I sigh as I settle into the train seat. When I first got to that Villa, I had a plan already. It was all lain out, cleanly and neatly. I went there, to a new place in America, because it was new. It had talented Magisters who had learned the most current of knowledge, but was not established enough to be stuffed with Maestros or higher ups that think they don’t need to keep up to date. From there, I do whatever I need to do with my focuses and study to make my application look good. Go deep, go wide, do both if I can. All so that I could apply to the Basilica’s Court to be an external agent and have my resume accepted. One two-year course-set later, I’d be out in the world, acting with their authority on significant matters. And if the last few months have taught me anything, it’s that I need to hone in on that. I’ve been doing other things for the last couple years. Getting distracted. Slowing down. I damned well even needed tutoring. No one will know about that, but me, and yet it still is indicative that I needed it. The plan is the plan. And I nearly blew it. I can’t afford to be distracted. Not again. It costs me too much. Costs the people I… Well, it just costs too much. And anyone that can’t balance a cost-relation efficiently isn’t really worthy of being an external agent. And that is the plan.
I get off the train in a small station past DC. It’s close enough for government work, in both the literal and metaphorical senses. But more importantly, it’s home to the larger Villa that houses the Greatest Maestro in charge of the Coastal North American Magisterium. Basically, as far as the Magisterium is controlled, this suburb is the capital of America. Which isn’t saying much. The only reason Greatest Maestro Jonkers is a Greatest Maestro and not a mere Greater one is that she’s separated from the rest of the Magisterium by oceans. Basically, no one wants to deal with the hassle of managing these three tiny Villae, so the middle manager becomes a full fledged manager. Basically, we’re not worth the extra effort. But it gives the people here more autonomy. And that can often be a very good thing.
I head into the campus’s main administrative building. Unlike our campus, the buildings here are more spread out. They blend into the suburb, rather than isolate from it. One of the reasons I sought out the internship here. Tapping lightly on the bell at the front desk, though not ringing it, I await the response. A stocky man walks out. Late thirties, by the look of him. Though that sort of late thirties that will insist they’re “basically thirty”. Probably does something like jogs daily. He smiles at me. “Alright, man. You must be Greg.”
“I suppose if I must be,” I joke.
“Welcome to My humble Villa. A part of it, at least. I’m Great Maestro Stevens-Williamson, but you can call me Devon. Or D, if that suits you. It’s good to finally meet you in person.”
Great. One of these old people. “I think I’ll remain polite for now, Great Maestro Stevens-Williamson. But thanks for offering.”
“I’ll break one of you kids one of these days. My name’s too annoyingly long not to. Anyways, let me guess, you’re here for one of two reasons. You either want to learn to build something new, or you want to learn how we interact with the world outside,” Great Maestro Stevens-Williamson chuckles to himself as he walks around the desk. “My money would be on the second, otherwise you’d’ve interned for Drika. You know, she’s planning a new, well, you don’t care.”
“How do you know? Perhaps Greatest Maestro Jonkers already had an intern when I applied,” I counter.
Great Maestro Stevens-Williamson chuckles some more. “Well, that’s why I said one of the two things you might be after. Still keeping my money where it’s at. I’ve seen your resume. No way you’re not building to being a court spy.”
I shake my head. “Independent Agent,” I correct him.
“Poh-tay-toh, Toh-may-toh,” he says with a smile.
I sigh. “Those are literally two different words,” I reply, hand raising to cover my face.
“In any case, thanks for admitting it. Makes it much easier to show you about. That said, you’re still my intern and this summer we’re getting the permits and hopefully doing most of the construction on a new dorm. Which means you’ll have to learn and deal with some paperwork anyways.”
I nod. “I understand. Great Maestro,” I begin, pause a moment, then ask anyways, “Why would you be expanding the dormitory capacity of this Villa while Greatest Maestro Jonkers is working to found a new Villa?”
The Great Maestro pauses right back, as though he’s thinking about how, or perhaps even whether, to answer the question. Finally, after what feels all too long for comfort, he says, “Because of things you won’t need to worry about. You’re here to learn external things. Let your friend learn the internal stuff.”
That surprises me a little. The idea that I might have a friend here. Perhaps another of the Shenandoah’s Villa is here interning? Not that it matters much. I’ll be far too busy. “Before I go to the dorm you’re putting me up in to get settled in, I just want to check with you. This campus, it’s different than ours. Spread out kinda everywhere. Where’re the warded regions, exactly?”
