Need

Chapter 1

 

Done. The plate sat empty in front of Professor Yuri Gregorov, a greasy shine the only sign that it had been heaped with food only minutes earlier. The platters within arm's reach were also empty except for a few sad, cold boiled potatoes that would be a long reach to spear. The lunch hour was only half over and Gregorov found himself without anything to occupy the time until his next class at the Durmstrang Institute began.

The dull rumble of conversation in the Great Hall made a comfortable wall of white noise. Gregorov scratched at his head, jostling the professor next to him, Siegfried Kessler. Kessler grunted in protest and returned to the depths of the novel he was reading. Bored and trapped between Kessler on one side and a napping Ludwig Lowenstein on the other, Gregorov grew restless. He tried reading over Kessler's shoulder and, sneering, chose not to bother. Kessler was engrossed in yet another espionage thriller, nothing that the Russian wanted to read.

Although the school year was only a little over a month old, it already had the feeling of sameness. The same classes, same colleagues, same endless homework assignments to grade, and the same long, dark nights. The only changes were the students and even they had begun to all look the same. It had a comfortable drabness to it, much like the lunch he had just finished. In agreement, his stomach gurgled, reminding him that it still wasn't full. Pushing his hair back out of his eyes, he leaned forward to see if there was any food left at the other end of the Dark Arts' table. An empty platter and serving bowl sat in front of the gently snoring Lowenstein. Beyond him was a pile of scrolls, marking where Rolf Haken hunched, grading, always grading. A basket of bread sat in front of the shining clean plate where Gilles de Rais sat, and, next to that, a plate heaped with wursts and vegetables. That plate belonged to Paul Wronski, the Potions professor. One hand idly spinning an apple, Wronski, as usual, ignored his meal in favor of chatting with Rose Jones who could be heard, but not seen. Gregorov grimaced. Jones could always be heard. Was asking if Wronski wanted the food worth listening to her? Gregorov grumbled to himself and leaned back against the wall as he debated the question.

"I do not have a room for another person. Put her somewhere else!" Todor Rabe's squawk pierced through the soothing hum of voices.

Pleased at having something to distract his rumbling stomach, Gregorov smirked at the scene. Standing before the Headmaster's table was a contest between David and Goliath. Toe-to-toe, Todor Rabe, head of the Dark Arts department, confronted the taller Richard Lester, department head for Defense Against the Dark Arts. Whatever the argument was about, it was clear that Lester was not giving in. Rabe visibly seethed as Lester assumed an icy, superior stance, staring down at the much smaller man. The Headmaster seemed content to leave them snarl.

"Sir!" Rabe prompted. Lester's sneer could be read from across the room.

The Headmaster's response could be read in Rabe's sagging shoulders.

"Guess he lost," Jones said as she buttered another piece of bread. " Wonder what they're here for?" With her butter knife, she pointed towards two people standing at the end of the Headmaster's table.

In that gray stone room filled with the red of the students' robes and the teachers' coats, their black array stood out sharply. The shorter of the two was a black-haired man whose officious air marked him as some kind of bureaucrat, the shining insignia on his uniform unneeded as confirmation. The other was a tall woman, her dark hair streaked with gray, clad in blacker than black robes, an expensive charm.

"Who are you talking about?" Wronski asked. Giving the apple another spin, he shrugged. "Those two? He looks like an Auror, but the uniform's a little bit different. I don't think I've ever seen any of the local guys wearing a hat before." Wronski squinted. "I bet we're getting stuck with her. Looks like Lester's going to take the guy."

Gregorov dug an elbow into Kessler's side and, with a nod and a raised eyebrow, asked if he had anything to add. Closing the book around his finger to mark the place, Kessler needed only the briefest glance before he chuckled. In one of his best, lecture tones, Kessler explained, "A Maître des Sorciers and his Dark Mage. I have not seen either in years. City of Paris. I recognize the insignia. She must be marked, too. He would be her handler for a contract. The Dark Arts are legal in the city itself, but all practitioners must be licensed and bound by the city. The French are very strict about the practice and they tax it heavily. Quite surprising that they are here. Normally, there is more than enough work in Paris itself."

