Between the Devil and Durmstrang

Standing on the beach, she could almost smell it. The salt tang filled her nostrils as she inhaled as deeply as her lungs would allow. There. The warm smell of coffee. Not the dilute smell of that major chain - the real stuff. With her eyes tightly shut, she could imagine herself down at Pike's Marketplace, wandering around in the maze of shops, sipping that coffee, and watching the fish tossing.

"Rose! C'mon! Isn't that thing going to close soon?" Jackie's nasal voice yelled from somewhere in the distance.

Rose Jones slumped forward, her face screwing up tightly for just an instant. Not home. Close, but not Seattle. She could pretend she was going home, back to her little apartment, back to her old life. Holding on to the memory of her neighborhood, her few friends, and some of the best restaurants she had ever eaten in, she slowly opened her eyes. Canada wasn't bad. It wasn't home, but it wasn't bad.

"Rosie! Move your ass! I thought you needed to get back to see your buddy." Jackie could barely be heard over the surf.

Jones choked back a cough and, most reluctantly, turned to crunch her way back to the parking lot. Parking lot. Sounded strange to her. Sitting in a car had been frightening. Except for a bus ride a few months earlier, she hadn't been in a car since the year before. She climbed the last of the stairs and walked over to where her cousin Jackie was leaning against a railing. With a small wave to acknowledge the smirking cousin, Jones fumbled in her jacket's pocket to pull out a package of cigarettes and a lighter. While she lit her goodbye smoke, she gazed at the Pacific for the last time this year. Next year, she thought, next year I'm going to stay the whole summer. Maybe she could get Connor and Ricco to grab a ferry and visit.

Jackie's half-cough half-laugh brought her back into reality. Still coughing, Jackie grabbed the package out of Jones' hand and helped herself to a cigarette and the lighter. Jones smiled as she looked at her cousin, almost like looking in a mirror - except for the bad dye job. Jackie's hair looked harshly burgundy in the sunlight as the first wreath of smoke was exhaled. Lack of height ran in her father's family. All of the Joneses tended to be short and stocky. She and Jackie were definitely of that line. The magic ran in those genes, though. Although Jackie firmly ignored it, calling it mumbo-jumbo, Jones embraced it and had nurtured that part of her heritage. Of course, mused Jones, Jackie had her own magic. Her slightly younger cousin was one of the many computer wizards in Seattle and did her spells in the arcane languages of C and Perl.

"OK. One last cigarette, a cup of coffee, and I'm off." She took her time puffing, trying to drag out the moment. "Did I give you enough money for the goodies? I live for the monthly care packages." She looked over at Jackie who nodded and seemed a bit sad. Jackie had the look of a tough cookie, but she was a soft touch and felt sorry for her exiled cousin.

"Are you sure you couldn't come visit just for a day? You don't think they'd find out that fast, do you?" Jackie started the yearly debate.

"I wish I could. God, I miss the place! You have no idea what the school is like. The magic cops would be all over me in a few hours. They won't let me go without a reducer or two. I got away and they won't forget that. At least they can't touch me at Durmstrang."

"But they don't have anything on you, right? With a good lawyer..." Jackie began, dark eyebrows beetling.

"It would never go to court. You know that. They don't try people like me in regular courts, anyway. I heard that Gillespie talked to them about one of my jobs. All it takes is one confirmation." The information about Gillespie was new. Ricco had written to her about it and she had received an email from Connor with a warning. Being thousands of miles away had put her reputation into soft focus. "I'd have to take care of some business with Gillespie and then they'd have me. They'd know who did it."

"Oh, Rosie..." Jackie shook her head sadly and threw the butt to the ground, grinding it out in a single motion.

"Hey, kid, it's ok. They let me out once a year. I kind of like teaching. I get to be what I am and no one gives me any crap about it. I just wish...well, you know." With a heavy sigh, Jones took a look around the parking lot, taking in the closest she could get to home forever. "I gotta go. I promised Paul I'd take him to London or maybe Stockholm and get a wand fitted for him. If I stay here much longer, I'll be tempted to give it a try. I got away once, but I don't think I could do it again. There's no way I could make it to one of the International Portkeys and they'd have the airport covered when they came for me. With the locator spell, it just wouldn't be much of a competition."

"Keep in touch, ok? I'll make sure Ricco writes and I'll ship an email off to that wise ass Connor." Jackie pulled out a huge bundle of keys from her enormous purse. "You said you wanted me to send what for this Wronski guy?"

"Pretzels. Paul likes pretzels. He said he'd even eat that nasty aerosol cheese stuff if he has pretzels." Jones' smile crept back out at the memory of her friend's acidic tones.

"You like him? Is he cute?" Jackie unlocked her car, opened the door and then leaned against the roof, not quite ready to go yet.

