Pride

Chapter 8

She saw nothing of Lester for the next several days. No light came from under his door in the evenings and the destroyed detection spell wasn't replaced. Loup silently cheered every time she walked by the door and saw it dark. Old Jessup and Heiniger were in foul moods and it was only by walking by at the right time that she found out that Lester was gone temporarily. She hoped that temporarily would stretch into permanently.

More work for her arrived. She piled her own tools into a bag and hiked over to the Dark Arts building every day to ply her craft. She timed it carefully so she ran into Magda most mornings. Magda would invite her into the Lowensteins' quarters for a delightful few hours of talk and coffee. Loup was hungry for both.

She took over the small storage closet and spent as much time there as she could. The tiny room was hardly the most congenial of places, but she felt better there than in the castle. In its confines, she worked the spells that the Headmaster had contracted for and used it as her study. When no one was around, she would hover around Gregorov's door, trying to bribe her wolf self with the scent. It made her feel cheap, but her demons were quieter.

Halloween week caused a scheduling problem. Bette considered Loup part of the kitchen staff and was insulted when the Headmaster's work conflicted with the kitchen work. Loup made the mistake of telling Bette that the Headmaster's work was more important and discovered that the quality and quantity of meals declined. The message got through. Loup felt like a small child when she had to explain why she would not be around on particular days, averting her eyes from Bette's face. The mighty had fallen a great deal.

Halloween was the due date for several spells. None of them fatal, but Loup counted four involuntary bindings and, much to her disgust, a love spell, all of which needed to be done by the end of the month. The hallway in the Dark Arts building smelled worse than usual.

If she timed things properly, she saw no one except Magda. She ran into Haken a few times. He would look at her as if trying to read something, his usual smile discarded in favor of a colder professional face.

She managed to get everything done on time and felt quite proud. The involuntary binding spells had been a specialty of hers. She worried about the love spell. Although she had found the steps in the library, in a book bound in lurid pink leather, and had followed them to the smallest detail. She couldn't help feeling that someone luckier in the love department should be casting it, not her.

The Halloween celebration started with the Headmaster lighting a huge bonfire. The flames were real, not enchanted as most of Durmstrang's fires. Sparks flew upwards like shooting stars, giving a far better effect than a magical fire. The kitchen staff piled huge platters of food throughout the grounds. From some unknown source, music blared loudly. Bottles of liquor almost magically appeared on tables. Loup watched as the legendary drinking commenced. As soon as it was completely dark, some of the most staid professors became the wildest. She found a seat at the edge of the darkness and enjoyed the show. The combination of magic and liquor provided a colorful display. Two of the professors from the Transfiguration department took turns changing the empty bottles, collapsing into laughing fits when their attempts fused the bottles together.

Circling around the outskirts of the firelight, she found two of the Defense Against the Dark Arts professors, Berger and Hyde, giggling with a box in their hands. She followed them and discovered they had a Boggart they were planning to release. Loup had never seen a Boggart before and, after witnessing what it did to one person, hoped she would never see one again. The idea of having your worst fear displayed in front of everyone...

Half way around the fire, she found the Potions Master and Wronski engaged in a deep philosophical discussion. The Potions Master had two empty bottles in front of him and Wronski seemed to be sipping on a beer. She listened for a while and decided that the depths of the BS were too deep for her. As she passed, Wronski grabbed her arm and gave a pleading look. Deciding to be magnanimous, she babbled part of a French song at the Potions Master, confusing him, as she hauled Wronski off.

Wronski looked relieved. "Thanks! I didn't think I would ever get out of there." With a cautious look over his shoulder, he led her over to another table, out of the very drunken man's sight. "You alone?"

Loup shrugged and turned her attentions back to the party. "Is it always like this?"

"Most years. Durmstrang doesn't really celebrate Christmas in a big way. New Year can be a good time, and sometimes May Day, but Halloween is the big holiday." Wronski examined the bottles on the table. "You drink wine?" He picked up one and squinted at the label.

Loup took the bottle from him and tried to help. "I can't read it. I don't drink very often." He looked disappointed and pouted. The effect was comic enough to sway her resolve. "Maybe a small glass." She missed the grin on his face as he poured the first one.

The first glass tasted nice. She enjoyed sipping it and talking with Wronski who was full of chatty gossip. He had heard about Lester's disappearance and had several outrageous theories. She laughed with him, enjoying the companionship. In trade, she told him about the potato peeling spell and how it didn't work on onions. They both fell over laughing. The revelation that Rabe's girlfriend called him "Toadie" left them both in tears. She never noticed that the glass remained almost full. The world got fuzzier and, while some of her sense dulled, others sharpened.

Voices came and went oddly. She had trouble tracking Wronski's conversation, but she knew it was funny. Her sense of smell became too acute and odors became overbearing. She could smell the wine as if it engulfed her and her mouth tasted bad. The world tipped a bit when she tried to stand, which sent Wronski rolling off the bench, clutching his sides as he howled. Loup groaned. She was drunk. Not good. She heard herself piously saying that the Dark Arts and alcohol didn't mix. Sounded just like the wizard she had apprenticed under. Water. She wanted some water.

