As we silently sit around finishing our Strategies of Conflict midterm exam. I place my pen down, flip over my test, and crack my neck. Looking around, Faisal is already done as well. The tall, muscular man is quite possibly the only one here better suited to the work than myself. With the slight caveat that he was a Prospective here in the Basilica. Eduard and Myrto are also in the process of finishing. Myrto probably finished before me, but she feels uncomfortable being done before too many other people, so she felt the need to recheck her work.
Court Magister Lysenko watches patiently over us. Patiently, but not passively. He pays close attention to who is stopping, and who is still working. He also, I suspect, is watching for people who are giving one another looks. I am fairly certain from their interactions with one another that his job on our five Court Magister panel is to look for possible interpersonal issues. I suspect that’s why this is his first class proper, and why he’s so watchful. Can’t prove it, of course. Can’t prove anything around here. The truth is like water, always slipping away when you grasp too hard, but present enough to be seen if you just let it sit in your open palm.
I know my flaws. We learned them before. I needed to be better for him. For people concerned about people. I have a tendency to forget to be social with classmates. See them as either friends or competition. And unfortunately, after the incident in Berlin over the summer, Elodie and I have decided it is best if we keep our mutual eyes from getting too close. The attack was too suspicious, the timing too perfect. We could merely be feeling paranoid, but as the saying goes, it isn’t paranoia when they really are out to get you. And she is. Elodie and Tshepo finish their tests. I look into Elodie’s eyes, she moves her eyes up and down in a nod-like formation, and I respond in kind. Good. She’s got this. I can leave her be. Don’t need to figure out a way to plan more secret study sessions at the bar than once a month.
It’s a few more minutes before the Late Crew all finish around the same time. Really, Phoebe, Chris, and Holger should have finished before Elodie and Tshepo, but they showed up to class around ten minutes late. It’s getting to the point that, at least where Chris and Holger are concerned, I’m unsure whether they will actually even become proper agents. Phoebe will, she’s too good at logistical nonsense not to be shoved on permanent desk duty in the Basilica. But the others’ primary skills would be more useful in the field than at home, and punctuality is vital in the field.
Kassidy and Lawan finish shortly before the end of class time. When the former finishes, she lets out a sigh that may well be the loudest noise we’ve heard since the Late Crew wandered in. Which just left Parvaiz, who we all figured would be here a while. Not because he didn’t know what he was doing, he did. He just definitely was writing a seven page paper for each of the four short answer questions to make sure he didn’t forget to say any specific aspect of the question that might be in the rubric.
“Thank you, have a nice weekend,” Court Magister Lysenko says to us as the minute hand hits the top of the clock. “Magister Begam,” he adds to Parvaiz, “Wrap up in the next five minutes or you get a zero.”
The rest of us all come up, turning our tests in and heading out the door. I check in with Faisal, who’s being worked by Tshepo. He’s happy for me to interrupt, probably because he doesn’t want to admit to her that he’s seeing someone already. “Faisal,” I say coming over, “How are you feeling about that test?”
The look on Tshepo’s face is one of frustration. I know the look well. Abdul used to get it on his face whenever I accidentally interrupted one of his date nights. Faisal smiles. “Pretty solid. I feel like there were a couple of trap questions, especially in that middle section about failure, but I think I picked the right answers.”
I can see Elodie, chatting with Kassidy and Eduard. Giggling. Faisal sees the look and gets the wrong idea. “Greg, listen.” He begins guiding us through the Basilica’s grand halls towards the entrance. “I know this year’s been a little rough on your social life. Some friends of mine are in town and I’m throwing something of a party for them. I’m inviting a bunch of classmates, don’t worry, you won’t be alone if you end up hating everyone else.”
I sigh, shaking my head at the guy. I like Faisal, but his friends are questionable at best. And it is in the open. That’s a vulnerability. I go to say no, but feel eyes on me. Parvaiz must have finished the test. Meaning Lysenko is watching. Can’t be antisocial now. And it would be out of the ordinary for me. Perhaps even so much that She might not have been ready for it. So, instead of objecting to his verbiage or refusing the invitation, I say, “What’s the dress code?”
He looks me up and down. “If you’ve got anything nicer than a hoodie and jeans, go with that,” he says. “If you have a suit, all the better. Black tie isn’t necessary.”
At the first comment, Tshepo laughs. “I’m pretty sure he doesn’t,” she adds once Faisal finishes speaking. Makes sense that she’d think so. I like my hoodies and jeans, especially once the temperature is below sixty in real temperature numbers. Sixteen if you want to use the ridiculous local measurements. When I’m not in a hoodie, I’m in a T-shirt and jeans. The few times I’ve had to look nice, I’ve worn one of my four dress shirts with jeans. Nothing resembling a suit.
I smile at her. “I think I can pull a rabbit out of my hat,” I say to Faisal, “When and where?”
“My place on the hill, and it starts at seven, but you probably want to not show up until half past, give the servers and everyone time to show up,” he answers. “Tshepo, you’re invited, too, of course.”
She smirks. “Of course,” she says with a giggle. Maintaining my focused facade, I shake my head. Poor guy.
