Ticking of the Clock

Swearing that she would never touch another broom again, Loup sent Magda off to fetch the book after classes had begun. The tome was even larger than she recalled. The script was dense and used both archaic language and characters. To give her time to study it, Magda was drafted to grade. The process was slow on both fronts. The volume had been written in an era when obfuscation was considered an art. The information was presented with many digressions and classical allusions. There was no index, nor table of contents. With its nonlinear presentation, it was impossible to flip through pages to scan for information. The many-hundred-page book would require thorough reading. With a fresh pot of coffee at the ready, Loup settled in to start from page one. There was only one problem: the homework made little sense to Magda. During what seemed an endless stream of questions, Loup discovered that Magda had never had any course work in the Dark Arts. None.

"I was to work in the medical field. I wished to heal, not kill." Magda added the last with a sniff. "If it were not for Ludwig, I would know nothing at all about," she waved a hand over the pile of homework, "this. It was not considered a proper field to study in my family. We have produced many great seers as well as healers. There are no dark witches or wizards in my family."

While Magda fetched lunch, Loup scribbled the basics of what she thought each answer should contain. By the end of the day, most of the homework had been graded without any of the troublesome comments Loup usually included. The book had been scanned to a much less satisfactory end. Loup had pages of notes, very few complete. When the bells tolled the end of classes, she closed the book and took it over to the storage closet next to the staff room, storing it under a stack of boxes.

Thursday morning, Magda announced that the signs were ripe for her. Was Loup ready to do her part? The usually arrogant dark mage had to grudgingly admit that she barely understood what she had read. Magda, looking strained and sounding shrill, began a tirade. Somewhere during the first minutes, the language segued into Romanian and all Loup could do was blink and feel as if she had let the other woman down.

The "standard" contained a lot of different spells, many of which were presented in partial form, used to illustrate a particular topic. Loup had pieced together parts, but nothing she felt comfortable enough to use. It would require practice. Practice that required someone to work the magic upon.

She changed into her oldest black slacks and started to pull on a black sweater then stopped. Although her entirely black attire was hardly unique, it might be enough to identify her should something go wrong. Gregorov's wardrobe was examined until she found a blue sweater and a gray jacket, which hung to her knees. The colors made her feel drab, but dressed like that, she felt she looked suitably anonymous.

The guards waved her through when she asked to use the Portkey to the village, giving her only a passing glance. Her entirely black eyes were far better identification to them than anything else. The Portkey brought her into the almost-empty room at the other side. It still reeked of mildew to her sensitive nose. Down the narrow hallway and then, after taking a deep breath, she stepped through the curtains and into the bathroom at the tavern.

It was early still. The lunch crowd had yet to arrive. Only the hardened drinkers and socializers clustered around the bar. Loup jammed on a pair of sunglasses and rushed through the room, ignoring any comments or knowing looks.

The village's streets were full of cars and its sidewalks crammed with women of all ages and the occasional old man. Ducking down the first alleyway, she followed it, looking for someone to practice upon. The alley held no one. Neither did the area where the drunks tended to sleep off a binge. Frustration began to sink in and more than a little unease. She circled the park twice, looking for anyone sitting alone, but most of those there were mothers with small children or a few older men keeping themselves amused by watching their world.

The church yielded a test subject. In the graveyard, a lone woman stood staring down at a grave. The plot was swept clean of snow and a fresh wreath of holly had been set there. As Loup crept up behind the woman, she could hear the one-sided conversation. She didn't understand a word the woman said, so choked were the words with old tears. As the mourner reached out a hand to touch the tombstone, Loup sent the woman into a deep sleep.

Crouched behind the shielding picket of tombstones, Loup pulled out her notes and reviewed them. The subject breathed deeply in her enchanted sleep. Sleep wasn't the same thing as the required trance. "Stupor docilis," Loup recited, hoping that she had found the entire spell that would force the woman into the proper state needed for the next step. Nothing changed. With a shrug, she opted to continue. It had seemed easy when Gregorov had forced his subject to reveal large segments of selected memories, but she had been unable to recall how he'd done it. She wasn't certain, but she thought that, at this point, the woman should be capable of being reached without any other magic. "What was your husband's name?" She had a vague idea of creating a memory of the day before being rainy.

The test subject lay still, eyes slightly open. The breathing was slow. When Loup spoke, there was no twitch or sign that anything had been heard.