Leaving Wronski at the table, she tottered through a minefield of benches, bottles, passed out bodies and amorphous dark shapes over to a table where she had seen several bottles of water. The light from the fire made it hard to focus, or so she thought. With one eye closed to see one of everything and walking very slowly, she finally arrived at her destination. Opening the bottle proved to be as frustrating as walking had been. In a singsong voice, she found herself repeating, "Righty tighty, lefty loosey", but couldn't remember which way was left. She really shouldn't drink. Loup sat down at the table, staring at the stubborn bottle, willing it to open. A hand appeared, taking her bottle of water away, and then an open bottle was returned. With one eye still closed, she looked up to see a sober Gregorov and Kessler standing over her.

"She does not drink." Gregorov's voice sounded very strange to her. Kessler's nods didn't seem to be in sync with the light. Still, it was great seeing both of them. They were talking to her. Well, they were talking and not mad. Smiling up at them, she took a drink from the water bottle, spilling part of it down the front of her robes. Gregorov sat down next to her, looking worried as he took the bottle away.

"I miss you. Hunting alone isn't any fun." She gave him a hug and sat back with a big grin.

Kessler groaned and left.

"You are drunk."

"Uh huh. This is why I don't drink." She made a large sweeping gesture and knocked a bottle of water onto the ground. "Well, this and," she leaned forward conspiratorially, "I do stupid things." She sat back and nodded, her jaw going slightly slack.

"You should go back to your room." Gregorov rose to leave.

"No!" She grabbed his arm and held it. "Yuri. I'm sorry. Can't we be friends again? I don't like being alone. You know. I... it's... I don't like it." She went from smiling to morose.

"Why do you not go to Lester?" Gregorov's voice sounded disgusted and very far away to her

She clung to his arm. "I don't like him. He hurts me. Yells at me all the time. Treats me like a dog." She stopped and was quiet for a while. Gregorov waited, pulling his arm steadily while she gripped tighter. "He looked like Armand. It was stupid. He's not even any good." She sniffed and wiped at her nose with her hand. "He tried to kill me, but I got away. I'm going to kill him if he tries anything again."

Gregorov sat back down and peered at the drunken woman. She looked and sounded pathetic. "I am certain that he did not try to kill you."

Her head swung as if on a rubber band. "Did too. He slipped when I jumped on him and ran into the wall. I've got some of his blood and I got some of his hair." Her face broke into a sloppy smile. "I know what to do with it, too."

"Let me take you back." Gregorov tried to haul her to her feet, but her knees had gone.

"I don't feel good." He sat her back down and waited to see if she would be sick. "Oh. I remember why I don't drink now." Her face went pale as she made smacking sounds. "Yuck. Tastes bad."

With a sigh, he opened the bottle of water and helped her drink it. She slumped onto his shoulder and stayed there. After a time, he wasn't sure if she was conscious or not. The party whirled around him. His plans had not included taking care of a drunk, especially not one who had ignored him for another man, but she lay heavily on him and he couldn't bring himself to let her fall onto the ground. For once being the audience and not the participant, he watched the people around him grow steadily drunker and stupider.

Some time later, Kessler returned. The big man hugged his current girl under an arm and gave Gregorov an odd look. "Take her to bed."

Gregorov looked at the slumped form and frowned.

"No. Leave her on the couch in the staff room. She will be fine. You will feel no guilt." The girl grabbed Kessler's arm and the two disappeared into the crowd.

Loup wasn't a small woman and passed out, she was large and boneless. He picked her up with difficulty, knowing that throwing her over a shoulder would result in an unpleasant experience for both of them. The walk back to the offices wasn't long and he managed to get her into the staff room with only a few problems.

Haken looked up from his grading and snorted at the sight. De Rais allowed himself a small smile and, closing his book, left with what sounded like a laugh.

"Are you leaving her here?" Haken stared over his grading, watching Gregorov lower her onto the couch.

"There are still several hours left. I want to enjoy some of the celebration." He put a pillow under her head and smoothed back her hair.

"Why do not you take her back?" Haken turned back to his grading but kept an eye on Gregorov.

"She made a fool of me."

"Lester has made her pay." The quills began to scratch as the grading spell was activated.

"Why should I?" Gregorov should have left, but he pulled up a chair and sat down next to her. A smile crept out when she twitched and curled up tighter.

"She would hunt with you. Be your pack." Haken watched as the quills danced over the parchments, making sure that he had the correct year's homework.

Gregorov grunted and ran a hand over his face. "It is not what I wanted."

"No. You are not what she wanted - then. After Lester finishes with her, she may not be what you want, either."

"What do you mean?" Gregorov asked.

Haken made a noncommittal noise as he watched the progress of his spell. "Lester will be back soon. They cannot hold him for much longer."

"What are you talking about?"

"Do you know who hired Lester?" Haken glanced up to see if Gregorov knew. "He came recommended by Dolohov and Karkaroff hired him. They all were bound by the same man."

"So?"