I add a request. One he should have already taken into account, but knowing Faisal, might have forgotten. Now it can be my fault if anyone asks. “It’s okay if you do, but could you not invite Chris. I don’t want to deal with him cold reading us while I’m trying to get drunk, enjoy myself and forget all those problems my micro-whatevers are talking about.”
He chuckles. “For you, buddy? Of course,” he says, lying through his teeth. Not about not inviting Chris, no way Chris is coming to this party. But about it being for me. Chris isn’t coming to this party because Faisal is inviting his outside friends, who have a habit of having far too many secrets. And if Chris gets the chance to talk with them, to figure out those secrets, those friends will assume Faisal let them slip. Not ideal for the man’s long-term health and wellbeing.
I head back to the Basilica Apartments. After my shower, I trace the quick symbol of warmth and dry my body off. As I do, I head over to my closet. Contrary to popular belief, I do have a pair of suits. One of them is a wetsuit, less than helpful for this, but the other one is a proper navy blue suit. I put on my white dress shirt, then the suit over it. No tie, I open an extra button on the shirt. It is a party, after all. The suit is clean and tight. Probably have only worn it twice, maximum. Combination of the tight but well fitted suit and the open shirt really go far in showing off that I am quite fit. In almost any party, that might mean something, but if it’s a place filled with our class, I’m barely above the average. And nowhere near the level of our host. I head up the hill to the party, grabbing a bite to eat from a food truck along the way. Just in case.
It’s seven twenty seven, and Faisal greets me at the door. “Greg, you actually showed up.”
“Said I would,” I counter.
“Honestly,” Faisal admits, “I assumed that was for Cee Em Lysenko’s benefit.”
I laugh and shrug. “It was, but then Tshepo went and said I didn’t have a suit. Gotta show out, right?”
Tshepo comes up from behind with a drink for herself and one for Faisal. “I supposed you do,” she says, looking at me appraisingly. I do enjoy being objectified, it helps when I want to lead people in the wrong direction about my strange disappearances. I head into the party. The central area and main floor of Faisal’s summer home is filled with people. Maybe three dozen. Two open bars. I start heading towards one, and recognize the person hired to work it. Hasan. Means one of Faisal’s questionable friends enjoys my personal hangout. Crap. I make eye contact with him, trying to make it look like I’m looking at the bar itself. He meets my gaze. I give him a subtle head shake. He turns to the customer at the bar and very intentionally nods his head at her. He got the message. We don’t know each other. I head to the other bar.
Looking out over the party, I can see some of my other classmates. Lawan and Eduard whispering in a corner. Elodie dancing with some of Faisal’s outside friends. Holger, Phoebe, and a pair of incredibly rich looking people having an intense argument about, if I know Holger, taxes. And Kassidy, approaching the bar. The one I’m drinking by. My perch.
After ordering, she saddles up beside me. “Hey Greg,” she says confidently. “You know, you really can pull that off. Wasn’t sure it would, with your whole vibe, but you do more than just manage it. You, well, you make it look pretty good.”
I smile. “How long have you been here drinking?” I joke.
“Not that long,” she objects.
A short, somewhat rotund gentleman walks up. “She’s been here since before I arrived at seven,” he said in Greek. I recognize him. His boss is probably the one who got Hasan set up as one of the bartenders tonight.
“Hey,” Kassidy says to the new man.
“Hey yourself,” the man replies, “And unlike this large gentleman, I don’t mind that you’ve been enjoying yourself.”
“Silas,” I say, “I assume you don’t want to do anything untoward. Given who else is here.” I hope the implication is enough.
It is. He nods. Kassidy, on the other hand, immediately picks up on the familiarity. “You two know each other?”
Silas makes a mistake. He lies. “Not really, we just met earlier tonight.” Never say seven words where two would do. That can make a true statement into a lie, and someone who’s good at feeling dishonesty can tell. She looks curiously at him.
I put my arm around her and lead her away from the man. “Listen, Kass, be careful around here. Not everyone is actually friendly,” I tell her in a whisper.
“Why did he lie?” she asks.
“Ask me again sometime in private,” I reply with a smile.
“I’ll hold you to that,” she replies with a wicked grin before spinning away from me and over to join Elodie’s dance. I see Silas’s boss, the lovely Miss Vlahou. A woman I do not wish to engage with, not here, not tonight. I also notice a strange hum. Mystic. Present. I recognize it. Quickly I move to the bathroom. It’s unlocked. I head in, shutting the door behind me. I reach my hand into my sleeve. It’s only then I notice a pair of celebrants with their pants on the floor, staring at me. I continue to pull out my thin blade. “Lock the door next time, Eduard,” I scold him.
“Oops,” Lawan replies from under him. Eduard just giggles.
I start to trace a sigil on my palm, when my phone rings. Unknown number. I pick up. Before I can say anything, a voice I do not recognize says, “Please don’t.” A male voice. Not what I was expecting from an unknown number right after I went to destroy a scrying art.
“Who? Why?” I ask, confused.
“A mutual, well, ally, is using that to keep watch over a, let’s call them a mutual enemy who is at that party,” the voice says.
“Sorry about this,” I say to Eduard, who is waiting for me to finish. I slide the knife back into its sheath in my sleeve and close the door behind me. I hear it lock. “Now tell me what the fuck you’re talking about.”
“Have you ever heard tale of the Grande Game, young man who wishes to become a spy?”
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