Between the Devil and Durmstrang

The Dark Arts faculty was thrilled to have food delivered to the building. The unlucky few took their places around the scarred table and loaded their plates. The company was subdued. Gregorov filled his plate and then seemed to have his attention fixed to a spot on the floor. Jones looked up after finishing her meal to see that he hadn't touched his yet.

"I don't think it's poisoned. It's the usual boring food, but it's ok. Why aren't you eating?" Jones asked as she reached for a slice of torte.

"Waiting for her," was the cryptic response.

"Her?" Jones followed his gaze and then bent over to look under the table. The large black wolf was curled up tightly, panting. "Why's she so stressed out? Never knew her to miss a meal."

"She was recognized by four of the French Aurors. Without the protection of her maître, they made threats." Gregorov reached down to scratch behind the wolf's ears.

"I thought the maîtres des sorciers were some kind of subset of the Aurors. Isn't she dead as far as they're concerned?" The torte was forgotten as she enjoyed her rival's discomfort.

"They are. She still has hopes of returning to Paris. Without a maître, she would be considered a criminal. Maître Faucon will not acknowledge her. They took great pains to impress upon her what her fate would be." Gregorov coaxed the wolf into a sitting position and continued to stroke her head.

"She really misses Paris that badly?" Jones almost felt sorry for Loup. She missed Seattle that badly. Loup was in the same situation she was: neither could go home.

Gregorov took a piece of meat off his plate and offered it to Loup. The wolf turned her head away and, with a small whine, settled back onto the floor. His face gave away nothing as he turned back to his plate to begin eating.

The Lowensteins were quiet. While neither had a reputation for practicing the Dark Arts for pay, Ludwig's position was enough to guarantee unwanted attention. He also had been called regularly to perform spells for the misbehaving clicking box. Magda spent her days hidden in their rooms.

Wronski, still massaging his throat now and then, sat in the chair farthest from the door where he could watch for strangers. It wasn't his usual place and Jones found the new position sad. She'd always liked the innocence he'd displayed about the Dark Arts and how its players should act. Now, he looked more like what she expected as he ate sparingly and continually looked up to see if anyone was in the hall.

"We can work on ears and eyes next," she offered.

Gregorov snorted as he pushed his empty plate away. "What does it matter? They are here, and until they leave, they will come and go as they wish. Your friends, Werner and Mueller, they have kept them away from us. I have heard many express interest in experimenting with our wards to see what lies in our quarters."

Jones began to protest that the Aurors weren't her friends, but pushed that thought away. "Maybe it's time to hide a few things. I think my wards are unbreakable, but Peterson did it before."

Lowenstein roused himself. "Herr Peterson claims to be the best at breaking wards. He has had me set several throughout this gathering for him to demonstrate his skills. It has been very educational for me to watch. He is quite powerful." Lowenstein's usual sleepy expression shifted. "Of course, I have not set anything that would be interesting enough to hold his attention. His expertise lies most in those wards set with blood. Your legacy, Professor Jones?"

Jones grimaced. "Probably. That was what I mostly did for years. Everyone has something they want to hide or they want a safe place. It paid the rent for a long time." She poked at the remnants of her dessert thoughtfully. "I've been meaning to ask for a long time, how do you set your wards? The only sure way I know is blood."

The yellow eyes became mere slits. "There are many ways. Blood is the most frequently used. There are personal energies that may be tapped. Life force is the strongest."

"Oh. Yeah. I've never needed to resort to that." She turned that possibility over, her attention riveted to chasing the last few crumbs into the center of the plate.

"What does that mean?" the new, suspicious Wronski asked.

Loup flickered into view. "It means that you kill something to put its forces into play." Still looking very pale, she picked at the plate of food that Gregorov had saved for her.

"I'll just bet that different things give different amounts of power." Wronski sounded disgusted. "Let me guess, babies are the best."

"They work well, but the purity issue is far overrated." Lowenstein poured a glass of water. Warming to his topic, the golden-haired man shifted from his normal sensuous sleepy state where his movements were languid to a hard-faced man with nervous energy. "If given my choice, I prefer to use those who have a great deal of earthly experience. I find those energies give very satisfactory results. If you combine opposites, perhaps a prostitute with a young innocent, those energies produce bounds that are both strong and almost invisible."

Wronski's jaw dropped slightly during the lecture. "I can't believe you just said that. You kill things to create wards?"

Lowenstein grinned, something that looked entirely different from his usual charming smile. "Why, yes. It is an accepted variant when necessary. You should not look so shocked, Professor Wronski. Would it surprise you to know that many churches have been so protected?"

Wronski pushed away from the table with a wood-scraping shriek. "That's enough. I don't want to know anything more." He flung his napkin down and strode from the room.

"Paul's new at this. He doesn't really understand a lot of it," Jones offered as an explanation. She mourned the loss of his innocence more than he knew.

The wolves seemed nonplussed. Loup continued to pick at her food, which disappeared steadily. The Lowensteins lingered over a cup of coffee.

"Where's Gilles? I haven't seen him since I got back."

"Gilles is whereever he wishes to be." Loup wore her enigmatic face.

"You've seen him?" Jones asked. Loup spent more time with de Rais than anyone else. He had seemed to take an odd liking to her. Odd because de Rais had always appeared indifferent to them all. Since Loup had done whatever it was to kill Lester last fall, de Rais had opened his library to her. The smell of decay regularly filled the hall and, at times, Loup's low voice chanting could be just barely be heard. It was not a match that made anyone happy.

She shrugged as a feral smile appeared. Gregorov glowered down at her and was pointedly ignored.

"How about Haken? Why isn't he here?"

There was an exchange of glances between the other four. Jones had the impression that this had been a topic of considerable debate during her absence.

"Rolf has been chosen to be the liaison between the school and the Aurors," Magda explained. "He spends his days with them."

"It must be interesting for him to see how things have changed," Loup offered in a tone dipped with sarcasm.

"Why do you think he was part of the police?" Jones reached for the coffeepot, her attention riveted on Loup.

The black eyes blinked twice. "It should be obvious." She looked up at her mate. "Isn't it?"

Gregorov was stone-faced, not a trace of emotion betrayed. He stared straight ahead for several heartbeats and then pushed back from the table. "I think your suggestion from earlier is a good one. Let us hunt tonight. I feel the need for blood and the mountain under my feet."

Loup softly chuckled and it was the black wolf that sat at the table. Then, the only sound was the soft pad of their paws as the two wolves left the room.