Stacking the Deck

Golden sun and blue skies, the day lied about the time. It was hard to believe that it was growing late, but the steady flicker of shops darkening and the clatter of metal blinds being pulled down to secure doors confirmed it was evening. Jones had to race into a store to grab up a few red markers and pens, her ostensible reason for visiting the village.

"Now what?" Wronski slouched against a wall, hands stuffed into his pockets. "What time do 'the boys' usually show up? I told you I didn't want to stay too long."

The lack of good humor in his voice jarred her. "Not sure, really. I don't know what their schedules are." She stuffed the package into her jacket pocket and began the slow walk back towards the tavern.

Warm breezes brought the scent of dinners and the rise and fall of conversations from open windows. The lazy grasp of summer took hold, slowing them down. They walked as far as the stone bridge and hung over the side to admire the reflections in the startling clear waters below. Evening was there in the water-smell and swirl of fish breaking the calm waters. There was no rush. Jones settled in to admire the view. Wronski lounged on a nearby bench. "The boys" usually showed up late and the day still shone too brightly to be called night.

The sound of the water was hypnotic. Jones drifted through her lists. The ripples reminded her of what she had completed; the bright scales of a fish, what few tasks remained before school; and the darkening pools prompted other memories. Middle-age doldrums settled in with the first stars winking bright overhead. Time hadn't exactly run out, but the bittersweet knowledge that it was too late for a lot of things was impossible to ignore. Darkness spread across the waters. At her age, starting a family was more or less out of the question. Not that she had ever seriously planned one, but it was nice to have the option. Doors had shut tight both behind and before her. Although she had always thought she'd be alone, the growing certainty of her prediction chilled her. Life half over and what to show for it? Unbidden, her hand crept into her jacket and pulled out her cigarettes. The package felt light and a quick inspection confirmed that she had only a few left. Sneering at what seemed to be a metaphor for her life, she plucked a cigarette out and lit it with a savage grind of the lighter's wheel. Her unpleasant meditation was broken by a soft snoring sound. Yawning, she turned to see Wronski twitching, deep in a dream. Asleep, he looked younger and too innocent to be a professor of the Dark Arts.

Jones smiled, enjoying the resemblance to her own brothers. One had remarried two years ago. She'd missed the wedding. There was no way she could have attended without getting arrested. Davy had sent photos, but it wasn't the same. He'd also sent a videotape that still sat unviewed. No VCR at the Institute. Not that it mattered since there was no electricity there and the tape was the wrong format for European machines. The last letter had mentioned that Rainbow (Jones shuddered at the name) might be pregnant with the first new generation of the Jones clan. Davy was the middle child and the only one to marry. No one had heard anything from the youngest brother Rhys for years, unless the yearly Christmas card counted. The only information there was the latest address.

She ground the cigarette dead just as the church bells sent Wronski flailing awake. He looked sheepish when she laughed. "I think I got a sunburn. How long was I asleep?"

Smiling fondly at him, she shrugged.

He yawned and scratched his head until his hair stuck out at strange angles. Dressed in a too-large faded blue shirt and tan slacks that looked like they belonged to someone else, he looked more like a university student than a professor. "What are you smirking at?" he asked.

"Barefoot boy with cheeks of sunburn," she quipped. "You're kind of a mess." Ever helpful, she tried to pat his hair into place until he squirmed out of her reach.

"I thought you wanted to go hang out with 'the boys'." Using that as an excuse, he danced backwards, trying to keep ahead of her helpful attempts to make him presentable. His longer legs kept him at least an arm's length away. She almost had to trot to keep up with him. Across the street from the tavern they stopped. "Sure you want to stay?" he asked. "We could play darts back at school."

Jones leaned against a wall and opened a new package of cigarettes. The noisy savagery of removing the cellophane and tearing open the pack gave her time to consider. Part of her wanted to go back to the bland comforts of her room, but the middle-age blues needed a shake up. "Nah, let's see if anyone's there. I promise not to dawdle past one beer. If there's something to do, great; if not, we'll just go back. Deal?"

"Deal." There was a definite lack of enthusiasm in his voice. As Jones thumbed her lighter, he shoved his shirt into his slacks and began flicking off bits of this and that.