Kessler's booming voice woke Lowenstein, who blinked sleepily during the lecture. "What is his purpose, Siegfried? Why not just the woman?" Yawning, he poured the last of the coffee.

"The Maître is there for a variety of reasons. Control, of course, is the key issue. Each of the registered Mages is bound with a spell similar to the ones used here at Durmstrang. The Maître has the power to trigger it, much like the Headmaster and, unfortunately, our overeager local Aurors." Kessler sighed dramatically as he rubbed his forearm where the Durmstrang Mark was. "They also are the official representatives to the clients, ensuring that the contracts are signed, payment received, and that their charge does not take on any extra work. Their Mages cannot pass through the magical defenses without them. Surrounding the city is a series of spells that force the Dark Mages to remain within. Tricky work done on such a massive scale."

Looking like a thundercloud, Rabe stalked back towards the table, the woman trailing behind. As she got nearer, Kessler made a "tsk" sound. Gregorov raised an eyebrow in question. Kessler pointed to his eyes and then at the approaching woman. There was only blackness there.

Rabe arrived fuming, too angry to speak. Hands firmly clenched behind his back, he glowered across the hall to where the Defense Against the Dark Arts staff's table was. Lester could be seen introducing the Parisian Maître to the professors there. Rabe huffed a sigh. "She will need a place to sleep. Professor Jones, as you are the only woman, she will sleep in your quarters." Jones glowered, but for once did not argue the point.

The Mage's black eyes were disconcerting. It was impossible to tell where she looked. Gregorov examined her, estimating her age close to his own. There was an awkward silence as the group and she stared at each other until De Rais stood and, bowing, invited her to sit. Bodies shifted to produce a spot at the end of the bench. In heavily accented French, she thanked him and, smoothing her robes around her, sat.

"You speak German?" Jones asked.

Gregorov and Kessler exchanged smirks. Jones herself could barely muddle her way though a simple conversation in that language. If it wasn't for a frequently-recast translation spell, Jones would be limited to her almost nonexistent vocabulary and hand gestures. The woman nodded.

The silence was irritating. There were few visitors to Durmstrang and the Dark Arts faculty rarely interacted with anyone outside their own group. While they were not noted for being sociable, their guest was even less so. It became clear that someone else would have to start the conversation.

"City of Paris?" Kessler tried. Another nod. "La Rue des Sorciers?" Again the nod. "You do have a name?"

The woman turned and regarded him, or perhaps looked around him, it was hard to say. "Call me whatever you wish." Her German was as heavily accented as was her French.

Jones began to cluck to herself. "Business is business..."

A smile appeared. "And a job is a job," the Mage answered in a flat, American accent. "San Francisco."

Jones nodded to herself, pleased at being the first to guess. "Seattle. What are you doing in Paris?"

The woman shrugged. "Everyone has to be somewhere. The Dark Arts are legal in Paris. The food is good. There's a lot of work. Taxes are high, but that's the same everywhere."

"Hmmm. Really?" Jones leaned back, evaluating the other woman. "Must have been a lot of lucrative work to have eyes like those. I've heard about them, but I didn't really think anyone worked enough Dark spells to get them."

The woman's face relaxed back into a neutral expression. Students began slowly moving out the door. The afternoon classes would start soon.

Always impatient, Jones tried again. "If you want, I can take you back to the offices. You can leave your things in my quarters. I'll just have to adjust the wards."

Sounding weary, the woman said, "I would prefer to wait until the Auror shows up to speak to me. It's better when they do it in a public place rather than a private one. They tend to be less threatening if there are witnesses." She raked a hand through her mane of dark hair. "Who's in charge of the Aurors in this District?"

"Johannes Werner."

"Werner." She closed her eyes in thought and looked tired rather than threatning. "I've heard of a Werner. I wonder if he's the same Werner as the one in Switzerland."

"He's Swiss," Jones offered. "He can be a complete bastard, too."

"They all are. Self-righteous. Arrogant. Hypocrites..."