Jones opened the other door and took a similar position. "Paul is like my kid brother. He's a good guy. At least I can talk to him. The others," she took a deep breath, "well, some of them aren't too bad. Siegfried can be funny when he isn't boffing a student. Ludwig's got a nasty sense of humor. "

"They always sound like a cast of an opera to me. Ludwig. Siegfried. Magda. Todor. What kind of name is 'Todor' anyway? What ever happened to that Russian guy you had a crush on?" Jackie became animated as she listed the names, ticking each one off as she said it.

"No go." Jones looked away, uncomfortable at having confided her ill-advised crush. "Let's get a move on. I have my suitcase and the box with the peanut butter and candy bars. Did we get the popcorn? I think I have it figured out so I can pop the stuff without a microwave."

"Sorry. Didn't know that didn't gel. You never wrote about what happened. Last I heard, you were still buying booze for him. You wanna talk about it?" Jackie shook back her jacket sleeve to check her watch. "I think you've got at least forty minutes. It'll take about ten to get there."

"Nah. I don't want to talk about it. I still don't have the whole thing figured out. Let's just say that it didn't work." She climbed into the passenger seat, carefully arranging her feet around a large shopping bag.

Jackie sat down and started the engine, her door still open. "Are you sure? I won't see you until next summer. It sounds like you don't get to talk to anyone except Paul."

"Yeah." Jones stared straight ahead, her mind taking count of the number of people she talked to at the school. The list was depressingly small. Regularly, there was Paul Wronski, her only real friend; sometimes, there was Siegfried, who was far chattier these days since Yuri had taken up with her. She shook her head, trying to forestall the pissy feeling. Haken would talk, but she didn't care that much for him. His endless questions annoyed her. Rabe wasn't in her class and he was gone most of the time, anyway. The Lowensteins kept to themselves and she was friends with Magda. No. Stop it. Not now. Later. She took a deep breath, annoyed at the continual intrusion of the memory of Loup.

Jackie gave her cousin a measuring glance as she closed the door with a thud. The transmission made a small whine as she shifted the car into reverse and backed out of the parking space. The whine turned to a growl as she put the car into drive and, with a small lurch, the scenery began to speed by, the beautiful day becoming a choppy blur of colors to lose oneself in. In silence, they drove a few blocks towards an older section of town. Jackie reached down and turned on the radio. The local "oldies" station began pumping out the tired and true sounds of the Rolling Stones' "I Can't Get No Satisfaction". The staple blared arrogantly through the small car.

No satisfaction. Ain't that the truth?

The car turned right into a warehouse district. On the corner, a group of men stood, three of them of average size and one much larger. A little grin worked its way back onto Jones' face. "I've been making some new friends, though. Interesting guys. They let me play pool with them sometimes."

"Oh, yeah?" Jackie sounded casual. Jones could never be counted on to hold anything back for long with her cousin.

"Yeah." In a much better mood, she started up the normal Jones patter. "You wouldn't believe it, Jackie, they're Aurors."

"Aurors," Jackie repeated, her voice going quiet. "Aren't they the same thing as the magic cops?"

"Well, yeah, but these guys are different."

"Uh huh." Jackie pulled to a stop before a nondescript building. "You know better, Rosie. You may think they like you, but you know they're after information. What do they know about you? What do you know about them? Think about it before you answer me."

Rather like a lectured-to teenager, Jones leaned as far away from her cousin as possible, looking sullenly out the window at the shadowy door she needed to enter. The seconds ticked by, the joy drained back out of her world. "Yeah. You're right. You can never trust them, can you?" She heaved a sigh and began to play with some fuzz on the hem of her wool jacket. Little satisfaction came from tugging bits off the fabric, but it bought time while she thought. "They're interesting. I've never seen how the other side worked before. I thought that they liked me. They laugh at my jokes. But they ask way too many questions. I thought they were being friendly." She grimaced as she recalled how many questions had been asked, how often the conversation had turned to her former profession as a hired wand. "No. You're right. Thanks for the warning. I should know better by now. It's not like I haven't been playing cat and mouse with the cops for years."

Jackie reached over and patted her knee. "Hey. No problem. I know you're lonely. I can tell. I heard from you a couple of times a month before you got that email account and now I hear at least twice a week. I really wish you could find a way to come home."

"Me, too. At least I can use the PC in the kebob house. That helps a lot. I can read the Seattle papers and keep in touch with a few folks." She picked up the bag and grabbed the door handle. "Thanks a lot, kid. I really do appreciate you taking the time to hang out with me. Same time next year?"

"You bet. I miss you, too." Jackie opened the car door and got out. The huge wad of keys chimed as she walked around to the trunk. With a pop, the trunk opened and Jones pulled out her scarred suitcase and a box.