Loup consulted her notes again. "Loqui," the black mage ventured, not really believing that commanding someone to speak was the answer. The woman blinked slowly and whimpered. The notes were useless. Groaning, Loup wrapped her arms around her knees and stared at her practice victim. She wasn't even certain that she had the right spell for the receptive trance. It could be a language problem. While many of the villagers spoke German, some didn't. Others knew a smattering of French. Neither seemed to be the native language. Maybe she needed to find someone else, someone who could understand her commands? Maybe she needed something to eat. Reaching out with her wand, she gave the woman a quick prod and watched the lack of a reaction. The cemetery was empty of the living save for them. The spell would undoubtedly wear off soon. With that, she stood and dusted off her clothing. Lunch would help.

The tavern's lunch special was inoffensive, yet another variation on pickled fish and potatoes. She slowly counted out money then took the plate into a dark corner. There, she reviewed her progress. The result had been dismal. Between bites, she outlined the procedure, trying to figure out if she knew what had gone wrong. Too many gaps in her knowledge. No one to ask. Inconclusive results. Depressed and annoyed, she folded her papers up, stuffed them into the jacket pocket and then turned her attentions to a magazine someone had left. She couldn't read it, but the photographs were entertaining.

Their scents announced them before she saw them. Why, she wondered, do Aurors always smell like wood smoke? Pushing her chair as far as she could into her chosen dark corner, she saw Jan Massys, one of the four senior Aurors at the village's substation, buy a pitcher of beer. Josef Baldung, another Auror, read through a plastic-coated menu and pointed to an item while the bartender wrote on a pad. The difference between the two amused Loup. Baldung was thin and gangly, already into his mid forties and still of only middling rank. She'd heard he was ambitious, but she knew little of his accomplishments. Massys, on the other hand, was still in his twenties, short, dark and was a study in failed potential. From where she sat, fully forty feet away, she could feel his energy crackle. There were rumors, things she'd overheard from Jones who spent what Loup felt was an inordinate amount of time with the Aurors, that spoke of a troubled mind. Massys was a fluke, born of "normal" parents with an abnormal amount of power that consumed him. The few times Loup had seen him, he'd been on duty. As someone trained to gauge another's skills, she was certain he was one of the great powers, but Massys drank. Drank a lot. Jones had said he heard voices and the liquor stilled them.

The two Aurors, dressed in their black uniforms so very like any number of other police uniforms, waited by the bar as their food was readied. The talk was of upcoming budget announcements and Baldung wondered aloud if the promotions would be posted for the year. Loup hunched small in her corner, hoped they would leave soon. She cursed in a long growl when their food arrived and they took seats at the bar to eat. To leave, either to find another subject to practice on or to get back to the school, she would have to pass by them.

Almost exactly an hour later, Massys called out. Loup, half-asleep, woke to see Werner standing next to the two. The District's chief Auror was agitated and motioned for the others to come with him. Money clattered onto the bar as the group strode out. She wrestled with her decision, torn between curiosity and getting back to safety. Going back meant facing Magda. The Aurors seemed the lesser threat.

The tavern was conveniently placed on the major road of the small village. An alley ran off to one side and another street was offset across a small plaza. The Aurors could be anywhere. Loup ducked into the alley and shifted into her wolf form, wishing for once that she were less conspicuous. Nose to the ground, she quickly caught the scent. The wolf trotted down the sidewalk, keeping as close to the buildings as possible. Many nights' sleep had been broken by a recurring nightmare of being hit by a car while transformed. The trail became muddled the closer to the Northern District's offices the men had walked. She cast about close to a corner, ducking away to hide near a stairway when a street sweeper pushed his cart along the sidewalk. Nose again to the trail, she caught the sound of Werner's voice.

The men were walking quickly. Werner was talking, his voice low and insistent. Loup tried to catch up and quickly fell back when Hans Mueller appeared at a gateway. She stopped and scooted into the darkest shade she could find. The gate led into the graveyard she'd only recently been in. Damn! They'd found her test subject. Had she been sloppy? Could they tie her to any of it?

A narrow road ran the perimeter of the church grounds both inside and out, the easier to move hearses and mourners around. When the men walked in via the gate, she tore around the outside wall. Running as fast as she could, she reached the back of the cemetery and darted through an open gate there. In the shade of a large crypt, she collapsed, trying hard to control her panting. The men arrived moments later.

