air moved against her skin, the replay stopped, but remained in the forefront of her mind she held it. The human was swaying on his feet and she hoped he would not fall, he had been doing so well. He did not fall, instead he caught himself, the rest of his body performing a strange dance akin to nothing she had ever before seen. With his body resting against something solid he seemed to be able to collect himself, he took her hand when offered. He felt hot, but then humans always did, hot and cold being completely relative.

Right.. Some realization came to him and he retracted his hand, turning from her in the same moment and moving away from her. She held up her hand, examining it for anything offensive and then followed him into the kitchen, keeping what she deemed to be an acceptable amount of space between them. It should assist in calming him. He scrubbed at his face, the water clung to the hair around his face and sluiced off the black circles around his eyes. The change when he turned back was remarkable in its extent.

I'm ready, Kosa, at your will..

She dipped her head acknowledging the words. She stepped forward her hands coming out to grasp his. “Have you apparated before? You will be completely safe, of this I assure you.” Decided that something was needed to break the tension she leaned in and added in a conspiratory tone. “It is something I like to imagine I know something about.”