His example was inspirational. Cigarette dangling from the corner of her mouth, she dug out a comb. Blessing the guidance of her cousin Jackie, queen of the no-fuss hair, she quickly smoothed everything into place. Copying Wronski, she tried to make the best of her own slacks and top. Nothing really helped. It seemed to her that whatever she wore just made her look shorter and dumpier. "What do you think? Jacket buttoned or open?" She looked up at Wronski. He gave her an odd look, halfway between a laugh and serious.

"Really bugs you, huh?"

Pretending she didn't understand, she buttoned her jacket and pulled it down with a hard tug. "That will have to do."

"You look fine," he assured her and then, as if to contradict himself, reached out and scrubbed something off her cheek. "Little smudge. I promise I won't spit on my finger to get it off." Head to one side, he critiqued her, a slow grin spreading over his face. "Go get 'em, tiger. He won't be able to resist you."

"Very funny. Ok. Let's go. I think I'm ready."

The area around the bar was packed. They sidled through the bodies in search of a place to sit. Jones tried not to look obvious while she scanned the crowd. Most of the faces looked familiar in a vague sort of way. The tables and booths were filling. For a moment, she thought it wasn't worth the effort. None of the people she was looking for were there. Maybe it was time to head back and call it a night. She'd already been out a lot longer than she intended.

In the time it took for her to hesitate, the crowd shifted. The long, dark bar was three deep with people trying to place an order. Where there had been no place at all to sit, there were now a few empty tables. Ignoring Wronski's tug on her sleeve, she headed towards a spot against the long wall. She knew he wanted to go outside, but "the boys" rarely sat out on the terrace. They either lounged at the bar or used the room in the back where most of the Aurors, Cerebors and local police relaxed.

It had taken weeks before it had finally sunk in what was strange about the crowd in the private back room. To her, it had always seemed that there was a lot more people in there than there should be. How could there possibly be that many Aurors and Cerebors for the area? The Northern District had several offices; this was just one. Tradition was the only reason that it was still the headquarters. Werner had grumbled that the headquarters should be moved to Oslo and this location either closed or reduced in staff. It always sounded to her as if he resented being stuck in such a backwater, but, while he was the Chief Auror of the Northern District, he had little say in budgetary matters - something that Baldung occasionally needled him about. She'd been surprised the first time she'd pulled out her wand in the back room and had Mueller tell her to put it back. He hadn't offered an explanation at the time and she'd assumed it was part of the "no unnecessary magic in the village" rule that was trotted out so often she heard it in her dreams. Later, when the only people in the room were all Aurors and Cerebors, she saw the casual magic she expected. All wands were pocketed whenever the door opened. It took little to make the leap that the room was open to all of the local law enforcement.

Turning one of the rush-bottomed chairs around to face the crowd, she sat down and began hunting for a familiar face. The joint had "Saturday Night" written all over it. Europop music thumped from a brightly-lit jukebox. The usually older crowd had been invaded by a swarm of twenty and thirty somethings. Instead of the usual dour-faced bartender, there were two blond men whose hands seemed to never leave the beer taps. Conversation bludgeoned her ears on all sides while laughter punctuated any lulls in the assault. The dark paneling made the cavernous room claustrophobic. When the lights lowered around nine o'clock, it would feel half the size. The music would be turned up, the ill-positioned mirror ball would start turning and the serious partying would begin. Some how, the idea of "serious partying" didn't have the appeal it once did.

The waitress smiled and held up her thumb, asking if they wanted one pitcher. Jones smiled and nodded, knowing that there wasn't any use trying to ask for anything else. The beer was uniformly good. Wronski shrank in the chair across from her. He put on a brave face, but it was clear that he wanted to get it over with and leave. To avoid looking at her companion, she made a show of tapping her hand on the table in time to the bass beat.

She saw Wronski shake his head, a rueful smile appeared and disappeared before he resumed looking sulky. A light-colored pitcher of beer and two glasses appeared, delivered by the blur of the waitress who was gone before Jones had a chance to pay. She filled both glasses and pushed the foamy bribe over to Wronski who unenthusiastically took a sip.