"Their master is a madman. He espouses that only those of pure blood are worthy. It is true that Durmstrang does have its own requirements, but the English monster has a talent for hatred. He seems to have passed it along to his followers." The quills stopped at the end of the parchments. Haken pulled the first batch out and restarted the spell at the top of the next set. "It was known that many of his devotees escaped in the early '80s when their master fled. The monster has reawakened and it seeks to call its minions. I assume that those who are loyal have answered; others have fled. That is part of the reason why we have a new Headmaster." Haken smiled thinly, and nudged a quill back into alignment. "Professor Lester's association with the English monster was suspected, but no one was certain. The mark proves it."

"What mark? What are you talking about? Why should I care about something that is happening hundreds of kilometers away?" Gregorov's voice raised, causing Loup to whimper in her sleep. He reached out and stroked her head until she calmed.

"The English Aurors call it a 'Dark Mark' in their reports. It is a binding spell. The mark is a skull and snake. It works much the same as the Durmstrang spell." He positioned the next batch of papers and started the spell again. "Professor Lester is marked with it; however, there is little that can be done. Apparently, there is no provision for extradition. So, he may remain here."

"A very nice story. Why should I care?" Gregorov's voice was calmer as he watched her sleep.

"Your ego has been bruised, but her body and spirit have been as well. Ask Gilles if you doubt me." The end of the stack had been reached. Haken shuffled the papers back into a pile and pulled out the next batch.

"Do you speak with everyone?"

Haken flashed his toothy grin, "Yes. I do." He watched as Gregorov left the room and then came back with a battered cloak. He ducked his head to hide a true smile when the cloak was turned into a blanket. Haken waited until he was certain Gregorov had turned to leave. In a neutral voice, he said, "Professor Jones will be back shortly."

Gregorov stopped and turned back, his face twisted into a dubious look. "She would enjoy finding her there. It would not go well for her in this condition." He stuffed his hands into his pockets and regarded the sleeping form. "You seem to know everything. What should I do?"

"As I see it, you have two choices. You may leave her here and perhaps Professor Jones will not see her. I very much doubt that as there is a large bag of some snack or another next to the chair that she favors. She will wish to reclaim it before she goes to sleep." Haken sighed. He had witnessed several of Jones' midnight feedings. "Your other choice is to place her out of view. Where you put her is your choice. However, unless you wish to carry her back to the castle and up all the flights of stairs, I would recommend either the storage closet she has been using as an office, or your room. It is your decision. At least she is not bleeding this time." Haken turned back to his grading.

Gregorov weighed his choices and a slow smile crept over his face. He went back into the hall and opened his door, propping it open with a boot. He managed to gather the limp body into his arms and carried her into his quarters. He took her back into his bedroom and placed her onto the bed. She mumbled something and curled up around a pillow. With a laugh, he left and returned to the party.

* * *

The bells sounded loud in the morning. She opened her eyes and immediately shut them again. Bad. Very bad. Her mouth tasted horrible and she felt dirty. Pulling herself into a sitting position, she tried opening her eyes again. A familiar room swam into sight. A room with clothing piled in the corners. She blinked again and tried to get up. The room heaved and she lay back down. Something snorted beside her. Slowly as to not disturb the room from its axis, she turned to see Gregorov lying next to her, propped up on his elbow, watching her.

"What happened? I don't feel very good. Do you have any aspirin? No. Wait. That would require swallowing." She rubbed her forehead, wondering how she had gotten there.

"You seduced me. It was wonderful. Here. Let us do it again." Gregorov reached out a hand, certain that she could figure out that they were both fully dressed.

Loup groaned and sank back into the bed. She felt wretched and, if she had seduced Gregorov, she couldn't recall a thing. The last thing she remembered was Wronski pouring a glass of wine. Could be worse. She could have woken up in Wronski's bed. Or was this worse? Gregorov patted her roughly on the shoulder, mostly to shake her a bit. She rolled over and buried her face in his shoulder. "I'm sorry. I don't remember." She closed her eyes and lay still, wishing her head would quit hurting. "Can I go back to sleep?" She began to relax and her breathing slowed.

Gregorov smoothed her hair out of her face and looked down at her. "Do you not have potatoes to peel?"

A completely black eye opened and stared blankly ahead. "Bette will kill me," was the muffled response. "I'm so tired of kitchen work." She tried to roll over.

"Why did you agree to do it then?" He stroked her head and she burrowed further into his shoulder.

Her voice was muffled. "I had to sleep somewhere. I couldn't leave."

Gregorov should have left her alone, but it was nice to be on the winning side for a change. "And why would you need to remain here? Surely, there are better places. Even if you cannot return to Paris, there is Lyon, or Berlin. I understand that Regensburg has a large magical center. Warsaw has two."

"I hadn't heard about Regensburg. I did a job for a client there last year." She sounded stronger. "Are there other wolves there?"

He pushed her shoulder away, "Wrong answer. Try again." Something that sounded like a laugh was heard. He poked her shoulder and she laughed again. "Try again."