As if on cue, Auror Werner entered the hall, adding his own black uniform to dilute the red. Walking by the Dark Arts staff table without a glance, he strode over to meet the Mâitre. They shook hands and the Maître handed a folder to Werner. The two men conferred for a few minutes before turning to walk towards the Dark Arts' table.

The woman stood up stiffly, smoothing the long folds of her robes into place. "The bells have rung. It must be time for your classes to start. Perhaps you should leave."

Auror Werner and the Maître ceased their conversation as they drew closer. Werner gave the assembled staff a pointed look, but no one took the hint. If anything, the professors leaned forward, eager to hear what the Auror had to say. The Maître smiled thinly, nodding in turn to everyone there and then motioned his charge to step forward. With one last glare, Werner opened the folder and began to read, looking up occasionally as if fixing the dark Mage's face better into his memory. The sheaf of information was thick and, after a few pages, he closed the folder. "How long will it be here? Who is the client?"

The Mâitre opened his hands, indicating he had no idea. "Our office has received a query. I am here to present one of our Mages as an applicant."

"What is the contract?" Werner directed the question at the woman.

"Protection," she said. Kessler and Jones both made tsking sounds.

"Are you not a bit...mature...for this line of work?" Werner asked. He tucked the folder under his arm and began to walk around her, as if expecting to find someone else when he finished his stroll.

"Loup's alpha is dead." The Maître offered that enigmatic statement as an answer. He smiled patronizingly as she snarled at him. Gregorov's attention, which had been wandering as the last of the students passed the table, fixed onto the newcomer.

"Hmmm. Dead." Werner retrieved the paperwork and paged through it again. Almost at the end, he found a page and began to read from that point, glancing now and then at the woman in front of him. "That explains a great deal." He closed the folder. "While you wait, you should try to enjoy yourself, if you can find something enjoyable in this place."

"Am I confined to the grounds?" she asked her handler who glanced over at Werner.

"You may not go to the village," Werner warned.

"I'm not interested in returning to the village. I would like to leave the grounds, see the countryside. I would like...to go out at night." She stumbled over the last part, as if looking for another way to make her request.

Smiling unpleasantly, Werner responded, "That is permitted. It has probably been a long time since you were out. I cannot imagine that Paris has many places for one such as you. The deer have not migrated south yet. Or perhaps you prefer solitary hunting. There are always mice."

Clenching her teeth, she said nothing. Werner, however, had mastered that game. Each regarded the other, waiting for the other to say or do something first.

It had the air of a stalemate. Gregorov broke in, "You are an Animagus?"

"Show them," the Maître ordered.

For a heartbeat, she was a large, black wolf and then instantly back to a woman.

"Your classes must be waiting for you." Werner smiled coldly as he surveyed the watching, evaluating crowd. To the Maître he said, "Keep me informed of your progress," and then walked out of the hall.

With an odious smirk the Maître ordered, "We will meet again in two days and again every two days until our well-paying client appears. Do be prepared." He chuckled at her snarl and then followed Werner out the doors, humming.

"So," Jones asked, leaning on her elbow, her afternoon class all but forgotten, "why are you planning on getting yourself killed? Protection is a rough job. Why don't you leave that to the kids?"

"I don't expect you to understand. My alpha is dead." The Mage's anger seemed to ebb into a quiet depression.

"So? What does that have to do with taking on a protection job?" Jones asked.

In silence, Loup turned and looked from one curious face to another. When no one made a move to leave, she sat down, closed her eyes and put herself to sleep.

"That's my trick," Jones grumped. "That means it's time to go." Jones and Wronski grabbed their bags and left.

Lowenstein passed a hand in front of the visitor, getting no response. He glanced up at Kessler as if looking for more information.

With a wave of his hand, Kessler addressed the remaining teachers. "Protection is a dangerous job. It will eventually end in her death. It only takes one small mistake to fail. The few who seek such positions tend to be quite young and frequently more rash than need be. The fees are high for such services. The City of Paris will be very well paid for this transaction." He turned towards Gregorov who still stared at her. "Another wolf! Yuri, you could have a pack again. This time with an alpha bitch." His grin turned cruel. "Too bad your status was never that high. Is it true that only the alphas mate?"