"The groundskeeper found her in this state," Werner pulled out a watch to check the time, "almost a half an hour ago. He claims that she visited at least once a week, usually in the morning. Her limbs are cold. She's been on the ground for at least an hour, perhaps more."

"It looks to be the work of an incompetent," Baldung sneered. "Look, she is in the first stage only."

"I thought so also. Why only the first stage? And why so deeply? Perhaps he was interrupted?" Werner circled to view the woman from another angle, still looking for a missed clue.

"A great deal of energy was spent on this," Massys observed. There was a loud crunch of gravel as his foot scraped along the edge of the grave. "Why so much power for just this?" Massys looked over his shoulder. Loup flattened and closed her eyes to keep the glitter there hidden.

"Can you identify who did this?" Werner asked, sounding rushed.

"I can try. I doubt it, though." Massys again, the words were followed by more scraping sounds and then a rush of power that made Loup want to look. The level of energy flowed in waves.

"There! What is that?" Werner sounded excited.

A feeling of doom settled on Loup. If they knew it was she, she'd be forced to leave or, worse yet, taken into custody. Perhaps a dog wouldn't elicit too much attention. Slowly she crept forward to watch as they knelt around the supine form. Massys adjusted his spell.

"I have not seen quite that before. Have any of you?" Werner stood and brushed off his slacks, his attention still fixed to the diagnostic work.

Baldung and Mueller shook their heads and joined Werner, but Massys still knelt. "Once. A very long time ago. It was a demonstration that Herr Bischoff gave during my training. He was a master of this sort of work, but the technique is very old. One could call it archaic. There are much better methods."

Archaic. The wolf snarled in frustration and then flattened herself against the ground as Baldung looked back towards the way the men had come. "What shall we do about the victim?"

Werner 's attention was fixed on Massys as Massys spread a hand over the diagnostic spell. In the light of day, the lines were faint but for a second all leapt into an electric brightness. "I believe I can break it, but it will take some effort. Whoever worked this is very powerful. Once he learns how to focus, he could be quite formidable." Massys shifted his weight back on his heels. "It could be a joke. A student perhaps or someone looking to teach a technique. I do not understand why this particular method."

"Break it. Get her out of here before she causes too many questions. We will need to have more patrols over the next week. If he is still around, he will no doubt wish to try again." Werner stepped back, motioning the others to follow and let Massys have full access.

Wishing she could get closer, Loup watched as Massys went through a routine that she had never seen before. Only bits of the words could be heard. Massys wasn't one for grand gestures or flowery incantations. He beat the edges of the spell until it slowly crumbled to pieces and ended in a brief yellow flash.

The woman woke with a long keening cry and struck out, hitting Massys hard on a cheek. She was hysterical, screaming and then broke down into sobs. The men looked uncomfortable. Baldung finally stepped in to provide support and comfort.

Archaic. Loup mulled the word over. The book was most definitely archaic. Then what were the current methods?

* * *

Dressed again in her familiar black clothing, Loup paced the hallway of the Dark Arts building, waiting. While she knew most of the professors' schedules, there was one whose hours seemed fluid and who appeared when he chose to do so. It was for Gilles de Rais that she circled the stone hallway.

Time was running out, at least for this month. Magda seemed obsessed with starting her project immediately. Loup's ego hated to admit defeat, but today's test had proved that she hadn't mastered any of the skills needed for the work. She doubted very much that Gregorov would consent to teach her even the basics. With the pressure of a biological clock, she needed a mentor. For the last year, she had sat at de Rais feet, grateful for the darkness he taught. From what she could tell and from what she had seen, there was nothing in the field of the Dark Arts that he did not know. She had studied under several masters in her long career, but never one of his caliber.

The sporadic lessons seemed to amuse him. Whether it was understanding the layers of meaning presented in an ancient text or debating the price that the Darkness claimed for its aid, he pushed her beyond the limits of what she done before. Before the lessons, she had been sure of her superiority in the Arts and a year under his tutelage, she felt humbled, but only in his office.

The icy draft from the sagging door at the far end of the corridor stabbed at ankles and nose. A cup of coffee would have helped. Even a sip of that overly sweet black tea that Gregorov liked would be welcome. Perhaps de Rais was not coming back after when she thought he taught.