"A wolf needs a pack." He waited, but she didn't say anything else. He carefully pulled her head back until he could see her black eyes. "Ow! Let go!" Looking serious, Gregorov held her there. The lack of pupils kept him from seeing where she looked so he shook her gently and gave a small growl. Her eyes blinked and she tried to move away. In a tired voice she said, "I missed you. Even your weird jokes. My head is splitting. Please. Let my hair go."

He let go and Loup ducked her head back down against his shoulder, missing the amused expression. She settled into a more comfortable position and fell back asleep, leaving him to carefully crawl out of the bed and prepare for his day.

She slept until noon, only the full twelve strokes of the bell dragging her from her slumber. Feeling wretched, she staggered into the bathroom. Getting her hair untangled took her full attention. After a few minutes she gave up, filled a glass with water and chugged it down. The water produced an effect she had forgotten; she began to feel drunk again. Closing her eyes, she hung onto the sink and waited for the room to quit spinning. How much wine had she had? All she could remember was Wronski telling funny stories. Well, she had thought they were funny. Her memories were patchy, odd snippets of conversation and flashes of faces laughing. Armand's voice poked into her head, reminding her that she could not hold her liquor. An old movie played of a morning long past. Of Armand shouting at her for a faux pas the night before. Of his wife, dressed elegantly in the height of fashion, sneering down at her. She opened her eyes again, the images fading in the light of the small room.

The small shower beckoned, promising relief. Hot water helped chase the nausea away and the cold room shocked some life back into her. With a look of disgust, she pulled her clothing on, her fastidious nature appalled at day-old socks.

The rooms looked more cluttered since the last time she had seen them. Piles of papers had reappeared on every flat surface and books held their old positions at either end of the couch. The back of each chair and the couch had become an alternate closet, discarded sweaters and shirts adding color and texture to the décor. What she didn't see were the telltale signs of drinking. There were no empty bottles in any of the places she had found them before. Like a detective, she poked into the areas that used to house the various caches of vodka and whiskey.

She started to leave, dreading the diatribe she would receive from Bette when a guilty thought caught her. Who else had been in the rooms? None of your business, she reminded herself. The imp, sounding suspiciously like Kessler this time, said, "Go ahead. You know you want to know." It annoyed her that she did. Giving into the temptation, she changed and sniffed around the room, identifying the scents of Gregorov, of the girl and of Kessler. The wolf was satisfied. The woman was surprised. She had expected a few other scents as well.

She opened Gregorov's office door just in time to see someone walking into the building. Quickly, she closed it, afraid of the comments and not feeling up to any kind of dueling, be it verbal or magical, with Jones. She felt slow and still more than a little ill. The footsteps passed by Gregorov's office and continued down the hall. Wronski or Rabe coming back during the lunch hour. An office door creaked open and closed with a dull thud. She listened intently, but the only sound was her own breathing. Satisfied that the hall held no one else, she left as quietly as and as invisibly as anyone could on the school grounds.

The remains of the bonfire still smoked. The debris of the night had been cleared away, leaving only the benches and tables to be moved. Students draped themselves over the tables, enjoying the sunshine or taking a nap. The day was glorious, bright and sunny. It could have been spring instead of the beginning of winter. Her spirits lifted as she headed back to the castle, looking forward to changing her clothing and hoping that she could bribe her way back into Bette's good graces.

Lunch was ending and the entrance hall was crowded with red. Red-robed students brushed past red-coated professors and staff members in their red jackets wound their way through both. Her blackness marked her as she walked up the stairs. On the third floor, just as she stepped onto the landing, her good mood vanished at the sight of an open door.

Lester's icy, aristocratic voice snarled out as he spoke with someone who was in the office with him. The English accent hung heavily on the German words, sounding quite imperious. She paused, making certain that she could not be seen and listened as Lester made light of his absence. If you took what was being said, he had been on a holiday and had just returned. She hung back against the wall, hidden in a doorway, and listened as the familiar voice of Rabe asked about the position in the Defense Against the Dark Arts group. Lester's voice grew icier, cutting in before Rabe had a chance to finish. In harsh, definitive tones, Lester proclaimed that the position demanded someone with experience. Loup listened as Rabe muttered apologies and then watched as he slunk out the door, defeated again. Looking down the hall, she observed as Rabe's path was intercepted by Ewa, his failure already disclosed by the set of his shoulders.

Another voice came from Lester's office. That voice was very tired and it took a moment to recognize that it belonged to old Jessup. Jessup wanted to get on with the interviews, to find his replacement. Lester's voice lowered and the door shut.

Loup tried to walk by but soon was running back to her rooms. Something warned her just before she crossed her threshold and she stopped, wondering if Lester had cast another detection spell, or perhaps put some other kind of alert there. Her hangover forgotten, she managed to stumble through the Discernere spell. Lester's spell sparkled where it had been. The game had begun again.

Knowing there was no way around it, she walked through her door. The spell would let Lester know she was in her room. She dressed quickly and tucked the bloody rag and the hairs into her pocket. Unsure as to what she was going to do with them, she looked to her library, feeling the seconds tick and wondering how long it would take him to dismiss Jessup. Tension built and she grabbed at random, hoping that the chosen tome would have some hints. Wand drawn, she slunk out of her room and looked around cautiously, assuming the worst.