It was too loud for real conversation. With one eye on Wronski, she tried to find something to keep him occupied until Mueller arrived. What to do to keep him happy? She knew he danced; she would rather not. There were both dartboards and pool tables in the private back room, but she'd never gone in there without one of "the boys". She took the easy way out. Leaning over, she tapped his hand to get his attention. The look she got clearly showed how uncomfortable he was. With a jerk of her head, she indicated a group of women at a table. Wronski frowned when he realized what she was trying to get him to notice. With her finger to smudge out a diagram on the tabletop, she drew the round table and made little x's where each woman sat. The marks barely showed and he was forced to hold himself at what looked to be an extremely uncomfortable position to see what she was doing. He looked from her diagram back at the women and shrugged. Tapping her finger at the first x, she held up three fingers. Wronski gave her a disgusted look. Shaking her head, she pointed at him and held up three fingers and then four, trying to get him to rate the first woman. It passed the time and before long they had scored half of the room. The rating system quickly surpassed a mere one to four fingers and grew to pantomime bordering on the obscene. Saturday night became a lot more fun.

The first pitcher disappeared during an argument as to which bartender was more attractive. The second pitcher arrived about the time the volume increased enough to require them to practically butt heads. Halfway through that pitcher, a third set of hands entered the competition. Massys settled down at their table and added his own opinions. They made him catch up and enter the game. Stupid fun was the best fun, especially fueled by a third pitcher, dark beer this time. When that pitcher was down to the dregs, Massys waved and stood. Feeling quite bleary, Jones tried to see whom Massys was trying to attract. Wronski traced something in the air that was impossible to see. She squinted at him and then began to giggle when he pulled out his wand and a "B" glowed in the air briefly. Massys shook a finger at them and then grabbed at Wronski's shoulder to get them to follow.

Weaving and laughing, they trailed after Massys. "It isn't fair," Jones yelled in Wronski's ear. "How come he can walk and we can't?"

"Practice," he yelled back.

Massys led them into the private back room. It was like stepping into a soundless void for the first few moments. Without the pounding beat driving into their skulls, it sounded unnaturally quiet. Baldung and the beautiful young woman earlier identified as his wife sat at a table set away from the rest. The Baldungs looked as though they had just left an elegant dinner. Jones decided that even dressed up, Baldung looked scrawny. His wife was elegant, clad in a simple sheath dress that screamed money and accentuated their age differences.

"Where is Johannes?" Baldung asked. Resting a hand on his wife's shoulder, he glared about the room as if searching for the missing Auror. "I resent having to leave early. He should be prompt."

"Josef," his wife snipped, "there is no need to be harsh. I am certain he will arrive shortly. Work puts such demands upon him. If only he would organize such details better."

Sobering slightly, Jones jerked to attention. The condescending tone of the statement said volumes.

"Yes, Helga, of course. May I get you something to drink? It is not the sort of place we would normally visit, but the bar does stock a few adequate cognacs and brandies." Baldung sounded more like a butler than a husband.

Jones' lip curled into a sneer. Baldung and the rest of the Aurors ate and drank at the tavern at least five days a week. It was clear from whom he had acquired the attitude. Helga made no effort to disguise how tacky she found her current surroundings.

"I am amazed that one of their establishments would have anything of worth," Helga said, dismissing her husband. As Baldung trotted off to do his wife's bidding, Massys slopped into a chair across from the imperious Frau Baldung, leaving Jones and Wronski to hover behind him, unsure of where to sit or what to do.

"Next weekend, no? Josef has invited me to fish with him." Massys' smile seemed frozen.

"Next weekend? At my family's summer home?" Helga made a study of Massys; in one quick scan, it was clear that Massys did not pass whichever standard she was using. "Oh, I am so sorry. Josef must have been mistaken as to our availability. We have commitments."

Nodding, Massys drained the last of the beer he had brought with him. "Then, in two weeks? The season will end soon and we had thought it a pleasant way to close the summer."

Turning away slightly, Helga didn't deign to answer. Her nose twitched as though smelling something foul. The subject was closed.

Massys draped an arm over the back of his chair then hung his head back to wink at the Americans. Turning back to the distant Helga, he smiled. "Next spring, perhaps, when you are busy with the baby."

"Baby?" Helga's eyes narrowed. "Whatever are you talking about? There will be no child until things change." Sniffing at the very thought, she placed her purse on the tabletop and opened it. Ignoring Massys completely, she withdrew a compact and proceeded to touch up her makeup.

"Why the son that Josef so desires. Of course, should it be a daughter, he will no doubt be content until the following year." Massys crossed his ankle over his knee and began to keep time to the distant thrum of the jukebox's bass.

Helga gave her full attention to her mirror.