"The wisdom of the ancients is difficult for the impatient." De Rais stood before the door to his quarters, his expression inscrutable as usual. "It is true that everything you seek to know so quickly is within that volume, but the men of that era had different goals than you."

"I tried! I read it, but the information is spread out. None of the spells are whole. They're all in pieces, used as examples," she sputtered, still amazed at how the man always seemed to appear out of nowhere.

"You would do well to consider the source of the recommendation. Professor Gregorov is quite correct in his assessment that that work is still considered the standard, but in which field?"

Realization dawned and Loup snarled as she collapsed against the wall. "It isn't for manipulation, is it? It's for the theory only. Another of Yuri's jokes."

"Perhaps. Professor Gregorov's experience in this field is extensive. It would be generous to assume that he wished you to understand the way a mind responds to the sort of manipulation that you strive to learn." De Rais almost smiled. "This does not appear to be the path you were meant to travel. You have never been an admirer of the truly subtle aspects of the Art. For one as you, it is the sheer strength and power that calls you to the Dark." De Rais opened his door and took a step in before adding, "Do not question the wolf for he will not answer what you ask. Seek instead others who have similar skills, although not in the same depth as one tutored by Russian masters."

Loup rubbed her eyes as a headache threatened. It seemed as though de Rais was not going to share any information, either. "I don't think asking an Auror to teach me how to change a man's memories would be a good idea. I should have paid the money in Paris and sat at one of the masters' feet there."

"Think, Loup," de Rais' voice was edged with annoyance. "Try to reason instead of assuming there is no answer in my words. Would I send you to bargain with one such as Auror Werner or any of his men?"

She took a long look at de Rais, trying to decide whether he would or not. De Rais' sense of humor, when it showed, was cruel. It took little stretch of her imagination to see him do exactly that sort of thing. It seemed to her that he sighed almost imperceptibly in annoyance. "Who else then? The Defense professors wouldn't talk to me unless I forced them to. The only sorts of people I've ever heard of who really understand this sort of thing work for the police or the…" she looked over at de Rais who had allowed the faintest of smiles to show, "government. Kessler? He's an idiot. No. Haken. Haken would know, wouldn't he? He'll never tell me anything."

"There are those who are foolish because they fail in all areas. Others, because there is little else for them to do." With that, he closed his door and left Loup alone to consider what he had said.

"Typical," she grumbled to herself. De Rais seldom gave a straight answer to a question. In a way, she'd almost be disappointed if he did. The idea of asking Siegfried Kessler any questions at all galled her. It would have to be him. Haken would never share any information with her, especially of a background he seemed determined to hide. But, to lower herself to ask Kessler about something concerning magic in any form… In her eyes, Kessler was a poor teacher who gave desultory lectures and used his position to sleep with his students. His abilities were largely unknown to her since he seldom seemed bothered to use them. And, she couldn't help but recall, he had made it perfectly clear that he thought she was arrogant and selfish as well as an intruder who had claimed his best friend's time. At the last thought, she began to growl. Kessler was one to make comments in a stage whisper. She'd heard a great deal over the last two years about the resources she took up, how the group had been disrupted and how there weren't enough chairs to go around the table in the staff room since she'd arrived. Ask Kessler a question? Allow him to lecture to her? There had to be another way.

Opting to avoid talking to Kessler, she grabbed up her cloak and headed out the door. It was already growing dark, the northern reaches seemed to wallow in endless night during the winter. Crunching through the snow, she ran through the remaining Defense Against the Dark Arts professors and tried to think which might be worth cultivating. Heiniger was the best bet and then possibly Berger. Jessup's mind seemed to wander, probably dreaming of a warmer place to live and no grading. Hyde had never shown any aptitude towards anything but reading from his textbook - or so she'd heard sniped between the other three men when she had eavesdropped upon the group. Of the two best possibilities, Berger would be the easier to crack.