There was no sign of anyone in the hall. Classes had begun again and the entire DADA staff should be busy teaching. It was hard to sort out any individual scents, the hall was a smorgasbord of personal smells, none particularly stronger than the other. Passing Lester's door, the memory of his voice came to her, hissing that they would meet again.

The kitchens were more understanding. Bette took one look at her, the unhealthy color and the odd way Loup held her head and set a plate of bread down in front of the pale woman. Loup poked at the bread and croaked, "Coffee?"

Bette shook her head and presented a glass of milk instead. "Better for the stomach." Loup grimaced but found that Bette was an old hand at nursing hangovers. The bread eased the stomach's queasiness and the milk coated everything comfortably. When she finished the food on the plate and drank the glass of milk, Bette reappeared and gave the diagnosis that Loup could have a small cup of coffee and some chicken. Dr. Bette proved to be wise in her analysis as Loup's color improved and could speak in whole sentences.

At those odd hours, there wasn't much to be done in the kitchen. Bette was busy doing an inventory of the larder. Loaves of bread rose in long rows on the counters. Enormous pots of soup bubbled lazily on the stoves. Loup, feeling much healthier than she had an hour earlier, sipped an unapproved second cup of coffee and considered her next step carefully. She needed to read her book and make up her mind as to the wisest path. Her options remained the same and time was no longer on her side. Without realizing it, she drummed her fingers loudly on the table, staring straight ahead and ignoring everything else. A plate thunked down in front of her, causing her to jump slightly. Bette gave her an annoyed look, but a large slice of torte declared a worry. Bette removed the illicit coffee, replacing it with yet another glass of milk. The rebuke was cheerfully accepted, sweetened by the torte.

Stomach and head finally at peace, Loup left the castle and went back across the grounds to the low stone building. It should be deserted. The silence of the place seemed to agree. The claustrophobic closet glowed yet again as she settled down to leaf through her book. Her randomly-selected book was full of numerous useful spells, many that came close, but nothing that was exactly what she needed. So close without an answer, she slammed it shut with a snarl of frustration and then leaned on the table, wondering what to do next.

"Is there a problem?" de Rais asked.

Spinning around on a stool she had taken from the staff room, Loup was amazed to see him. She couldn't imagine how she hadn't heard him open the door. She stammered briefly, trying to figure out what to say. Then, taking a deep breath, she tried to sound unconcerned. "I didn't find what I was looking for in this particular book. I will have to go back and get another one."

"What are you trying to accomplish? It is quite probable that I have a volume in my library which may aid you."

It was quiet enough that she could hear the sink drip in the staff room. Not certain as to whether she should rejoice or feel stupid, she looked away, trying to word her response.

De Rais' mouth twitched. "There are many options, of course. I am certain that you have gone through most of them by now. I assume that you have discarded any options that would result in his immediate death. While few would miss his presence, it would require going through the interview process and the Headmaster would not appreciate the extra time and effort required at this pont in the school year."

She gulped, amazed at how easily he had determined the nature of her research. "I was hoping to use his blood and hair along with my own to create a mutual repelling spell. I can't find exactly what I want to do. I could cast a involuntary binding spell on him, but I'm sure that's not a good idea, either."

"Either of the options is wiser than fleeing. I am pleased to see that you are not a coward - in either of the matters." He turned. "If you will follow me, I will show you my library. Wear your gloves at all times."

She had never seen the inside of de Rais' office before, nor had most of the others. He watched as she gaped, amazed at the collection of books. Loup had thought that Wronski's office was crowded with volumes, but this was much, much better. Entranced by the sheer number, she slowly walked forward, her hand stretching out towards a shelf. De Rais' voice, quiet and measuring, said, "Madame, I assure you that what you seek is in this section."

As if coming out of a trance, she turned towards the shelf he indicated. Those books were of many sizes and were bound in leathers of different colors and textures. Several had decorative metal hinges gleaming on their spines and gaps between some of the volumes hinted at valuable metalwork on their covers. Glancing at him for approval, she pulled the first out. The weight of it was comforting. The cover had silver work on the corners, holding black cabochons that seemed to suck light into them. A heavy clasp kept it closed. It felt warm. He waved her to sit at his desk before he disappeared into his own quarters, the door clicking locked behind him.

As it was placed onto the desk, the clasp flung itself open and the cover opened. The end papers were of dark colored vellum, the pages inside stiff. Carefully, she touched the first page, to begin the search through the depths, but it opened itself to a place a third into the book. A kind of cool detachment settled over her; she had only seen books like this a few times before. It was best not to touch them too much. They had wills of their own and could sometimes drain a mage of all energies, feeding themselves. It didn't surprise her in the least that Gilles de Rais owned one and, she thought, glancing back at the shelves, perhaps several more.