"I have heard that there will be no promotions again this year and perhaps not the next. Will you wait so very long?" When Helga looked away, pretending not to hear him, Massys loudly turned the chair about in a scraping circle to face Jones and Wronski. "Helga," Massys said loudly, "believes that any Baldung heir must only be born if there is enough money to properly support him in the style of her own family. Poor Josef." Massys made a production of sighing and shaking his head sadly. Behind him, the imperious Helga's glare was enough to strike most men dead. Something malicious peeked out from behind Massys' smiling façade. "You would think that the continuation of such exalted pureblood lines would be of the utmost importance, would you not?" Helga's cultivated air disappeared into the hard lines of a snarl and, as she readied a no doubt scathing reply, Massys said, "You are skilled in the game of darts, Professor Wronski? I know that Professor Jones is a keen shot. I lost last time. I have not faced you yet. Do you have the time?"

With the look of a man being thrown a life preserver, Wronski staggered back and glanced over his shoulder. "Sure. Looks like we might have to wait."

"Then," Massys declared, "we will order another pitcher and wait until our turn." Massys held up a hand, pointed two fingers and made a few arcane gestures. "It will arrive shortly." He turned back to see Helga watching him. Her well-bred features purveyed a mixture of contempt and boredom before she looked away. Massys turned back to Wronski and Jones with the air of someone amused by a private joke. Whistling under his breath, he headed towards the dartboards. Wronski followed, leaving Jones to fidget uncomfortably.

Helga made a point of ignoring the American; the slight gave Jones time to make a study of a pampered rich girl who clearly felt her current situation was beneath her. How many times, Jones wondered, had she done dirty work for people just like Helga Baldung? Money and breeding didn't promise ability or brains. In Frau Baldung's case, Jones uncharitably decided that the pure blood had only managed a rather long nose to look down on halfbloods, Muggle-borns and Muggles. Holding onto that thought, she fished out a cigarette and stood idly tapping it against the package while she debated what to do next. On the third tap, the summons was answered.

Hans Mueller walked through the door looking sunburned and tired. From his clothing, Jones guessed he'd spent the day working outside. Even after spending hours talking to the man, she knew almost nothing about his private life. Striking her lighter, she touched the flame to her cigarette and surveyed the object of her confusion. He looked weird to her out of uniform. Out of the black jacket and slacks, he looked smaller, but still big. Close-cropped dark brown hair stood up in places and stuck down in others. Hat hair. When he bent down to exchange greetings with Massys, she saw a sprinkling of gray. In regular clothing, other things stood out that the uniform softened. At some time his nose had been broken and had set slightly off. Dark, wiry hair crawled up his startling bare arms. Jones smirked. That was the most Mueller she'd ever seen bared. The loud, orange short-sleeved shirt had to have been a present. She hoped he wouldn't buy anything like that. From where she stood, she wouldn't have been able to say what it was she found attractive. The thought that it might be his sheer size bothered her. She'd had a horrible crush on Yuri Gregorov for months and it was entirely possible that she'd merely transferred that crush from one big man to another. Neither talked much. She tried to find any other similarities and was relieved when the list ended there. Sucking down the last of the cigarette, she decided that the whole thing was madness. She'd been alone this long, it was hardy the end of the world if everything stayed the way it was. He was fun to play pool with and a good darts player. It was a Saturday night and she'd be damned if she just called it a night without a game.

Mueller crouched next to Massys while Wronski fixed his gaze on the dart games. As she got closer, Jones realized that the ordered pitcher of beer surrounded by four glasses had arrived during her inventory of Mueller. Casually, she leaned over and grabbed a glass. Before she could reach for the pitcher, Mueller took her glass and filled it. His surly features softened in a fleeting smile before he turned back to Massys. Jones pulled a chair over and pushed it behind Mueller, startling him. She dragged another over and made certain to sit next to Wronski.

"You look burned," she observed. Mueller had never mentioned any hobbies or sports. His shoes and slacks were speckled with grass and an occasional green smear. Wishing she hadn't just had a cigarette, she tried sniffing for clues. Intermingled with the smell of innumerable cigarettes, she caught the scent of grass and gasoline. "Yard work?" she guessed.