"Send me some email, ok?" The cousins gave each other a quick hug and then, with the box under the arm clutching the shopping bag and the suitcase dragging behind, Jones entered the shadows and began the long walk down to the International Portkey.

The hallway was badly lit, fluorescent lights flickering, which were gradually replaced by the softer blue glow of the Illumino'd wall panels. The hall ended in a rounded room, where only a counter separated her from four bored men who barely glanced up when she entered. The youngest eventually came to the counter to collect a chit she'd pulled from a pocket. "Anything to declare?" The words came out as one "Anythingtodeclare?"

She shook her head and relinquished the bag for the official to paw through. He pulled out a huge bar of chocolate and rubbed his stomach, making yummy noises. "Ok. Take it," Jones said tiredly.

The official looked offended that his joke had been interpreted as a request for a bribe, and the rest of the inspection took only seconds. Soon, she was waved off towards a set of doors that led to a room with two blue-uniformed Cerebors, the guardians of the permanent Portkeys used for International travel. They watched her every move as she approached them. They took their time, looking her over, but neither did anything more than verify her chit and escort her to the Vancouver to London International Portkey, an ornate silver teapot. Not bothering to look around, she took hold of her bags and box and wrapped a finger around the handle.

The next room was larger but still rather dreary. The English International hub was manned by the usual line of Aurors and Cerebors, all arrayed in the usual selection of official dull-colored uniforms: some in black, some in dark blue, and a few in gray. There was tension in the room as each new visitor was carefully examined at their arrival point before being allowed to continue. Jones hated this part. The feeling that any moment now she was going to be grabbed up always set her stomach off.

The English Cerebors were very proper and precise. With what she privately thought was far too showy of a quill, all of the answers to the endless stream of questions were written down in a large ledger. It always amazed her that no one ever had her do any of the signature spells that they required in the US hubs. So far, the European police didn't seem to have that tedious procedure in their script. She hefted her box into a more comfortable position on her hip and waited as her chits were examined as possible counterfeits and then her suitcase was opened and the bag sifted through. Finally, they took her box and checked each jar of peanut butter and peered oddly at the flattened bags of microwave popcorn she hoped to pop with spells. The popcorn elicited far more attention than she had hoped as the Cerebors found it difficult to believe that it could possibly produce food. Eventually, they handed all of her things back to her and waved her on to the next Auror and his key.

From England's hub, she arrived in Stockholm and, from there, the Ministry office in what could some how be called the village local to Durmstrang. There, it was the middle of the night. The sleepy Cerebors on that side merely waved her though. She tried to make some idle chitchat with them but, with friendly grins, they suggested she go home.

"Home? Yeah. Right. Can one of you let me into the tavern so I can use the Portkey to Durmstrang?" She put on her best smile as she watched them debate the question. The rule was that there needed to be at least two Cerebors on duty at the Portkey.

Grumbling, the taller of the two pointed at a chair next to a coffeepot and suggested she wait until the shift changed in an hour. If she hadn't been tired from holding the box, she would have complained. The thought of coffee was almost as wonderful as sitting, so she complied cheerfully. The coffee was about what she expected, but sitting was great. She watched as the two men's upright postures slowly crumpled into slouching against the wall. They knew her well enough not to care about their image and, after a while longer, they ignored her completely, gossiping idly about this and that in the office.

Under most circumstances, Jones would have been hurt at being excluded, however, after her heart-to-heart with her cousin, she watched them ignore her and tried to use that as a reminder that she couldn't trust them. Shifting in the chair in a vain attempt to find at least one truly comfortable position, she caught bits and pieces of their conversation. Her German had improved a great deal over the last year and, while hardly fluent, she could follow simple conversations. Her translation spell seemed to have worn off during the summer. For some reason, the spell never stuck with her for very long and she found the constant reapplication irksome. The gossip wasn't very interesting, something about promotions and tests and vacations being cancelled. Yawning, she pulled out a candy bar and began to eat it.

The chocolate caught the Cerebors' attentions and she offered up a part of her precious cache. The offered Hershey's bar got mixed reviews. The milk chocolate wasn't what they expected, but it wasn't refused, either. She rummaged around in the bag and showed them some of her booty, gathering some amused commentary and at least one sniff of disgust. The flat popcorn bags were duly crinkled and commented upon. Unable to restrain herself any more, she offered to show them what it did.