Red letters graced the page. Intricate scrollwork surrounded the first letter on the page, drawing the eye to it. The letter "O" was guarded by two demons, each supporting the decorative double serif at the top. Someone had taken a lot of pride in the illustration - the demons' horns were gilded, as were their chicken feet. An eye appeared briefly in the letter and blinked once, fading back into its depths. A very powerful book indeed.

She took a deep breath, smelling the dark scent of decay, of spells cast and hatred channeled. The smell of the Dark Arts. It gagged the weak-hearted and was almost intoxicating to the initiated. Loup's black eyes darkened and her mind calmed. She read the page slowly, looking for double meanings and secreted letters on the page. The Latin was old, archaic - as Latin should be. She enjoyed ferreting out the meanings of the drawings in the margins. Time fell away as she lost herself in its depths.

She heard the door click as the volume's owner left his chambers. They exchanged looks and his thin smile crept out as he observed her devotions. "Many choices. Many Interpretations. Do you understand what you have read?"

"Yes. And no. There are many layers. The decryption of the margins is crucial to understanding what is said here." She stared back down at the page, wondering what it needed or wanted. Suddenly, she looked up. "Does it need a blood offering to reveal the key?"

"Perhaps. Does that frighten you?" Much as a cat watches its prey, he watched her.

"I have given more in the craft." She suppressed a laugh, lost in past memories. "I have already chipped at my soul. Doesn't that count?"

Cold laughter filled the small office, causing Paul Wronski to stop in midstride as he passed. Loup watched as Wronski resumed his walk; catching the scent of fear, she began to smile.

"Read and understand. It could be your key. Or perhaps not. There are many possible paths." De Rais left his office in silence, the barest swish of his coat indicating he was ever there.

Loup sat quietly for a minute, admiring the library and wondering at the response. It was like being an apprentice again. Many questions. Many allusions. No true answers. Only the dark.

She glanced back at the page. The eye was back and the demons had turned to face her. Steeling herself, she pulled her knife and cut her left palm. Holding it over the book, she watched as the blood dropped onto the "O". The demons smiled and new words took the place of the existing text. The dark could be generous, never kind. It always demanded a price.

The new text was in a different hand. Unlike the ornate, barely legible script of the original page, it was spidery and looked as though it had been done in haste. She found herself nodding in time to an internal rhythm, as if there was a tempo that went with the spell she read. She understood and it frightened her.

There were many levels to the Dark Arts. What many called "dark", others would call "gray". The spells that were crafted to cause harm, be it physical, spiritual, sexual or mental were generally called "dark". But there were many depths to the shadows themselves. Merely killing someone was "dark", but that was quick and usually clean. Destroying a family line was also "dark", but the spells used to bring that about were jealous and prideful. Controlling another with deliberate intent to send that person slowly to his death - that was black. The spell that she saw before her was very black indeed. Her mouth went dry as she read the steps, marveling in both the complexity and the directness of it. It required things she already had in her possession, plus a little bit of herself as well. Everything had a price. The dark must be paid. A cold oblivion fell upon her as she sat, weighing the cost and the end.

She memorized the text, shuddering a bit at some of the parts, but mostly feeling colder. This was darker than what she was used to practicing. Killing. Killing she had done. She had ended one man's line. Sending a woman into madness had been the darkest work she had done. That spell alone had profited her enough that she could take the rest of the year off. The dark work paid well. It had to. To take from another meant having to give of yourself. Looking up, she was startled to see that de Rais had a mirror on the shelf in front of the desk. Black glass. Of course. A darkened view of herself looked back. Pale face surrounded by an unruly mass of dark hair, black within black eyes. A balance faded into view with the arms tipping, weighing how much of her soul was left. It held her, the balances swaying, the mirror reflecting. A warning or a promise.

Looking away, she wondered what de Rais saw when he looked into the blackness and found that she really didn't want to know. The page before her gave a solution, one that would satisfy on many levels. Madness and death and, if she understood what she was seeing, she could be certain that no others would have to share that terrible bed. All levels. At a price. The page sifted itself back into its original state. Red letters on the parchment grew bolder and the demons turned back to their charge. The eye blinked once again, asking the question: how dark was she?

She pushed back from the desk, more than a little frightened by what she had seen. The book closed itself and the clasp clicked shut.

Leaving was like being able to breathe again. Steadying herself with a hand on the wall, she slowly walked down the hallway to stand at the corner of the staff room. There was a small window on the outside wall, showing only blackness. She frowned, puzzled at the sight, and heard the bells chime seven. Hours had passed.

As if someone had approved it, light and sound came back. Her eyes picked out the lines of light coming out from under doors and she could hear voices, someone calling her name. She turned towards the sound and saw Haken seated behind a stack of parchments. He sounded very far away. As if stunned, she looked into the room to see most of the staff there.

The door that led outside, into the night, stood open. From the shadows there, de Rais asked, "Have you tossed the dice?"

A fog held her and directed her outside. She put her hand into her pocket, pulled out the cloth with Lester's blood on it and looked down at the blond hairs there, too. Lifting her eyes to his, she saw amusement and disdain. Had she rolled the dice? She almost heard their click as her decision was made. Other sounds from behind her seemed odd, as if they were being pulled away.