Massys stopped in mid patter and refilled his glass to hide his grin. "Ja, Hans," he said as he fought back his smile, "did you finish everything? Frau Sture is satisfied?" Massys waited only long enough for Mueller to look annoyed. "She must be. You have seen more sun than usual. Did the wood get put away? Winter will not be for months, but it is always wise to begin early." Mueller seemed disinclined to provide any more information. "Too bad, eh?"

"What's too bad?" Jones asked. Watching Mueller squirm was enjoyable in a twisted way.

"Ah, well, Hans is such a good follower of all the rules."

Jones toyed with kicking Massys under the table. It was clear that the youngest of "the boys" fully intended to draw the process out. "Rules?"

"Were it me and my landlady wished me to work for her, I would have," Massys lowered his voice significantly, "expedited the process. A little spell here, a charm there, the duties would have vanished." He paused a beat until Mueller prepared to protest. "Now, true, Johannes would have not approved. It is against the rules, but rules are meant to be broken or at least bent from time to time. I have even seen the great Auror Werner do so. Now, Hans follows orders. He is a good man."

"What'd you have to do?" Jones asked. Mueller's sunburn seemed to deepen at the question. She pulled out her package of cigarettes and offered him one. The bribe worked.

"Not much." He began searching through his pockets. Jones handed over her lighter and got a flash of a smile as thanks.

Making a show of it, she leaned towards him and sniffed loudly. Mueller's eyes bugged as he backed away. "Mowed a lawn." She sniffed again. "Hmmm, stacked firewood." She couldn't smell anything to corroborate the last, but Massys had given her the hint. "Paul, what do you think?" Wronski gave her a sideways glance, clearly asking to be left out of the game. "Oh, come on. Your nose works better than mine."

"I don't smoke," Wronski grumbled, but he leaned forward and made a show of inhaling. "I'm not as good at this as Loup is." He ignored the narrowing of Jones' eyes. "Grass, dirt. Did you plant things or weed?" Mueller's little dark eyes went smaller at the question. Massys laughed and refilled Wronski's glass. Egged on, Wronski felt braver and inhaled again. "Wood. Metal. I dunno. Repair work? Kinda steel smell and," he sniffed again, "that funky electric smell. A drill?" His nose twitched as he analyzed the odors. "My guess is repair work, lawn mowing and some sort of digging. Oh, and you had something with onions for lunch."

"You can tell all that from just sniffing?" Massys took a deep draught of his beer. "Amazing. Do you need to spend a great deal of time in the animal form?"

The question got a grumpy look from Wronski. "I haven't been anything but me for months. Loup says the more time you spend shifted, the better your nose works."

"She spends too much time as a wolf," Jones blurted and immediately wished she'd said nothing.

"Is there a problem with that?" Massys asked.

There was a moody silence while Jones glared at Wronski. Slouching even further down his chair, Wronski said, "It's addictive, I guess. It never appealed to me that much. I can do it, but there isn't much of a reason to. I think Loup spends time every day as a wolf. When she's having one of her insomnia spells, she naps while she's a wolf. Kinda weird, but she says it's easier to sleep that way. And, she has someone to be a wolf with." Wronski scratched the back of his head and looked anywhere but at Jones. "Pack animal thing. She makes old Gregorov go out and hunt a couple of times a week. Seems to be good for him. He isn't nearly as grouchy as he used to be."

"That's because she's the alpha. He takes his orders like a good puppy." Even two years later, Jones still fumed. It wasn't that Gregorov had ever shown the least interest in her, it was the fact that he had been interested in Loup. Jones always felt like she was competing with the other witch and losing, even when there had been no competition, was hard.

"Yeah, but he wins most of the fights as a person. She's not very good at arguing. Maybe they trade off. He gets to be the alpha when they're human and she gets to be when they're wolves." In English, Wronski added, "Drop it."

"How often do you..." Massys made a circling motion with his hand.

Reaching for her lighter, Jones toyed with pretending she hadn't heard the question. None of the others took the hint and changed the topic. It would be better to just get it over with. "Almost never. I was kind of surprised when that was a prerequisite for the Dark Arts jobs at Durmstrang. Then, I heard the stories of what it used to be like." She lit her cigarette and left it to burn while she held it aloft. "Paul's told me stories about when Petrov and Tal were still alive. I guess that Rabe replaced someone named Kramnik and Siegfried took over for Tchigorin. They were all wolves. The whole group was at one time. Guess it was easier that way." Idly rolling the ash off, she managed a lopsided smile. "You'd only have to deal with the alpha and the rest would do what they're told. Of course, it hasn't been all wolves since whenever they hired Gilles and he's been around for a very long time."