The thought stopped her at the base of the stairs to the castle. It would destroy him. To get the kind of information she needed would require ripping it from him. She didn't have the skills or training to do it neatly. That had never been her trade. Armand had done that sort of work. Maître Faucon would never let her dabble there. Early in her career, she'd been allowed to work on a convicted felon in an assessment of her skills. The man had proved more difficult than she'd expected. The prisoner had a well-constructed mental defense that foiled her attempts to ferret out the names of accomplices. The Aurors who sat in a circle around her, watching and critiquing her attempts already knew the names. She could still hear them sneer when she started for the fourth time. A much younger Loup had felt the sweat trickle down her neck as she panicked, afraid of looking inept. She'd watched two other trials by mages of far less power than hers. Both had cracked their subjects within a half an hour, pulling the information without any obvious damage. One of the Aurors had turned to her Maître and suggested that perhaps that the prisoner needed a man's strength to cull the information. Foolishly, she'd thought to show the audience how much strength she had. The prisoner had died. One moment, the man had cursed her and the next, his eyes rolled up and everything went slack. The Aurors' analysis claimed that she had burst three major arteries in the body. The brain showed signs of massive trauma and, surprisingly, burning in areas associated with thought. She was never given an official chance again. Armand, during the times when they weren't fighting, had brought her a few passed out drunks to use as an exercise. She'd improved over the years, but still hadn't mastered the technique of ferreting out specific information without pulling great chunks of memory and squeezing it out.

Maybe she could find something in one of their offices? Maybe she could convince Gregorov to show her just the basics if she approached him differently? Maybe she could convince Magda to give up on the sham and have an affair? How did she let herself get involved in this?

Her reverie was broken by the bells tolling three long peals, the end of most classes. The empty grounds blossomed red as students left the greenhouses, others ran down the stairs to their Quidditch practice, younger ones tore out to play in the snow while the older ones wandered out to cluster with their friends. Loup stepped back and stood with her back against the balustrade. Some of the younger ones ran screaming by, stumbling just long enough to scoop up a handful of snow and throw it at laughing friends. A knot of girls, probably sixth or seventh year students, ambled by, caught up in their personal lives. Loup caught the snatches of conversation she expected: boys, a friend's broken romance, their broken romance, boys, a very brief mention of homework, and more about boys. She'd eavesdropped on the reverse conversation between the boys. The topics were similar, only the boys tended to be a bit more graphic in their description and sports substituted for broken relationships.

A group, all talking loudly of Quidditch and their team's abilities, swaggered by. The tall blonde girl that Loup pegged as Lowenstein's "this year's girl" trailed slightly behind. The blonde kept looking around as she searched for someone. The drama's next act unfolded when the girl stopped and turned back, arms outstretched and ran forward to embrace the man that Loup thought of as "Magda's husband". Brazen and trashy, Loup thought. She was still examining that thought when the scent hit. The Animagus' nose was always too acute. Emotions all had their particular tang, but that of arousal one of the most sharp. Biting commentary sprang to mind, most dealing with the topic of adultery, when she heard a sharp "tsk" sound.

Gregorov, wearing a carefully expressionless face, looked at the scene and then back at Loup. He didn't need to say a thing, the non-verbal cues were there to be read: keep silent, it's none of your business, leave it be. Her equally non-verbal response was that it was an insult to her friend. The twitch of his nose repeated that it was none of her affair and that she should keep to her own. Loup went carefully still, alerting Gregorov that it was perhaps time to change the topic. As he searched for something to distract her, Kessler caught up to them.

"First time you have seen him with one of the beauties, eh?" Kessler asked quietly. "Their arrangement is quite amiable. I wish my wife was as understanding as Magda." He leaned forward and nudged Gregorov. "This one is spectacular. I have seen her in the halls. In his room. Ludwig needs to reset the silencing spells. Our entire floor of the dungeons echoed the other afternoon." His laugh insinuated the passion he'd heard. "The girl is a moaner, very much like that Ukrainian girl you had three years ago." Still laughing, he imitated a long, passionate groan and added a few choice phrases.

Gregorov sneered and turned away. Kessler could never resist a chance to call Loup's attention to the list of Gregorov's past lovers. The Russian made a show of hefting his satchel in preparation to leave.

"Those were the days, eh? You hunted with me. Remember the twins from Norway? That was a year! We both were on probation for missing so many classes. I still have a scar from…" Kessler grinned as he opened his coat. He made a show as if were about to display the mark.

"Enough, Siegfried." Gregorov spoke with icy calm. "You have said more than enough." He looked over at Loup. Her set jaw and clenched fists indicated that damage had been done, damage that would take months to repair - again. "You are no friend to me," Gregorov growled as he turned on his heel to go back to his quarters.