De Rais elegantly bowed her out into the shadows, into the night. Blackness outside, blackness inside. Holding up her left hand, she saw that the cut shone red. A piece of her to a piece of him. A debt. Its payment. Languidly, she turned to the shadow at the door, noticing how he seemed farther away than he had a moment ago. "Not here?"

The shadow seemed to nod, but everything was folding into a tunnel. Slowly, she walked towards the door, the odd noises falling away to be replaced by a slow, rumbling beat that echoed with each step as she left the building, out through the fresh snow and towards the castle.

The incantation began in her mind, in time to the rhythm. The Latin words thumping out with each heartbeat. It got louder the closer she got to the castle doors, growing stronger, drowning out anything else that might have become a part of her world.

In her world, the doors opened before her and the light shut itself out as she approached the staircase. Each stair got its own part of the incantation, a word of power with each step... The beat began to slow as she reached the top and sped up as she approached his door. A sliver of light showed from under it, a promise of Lester's presence. All that needed to be done was the final step: his hair, his blood and a little piece of herself. The balances swung wildly, dipping further to the right...

To her senses, no one else was there. The door fell open before her, showing her startled prey. Lester jumped out of his chair, his mouth was moving, his hands reaching for her as she brought the bloody cloth into contact with the wound on her hand. A hair fell from the cloth, its pale silver color caught in the odd light of her reality. It fell slowly, fluttering downwards. Idly, she tracked its path as the very last of the incantation was said. Lester's hand closed on her arm as her hands closed in an attitude of prayer and, aloud, she spoke the last of the phrase.

Time stopped. Lester stood before her, blinking in confusion, a hand outstretched trying to find an anchor. There was no sound in her world and all was lit in a hard, white light. He staggered and fell back against the wall, sliding to the floor, his eyes rolling upwards.

"Well done. An adept, I see." In slow motion, she turned towards the voice, seeing only the darkness in the hall. "Come. Follow. Your work is done."

The silence was horrible. The darkness she could take, but the silence compressed her mind. She followed the shadow as it led her back outside. It stopped for a moment and seemed to be waiting until she drew even with it. Something touched her face and the sound came rushing back. Sound and light invaded her senses; she fell to her knees and felt the snow crunch under her hands. It felt as though all the warmth had fled as she shook violently. Nausea came next, pounding at her until she heaved up bile.

"Are you ready to return?" The shadow sounded as if this were all perfectly normal, dull even.

"Where?" Her voice was thick, her mouth tasted horrible. She tried to stand but instead fell backwards and found herself sitting in the snow, its cold creeping through her robes.

"Back, of course. Is that not why you have done what you have done?" The shadow appeared to adjust its sleeves in the darkness.

She followed the direction of its gaze towards the offices. "I can't go back."

"Why can you not?"

She swallowed, tasting the bile afresh and wished for something, anything, to take the taste away. "Well, I have my pride..."

The shadow barked a laugh. "Pride? Madame, you gave that up quite a while ago, unless you are referring to professional pride. A proud woman does not hide in doorways, wringing comfort from the scent of another. Personal pride, that has been tossed aside."

She hung her head, knowing he was correct. "What if I'm not welcome. I don't think..."

"No. It is obvious that you do not. For an intelligent creature, you can be quite stupid. I am weary of the game and of the discord it has sown."

She sputtered, unable to come up with a retort.

"You will come with me. If you address the problem correctly, I am certain that all will go well." The shadow seemed impatient and a gloved hand suddenly appeared in front of her face. "Come. Let us go."

Wearily, she grasped the hand and gasped aloud at the chill that ran through her. Effortlessly, the hand pulled her upright and, as soon as she caught her balance, was withdrawn. "The others found your actions confusing. I believe it is the first time they have witnessed the true dark." He turned. "It is time to end this portion of the drama."

"Wait! I don't understand. What am I supposed to do?" She swayed in place, dealing with a surge of weariness and a need to understand.

"Do? Why apologize, of course." The shadow continued in its path back to the offices.

Apologize. That would solve everything. She swayed where she stood, wanting only to find some place warm to lie down. The stars riveted her attention as she shivered, unable to find the strength to move. Tired. Very tired. Her balance gave out and she fell back onto the snow. The cold crept into her body, promising sleep. She snuggled into the promise, feeling a lethargy take hold. With no warning, a pair of hands grabbed her shoulders, pulling her upright. They kept her upright and directed her into the building. She sagged back against whoever held her and was lowered onto the couch. The light was too bright, it made her eyes water and everything was loud. People were breathing loudly. Hearts beat loudly. Someone was talking, but the noise made no sense. And suddenly, it all stopped.

When she woke, the world had stabilized. The light was still bright, but not abnormally so. She could hear breathing, but that was because someone was bending over her, checking her pulse. Someone else was smoothing the hair out of her face. Voices fuzzed back into recognizable words.

"What did she cast?" Jones' voice was saying. She sounded concerned. Must not be Jones.