"I looked it up," Wronski admitted, stealing a glance at the still silent Mueller. "The last time it was all wolves, except for de Rais, was in the forties. Most of the wolf Animagi were Russian and German. I've always wanted to ask Gregorov about how the whole magic thing was handled in the USSR."

"Very different," Massys said, suddenly growing sober. "I have interviewed several survivors."

"Survivors?" Jones leaned forward, hoping for more.

"Have they been here long?" Mueller tapped a finger on the table and flicked it towards the table where the Baldungs sat nursing their drinks.

"Long enough." Emptying the last of the pitcher, Massys held up his hand, but Mueller reached up and pulled it down. Massys stiffened and just as suddenly he smiled at Mueller. "Of course. We will wait until after Johannes finally arrives. Where is he? He seemed ready to leave when he released me."

Mueller said nothing and shifted his chair to better watch both the door and the Baldungs.

"Wanna play a game of pool?" Jones hitched a thumb over her shoulder at one of the two tables. Both were unoccupied. When Mueller didn't answer immediately, she turned to Massys. "How about you?"

"Partners?"

"For the next pitcher."

"Done!" Massys stood, shoving the chair back with a flex of his knees. "I claim Professor Wronski. You may have Hans, if he will consent to enjoying an evening away from work. If not, then the office awaits." Mueller jerked a glare and then nodded.

The game started slowly, but made up for it. Wronski proved to be the best player of the lot and, after another pitcher of beer, loosened up to have some fun and freely harass the lot, even Mueller. By the third game, Mueller relaxed. He and Jones made a colorful team. He could lean over half the table without stretching while she couldn't reach many of the shots without using the bridge or waiting until her party looked away so she could scoot onto the table. They were good-natured about it. Wronski heckled her about being height challenged. She slipped back and forth between German and English, haranguing everyone within earshot. The fun level dipped when Werner showed up.

Johannes Werner arrived still in uniform. Massys still wore his, too, but the jacket had long ago been discarded and his white shirt was now speckled with blue chalk and splashes of beer. Werner gave his junior-most staff member a quick glare as he passed on his way to speak with Baldung.

"Doesn't he ever go home?" Jones asked, chalking up her cue.

Mueller reached over her to claim the chalk. "Not often enough." With a thud, he set the butt end of the cue onto the floor and leaned against it while watching Werner talk to Baldung.

Wronski, already under the influence of more beer than he would have normally drunk in months, sniggered. "He needs to get laid."

The comment undid the careful shot Jones was trying to line up. She collapsed into a snickering heap on the pool table.

Massys moved a wayward ball back into place and retrieved the cue ball that raced along the felt. "Others have made similar suggestions. Do you have anyone in mind?"

"I'd think he'd have a waiting list. He isn't bad looking." She squinted down the table, trying to remember what she had been planning. "Of course, whoever the lucky girl was would have to compete with his job."

"You think he is handsome?" Mueller asked.

Jones' second attempt at the shot stuttered horribly. Wincing, she watched as the cue ball zoomed past where it should have banked and hit nothing. "Timing," she groaned and waved a hand at the table for Massys' turn. She stepped back next to Mueller to watch as Massys stepped around the other end of the table, evaluating two possible combinations. Chewing on her lip, Jones thought the simpler of the two would be the best bet, but Massys liked the fancy, multiple banking shots. It had proved his downfall earlier.

"You did not answer." Mueller handed her glass to her and hung on to it when she took it.

The conversation flustered her into uncomfortable laughter. "He's ok, I guess." She took a sip as she madly sought a reasonable response. "Kinda short." She almost missed Mueller's smirk. "Too young, anyway." The glass in her hand slipped. She stowed it on a nearby table and tried to hide her sweaty palms by gripping the back of a chair. Flailing for something to say, she patted out a cigarette to offer him, always a safe bet. "Something to occupy your mouth." Too late, her face blazed red. Turning away, she muttered something about a bathroom and raced away, cursing herself.