They leaned against the door and waited while she tore open the cellophane and put the bag onto the floor. As she drew out her wand, she took note of the smaller man stiffening and reaching for his own, and appeased him with a big smile. "I think a Cale should work, but it might take several in succession to get it to pop." She made certain they understood before she started. The last thing she wanted was to be on the bad side of the local guys. They looked uncertain and the shorter one pulled his wand into plain sight, a small warning. "Cale!" The bag shuddered once and an odd oily smell filled the air. "Thought so. Cale! Cale!" The bag suddenly filled with air and popping sounds echoed in the small room. There came a waft of a charred smell, and she quickly nullified her work. The bag sat there before her, as full and round as the many she had popped over the last few weeks in Vancouver. Grinning in anticipation, she picked it up and pulled it open. Steam filled the room and the shorter Cerebor made a gagging sound. "I love this stuff," she sniffed and tossed a piece into her mouth. Fresh popcorn. Maybe this year would be better than the last one.

The bag made the rounds once and was refused the second time. The taller man left his important post long enough to get a drink of water and returned with an apple to rid his mouth of the taste. The shorter mumbled something about the texture and graciously thanked her for the odd experience. With a shrug, she sat back down and finished the bag about the time the next shift arrived.

The relief shift came with a surprise addition. Josef Baldung, one of the four Aurors that Jones had begun thinking of as "the boys", smiled and nodded at her as he checked over the log. Baldung's rail-thin frame bent low over the book and he chuckled as he noted the single entry. "Back so soon, Professor Jones? I thought you would be gone for the summer."

"Only back for a few days. I'm taking one more trip before the school year starts. How's life?" She could hear her cousin's warning, but it was hard not to be friendly. She liked Baldung. He was a much better darts player than she was and he had a huge assortment of stories to tell and technical tricks that he would occasionally let slip. He smelled of water and fish. She squinted at his boots, which still held some mud on them. "Better shine those boots. Werner likes to see them shine!"

Baldung shot a glance at his feet, and carefully knocked the small clods off. With a wry grin, he rubbed each shoe against the other leg's calf until they looked clean. "Thank you. He is in a very bad mood these days. Far too many things to prepare for." The two Cerebors whose shift was ending made small groaning noises as sheets of paper appeared with what looked to be duty schedules for each.

"Yeah? What's up? Anything interesting? This place is usually dead." She perked up, hoping for a distraction.

She got a quick glance and a half grin, but Baldung's attention was directed towards the men. The relief shift already had their papers. Jones could see a corner of one poking out of a pocket and the glum expressions told of not much joy in the local office. The best she could do was wait until the papers were folded up and pocketed and the new shift moved into their places. The taller man from the previous shift jerked his head for her to follow him out the door.

The main office was mostly dark; only a small light glowed by the exit door. Jones, Baldung and the off-duty Cerebors marched out of the office and down the stuffy hallway. The cool night air was a relief when the last door closed behind them.

The cobblestone streets were empty except for the foursome. The small square with its monument to the glorious dead of a war from the turn of the century seemed almost spacious. She hoisted her box into a more comfortable position and looked expectantly at the taller of the Cerebors. Baldung was looking off towards his offices, not in a hurry to go back.

"I didn't think you worked nights. Do you all rotate shifts?" she asked when no one took a step forward.

Baldung blinked as if startled. "No. Things are quite busy right now. What do you need?"

"Well, I could break into the tavern, but you'd probably frown at that. I need to get to the Durmstrang Portkey. Can you let me in or do I need to wait until they open?" She tried to bite off the sarcastic edge to her words, but she was too tired.

Luckily, Baldung seemed to find her amusing and began to hunt for something in his jacket. It took almost a minute before he pulled out a key and a slip of paper. With both items in hand, he led the way down the streets and around a corner until they reached the dark building. When the lock was open, he sprinted across the room to get behind the bar where he became flustered. Standing before a glowing green square, he held the paper up to the light and peered at it. Jones began to sneer, unable to stop when she realized that the burglar alarm was a mystery to him. Timidly, he pecked at the keypad, hitting a wrong number. A warning beep began slowly, getting louder and faster with each repetition. Putting her bag and box down, she let go of the suitcase handle and rushed over to where he stood, grabbing the paper away. She rapidly keyed in the six-digit code and the beeping ceased.

Baldung's expression was wary, almost as if he expected her to chide him. She looked quickly at the paper again, memorizing the code, and then handed it back to him. He snatched back the paper with an audible snap. His expression flickered between annoyed and angry several times before he managed to shift into a detached attitude. Having made a mistake in front of his men and having Jones fix it was more than his ego could bear.

Sensing her cue to exit, Jones managed a bright smile and quickly walked back over to where her luggage was. She carefully shifted into a position where she could watch all of them while she juggled the box and bag back into their carrying positions and then snagged the pull strap on her suitcase. The three stood where they were, and it was with an air of great relief, she closed the bathroom door behind her and escaped through the illusionary curtains. The narrow hallway resounded with the rustle of the bag, the creak of the suitcase's wheels and wheeze of Jones' breath to discordant tempos. She noted that someone had blocked open the door to the Portkey room and slowed to check for anything amiss before cautiously entering it and touching the Portkey.