"I have never seen anything like that before. She looks like the snow itself." Kessler's rumble came from close by.

"Move aside. Let me complete my examination." Haken sounded curt as she was roughly pulled into a sitting position.

Her eyes showed a blurred picture of shapes and colors. Someone took her hand and squeezed it. She took a deep breath and squeezed back. "Loup, are you well?" Magda's timid voice came from very far away. She breathed in again through her nose and caught the herbal smell. A small smile played on her lips and she heard Magda's voice again, but none of it made any sense.

She started awake when someone put a cold cloth on her head, the cold started the shivering again. "I said warm cloth, not cold!" Haken again as the darkness came back.

When she woke again, the room was darker, lit only by the fire. Loup took a deep breath and blinked again, to be sure that she was awake. All was quiet. She tried moving and found herself buried under a pile of blankets. She wriggled a hand free and began to fold layer after layer of cloth back.

"Too warm?" a familiar voice asked in her ear. She nodded and continued to peel back blankets until her other arm was freed. "Thirsty?" Gregorov perched on the edge of the couch and bent over her, smoothing her hair out of her face.

She nodded again and looked around, trying to see the rest of the room. Gregorov stood and disappeared from her sight. The clink of a glass was followed by the sound of running water. He appeared soon after, helped her drink, watching closely as she finished the glass and handed it back. "You do not wish to cast a spell to clean it?" He smiled when she looked exasperated. "What? Do you trust me not to use this?" He waved the glass in front of her, enjoying the annoyed expression. "I should. I should place a large spell on you to keep you safe from yourself."

"And how would you do that?" Her voice was barely a whisper. She wondered if he were teasing her or whether he had something in those mysterious Cyrillic books that could do it.

Gregorov gave a tight smile.

She struggled into a sitting position, pushing a great wad of blankets to the floor. Taking a deep breath, she took stock of how she felt. Tired. Weak. But satisfied knowing what Lester would feel like soon. Part of her wondered if she should feel sorry for him, but she was unable to find any pity. She lost herself for a while, imagining the decline and eventual death. "Good show." The imp had reemerged with Lester's voice.

"Professor de Rais said you wanted to tell me something." Gregorov pulled up a chair and sat down where she could see him.

She looked embarrassed and ducked her head. Clearing her throat, she said quietly, "I was told that if I apologized, everything would be fine." She looked back up, not expecting the solemn expression. "That won't work, will it?"

Gregorov sat stone-faced for a few moments. "It depends."

"Depends on what?" She twisted a blanket, wishing all would be made right immediately.

"Many things. What do you mean by 'everything'?" He folded his arms and leaned back.

"I want us to be friends again." His face didn't lose any of its severity. "Could we at least hunt together?" He looked away. "Yuri... please! I know you're angry with me. I was an idiot. I'm sorry." The severe face turned back, but he said nothing.

"What do you want? What do I have to do?" She was beyond caring about her pride. "I want to come back. I need to be part of a pack again."

"Until the next Lester comes around?" Gregorov spat the words out.

"Why do you care? You sleep with the students." She winced after she said it, realizing that she had stepped over the line. Again.

"My behavior is not the one being questioned. Your actions embarrassed me."

"I said I was sorry. What else do I need to do?" She caught herself, watching him stiffen. Quieter, she continued, "What do you want me to do?" A small stab of worry dug at her: don't ask unless you want to know.

"What do I want you to do? Are you blind? I do not feel I have to say more."

"Oh." She continued to twist the blankets, trying to think of something to say. "Do you at least forgive me? Will you talk to me? Will the others?"

"I cannot speak for the others. I might speak to you. It depends." He sounded less angry, more petulant.

"What do I have to do? I already apologized." Silence. "Do I need to write it out?"

Gregorov began to smile. He got up and left, leaving her to wonder what she had said that provoked that response. He returned a few minutes later and handed her a piece of parchment, a quill and a pot of ink.

Gloomily, she regarded the pile. "You want it in writing. OK. What do you want me to say?"

Gregorov retrieved the board Haken used as a desk when he graded and handed it to her. She smoothed the parchment out on it and opened the inkpot. Quill in hand, she waited.

"I am sorry for being a willful bitch. I was wrong and I apologize to Yuri Gregorov for being such a fool."

She dipped the quill, wondering if she would ever recover her pride. Still, he was talking to her and she would rather have that than the silence. Her demons had quieted and the wretched feeling of anxiety had faded. Her pride in exchange for peace. Perhaps it was a fair trade. She drew out the extra ink and started writing.

"Not in English. Nothing in English." The tightness of his voice caught her. She had written, "I am sorry".

"Will French do or would you prefer German?" She struck out what she had written.

"Russian."

"I don't speak Russian. I can't even read the alphabet." Exasperated, she put the quill down and glowered at him.

"You will learn."

"How am I supposed to do that?" She felt annoyed at the added punishment. She wondered if he had a dictionary hidden. It had the feeling of one of his odd jokes, the ones where you couldn't find the humor, but he thought incredibly funny.

"It will take years. I am a slow teacher."