Hiding in the bathroom had never been her style. She washed her face in cold water and tried to get some order on her hair. Maybe it hadn't sounded as bad as she thought. Maybe she'd said it in English and Mueller hadn't understood her. It was possible. She'd never heard him speak English. Massys did, though. His third or fourth language he told her weeks ago. Her jacket was a rumpled mess. She took it off and surveyed herself dubiously. Too much beer, she thought, eyeing herself in profile. Too much beer and way too much junk food. She tried one of the few practical household spells she knew, the Abluere, to remove some of the jacket's wrinkles. The results were less than spectacular, but it looked better. She donned the jacket as emotional armor and returned.

Things had changed during her absence. Baldung stood next to the door, a sheaf of papers in his hand, talking to Werner. Werner gave a brief nod to acknowledge her, but his attention never wavered from Baldung. As she passed, she noticed the strain between the two. The light by the door seemed to pick out the furrows in Baldung's brow and the tension in his stance, a far cry from the man she'd met a few years ago. That Baldung had a streak of laziness in him. This one was under a tremendous amount of pressure.

The game had ended while she was gone. Wronski and Massys sat at a table. Wronski looked awful. Leaning on his forearms, he swayed slightly. Massys looked fine and was talking animatedly. She slowed long enough to overhear the word "beer" and left. Mueller held up a fist of darts, the brightly colored flights clashing wildly with his shirt. She nodded and forced a smile. Maybe her stupid comment hadn't been noticed. Mueller toed the line and tossed his first dart. By the time it was her turn, she'd relaxed almost enough to aim, but the first toss missed the board. The second was better.

They changed games after the first round. It was amazing how many variations you could play with the same number of darts. While she waited her turn, she kept an eye on the Werner/Baldung discussion. The tension had, if anything, grown. Baldung seemed adamant about something and Werner had withdrawn, a sure sign that he wouldn't give up anything. Before she could try to analyze what was going on, Mueller handed her the darts. During her third time up, she felt someone standing at her elbow and was startled to see Werner there. "Can I buy you a beer?" she offered.

Werner seemed torn. Glancing behind him, she caught Mueller's eye and nodded at Werner. Without speaking, Mueller passed a glass over to Werner who took it and stared into the amber depths as if expecting a message. Whatever he sought, it didn't arrive during Jones' turn or during Mueller's. After a time, Werner sat down at a table behind them, staring straight ahead, still holding the beer. Jones took a long look at him and decided that she didn't want to know what was bothering him. As if to head her off, Mueller stepped behind Werner and shook his head in warning. They shared a brief conversation comprised of raised eyebrows, half smiles and rolling eyes.

The darts game refused to end. They came close, but neither could reach zero correctly. "Draw?" she offered, extending her hand to shake on it. Mueller glared at the board and then smoothed the flights of his darts as if considering the option. "One more round?" Unwillingly, he extended his hand and they shook. "Now what?" she asked and then noticed his attention had shifted. Across the room, Werner stood next to the table where Wronski and Massys sat. Jones wondered what the time was. Wronski's red eyes told of his exhaustion and his slack face of a pitcher too many. Massys looked fresh and alert as he slumped back in his chair, a hand moving occasionally while talking. Werner looked as worn out as Wronski. "Maybe it's time to go back. Poor Paul looks dead." She didn't feel that good, either.

"Will you come back soon?" Mueller's usually neutral voice had a wistful sound to it.

The tone surprised her. The eternally springing hope sprung up. "Maybe. School starts for the professors next week. We have meetings and scheduling to deal with. That shouldn't be too bad. My schedule hasn't changed for as long as I've been here. I heard that they're going crazy over in the Defense area. They never got a replacement for Jessup. He's complaining up a storm. He had plans to be in Spain somewhere and never have to deal with another snowy winter again. They had to offer him some kind of deal to get him to stay until they hire his replacement. Now that Lester's dead..." Jones coughed, trying to decide whether to say any more or not. She'd seen part of the spell that she was certain caused Lester's death. In all of her years working with the Dark Arts, she'd never seen anything like it before and didn't really want to, either. "Well, they need to hire two people. I've seen Heiniger and Berger racing up and down the administrative wing every time I've been in the castle. Almost everyone's back, except for Haken. I don't know how the Headmaster convinced him to stay for that Auror training you had over the summer. He was in a horrible mood when he left to see his family."

Mueller shook his head, refusing to answer. He clapped a massive hand on her shoulder. "Come back soon. We will finish this game."

Finish this game? she thought. I don't even know what this game is.