Kessler's grin fled. He'd gone too far. He took a step to follow Gregorov and then spotted Loup. He would need to buy her good will to ingratiate himself with Gregorov. Kessler had spent years placating East German officials and had honed his skills keeping them happy as well as their Soviet superiors. With a glance at Gregorov's retreating form and then at Loup, Kessler delved back into old habits and began negotiating a truce.

The smile bought him nothing. Silently, Loup considered any number of things she wanted to do him, discarding each. Lester's death had caused her no end of troubles with the Headmaster. They could prove nothing. No one had ever seen the type of spell she'd used to waste her ex-lover slowly. The Aurors had investigated and their reports stated that no evidence of the Dark Arts had been found. None of the Dark Arts staff had spoken up and, even if they had, none save de Rais had seen the entire enchantment. Lester might have testified against her, but he knew that he'd lost. Killing Kessler would just add to her problems. Weighing the public humiliation of festering boils vs. the private but more satisfying curse of impotence, she glowered at him.

Kessler swallowed and tried again. He started with his tried and true selection of compliments and quickly discarded them. Loup's vanity was centered on her magical skills, not her physical self. Somehow, complimenting someone on her ability to take a man's soul didn't seem right. He fumbled, trying to find a way to make up for his comments. Gregorov would calm down eventually, but Loup could make certain that Kessler had no time with his only friend.

The two eyed each other. One, waiting to be bought off and the other fishing desperately for a way to do so. Finally, Kessler folded his hands in front of him and looked down at her, dropping his usual larger-than-life personality. "What will it take?"

"Information."

His eyes closed as he weighed the word. He was hardly surprised. "Who?"

"Not who. What." Loup glanced over at the Dark Arts building. "I want to learn how to do memory charms. Not Obliviate. The more complex ones."

"You ask a great deal. It takes years to perfect the techniques." Kessler seemed about to launch into one of his lectures, which almost always centered on his own great abilities, but he bit the topic off. "In truth, I know only the rudiments, enough to redirect a recent decision. My superiors preferred that those at my level", Kessler said, standing straighter and ignoring Loup's twitch of disgust, "be able to erase unpleasantries when necessary. I have a document with the procedures and spells used to reach that level only. Yuri is the master of the complex work. I have seen him do it. The level of detail he can create is amazing." Kessler shook his head, recalling the scene. "It is a shame that he hates it so. His knowledge would make an attractive addition to the curriculum. Of course," Kessler chuckled, "it might put his life in danger. There are still men serving the new government who could recall Yuri Gregorov and where he has gone to ground. They may even threaten his family."

Loup ignored the last. Gregorov never mentioned any family. Only Haken ever spoke of family and never to her. "Can I read the document? It's written in German?"

Kessler ran a hand through his hair and then rubbed his jaw, all the while looking over Loup at the students. "If it will buy peace, yes. I should not remind Yuri of things past. He is a good man."

"And you feel he could do better. Or, if not better, then more often."

With a shake of his head, Kessler looked over at Loup and then shrugged. "He is my friend. He and I have had many good times over the years."

"Show me the document."

* * *

It was written in a very plain, no-nonsense style, almost like a checklist. The entire work was no more than sixty pages, including diagrams and an organizational chart. Loup found the chart distracting. Some of the names sounded familiar and others were just interesting. Knowing that Gregorov wouldn't want to talk to her for a while, or at least she thought that he wouldn't, she sat at Kessler's desk and read. Within the first ten pages, she wished she could meet the person who had written it. If ever one needed a primer for basic memory manipulation, this was it. She cast a retention spell, flipped back to the first page and began committing it to memory. The process would take several hours, but she needed to have all of the text memorized. Understanding the nuances would come later.

Gregorov was still angry at dinnertime. He didn't speak to anyone as he picked at his meal. Loup ate her dinner, trying to ignore the icy silence to her right. She used the time to mull over the information, wishing she had a fuller context to pin it to. The checklist contained a few decision points, and it was on those points that she ruminated upon over her after dinner coffee when Gregorov tapped her thigh, indicating she should move so he could leave.

Loup stood to let him leave and prepared to sit back down with her coffee. As she turned to resume her place, Kessler caught her attention. He frowned and then jerked his chin in Gregorov's direction. Clueless, she looked up and realized he was waiting for her. She turned back to the table as if to put her mug down and saw Magda's sad face. Bravely, the little woman smiled at her and waved her off. Feeling as though she would fail someone no matter what she did, she grimaced a smile in response and followed Gregorov.