He nods. “Right. Good question. You’re from a rural one. Well, basically, this place is built like a city campus, rather than a suburban or rural Villa, for reasons I’ll at least try to teach you over the summer. Generally, that means we throw wards around the buildings themselves. And for things that need to be done outside, there’s this wooded park about a mile west of the dorm you’ll be in. It’s a kinda brisk jog, but worth it for the exercise. Gotta stay in shape, you know.”
I officially hate him. But his insistence on informality might be useful. Might cause him to slip up about things he doesn’t want me to know. “Thanks, Great Maestro. Well, I’m heading over to the dorm. I’ll be back here tomorrow at eight.”
“Seven thirty,” Great Maestro Stevens-Williamson corrects me, “And one more thing before you go. If you could wait for a minute.” He heads behind the desk to a small cabinet and starts going through it. It takes almost the whole minute he asked me to wait just for him to find whatever things he was looking for. Returning with a folder in each hand, he hands me a thin file and a much thicker one. “That,” he begins, gesturing towards the thin file, “Is every application we’ve done for building permits since I came into control of this place.” Then, gesturing towards the longer one, he adds, “And that is a full list of every procedural nonsense they’ve thrown at us to try to stop things and why they did or didn’t work. You’ll learn both files, backwards and forwards, by tomorrow morning. That’s when the fun begins.”
“Yay,” I say, unenthusiastically as I take the files. Glancing at both, they are exactly what he said they would be. Incredibly boring. I head back outside and walk the few blocks to the dorm. It’s a small building, two stories, though it does go pretty far back in the lot. The neighbor, an older woman who doesn’t feel like she knows what’s actually here, smiles at me and waves. “Hey, you must be a student, here to help out the professors at the college over the summer,” the neighbor says.
I shrug and smile. “You got me. I’m interning for Doctor Stevens-Williamson, evidently, we’ve got a lot of work to do.”
She laughs. “Oh that Devon is a treat. Especially when you catch him in the morning, if you get my meaning. Mmm.”
A bit much to admit to a random stranger, but whatever. People are allowed to be strange. “Well, I should get unpacked,” I say and wave.
She nods. “Maybe I’ll see you around too?” she muses and gets back to her gardening. She seems nice, if a bit overly interested in the Villa’s membership. I make sure to note in my head to be careful about my comings and goings. If she pays half as much attention as it seems like she might, coming back from a ritual or leaving in the dead of night is probably off the table, unless I can be sneaky about it. After all, even with the most care, rituals often get a little blood on your clothes and blood is suspicious. Also, no matter how one is dressed, leaving in the middle of the night in suburbia is a suspicious action. Which spells trouble if I want to practice.
I head inside, and nod at the Magister awaiting me. “Which one are you?” She asks, her face as blank as mine.
“Gregory,” I say.
The magister nods. “Room fourteen. Head down the hall, it’ll be the second room on your right.” She hands me a key. Taking it, I go to my room and put down my stuff. Unpacking the clothes and materials inside, I consider my options. At some point, I’ll need to check the room. If spending three years in the same general vicinity as Therese has taught me anything, it’s that anywhere can have ears, no matter how random or inconsequential. Looking at the files, I know I’ll have to memorize them too, at some point tonight. Looking at my laptop, I also remember another of the many reasons that I’m here. The library of this Villa has some books that I think will be quite helpful for my interview if I learn them. I sit down to make a mental list.
Order of priority. Most important is the books, but those are a summer long project. I’ll be here for quite some time and I doubt the books will disappear at any point this summer. The most urgent is the files. I doubt my internship will go well if I mess up badly before it’s even begun in earnest. I begin to move towards them, then I remember the weirdness. Great Maestro Stevens-Williamson had said something about the expansion and internal stuff. Internal stuff means people who may be against it are a part of the Magisterium. Which means the chances of me currently being watched are exponentially higher. I best take care of that issue first, then.
Finding the enchantments and/or bugs are simple enough. I slit my palms while holding liquid soap in them, and say a chant while creating a bloody soap bubble in the center of the eyelike shape between my two forefingers and my two thumbs. Gazing through the bloody-burning eye, I walk my room. Three separate things stand out. There is a watching pattern on the wall. There is a physical bug on the underside of the lamp. There is an ominous yet familiar glowing thrum coming from one of the pens in the desk. Breaking the bubble, I get to work.
The pattern is simple enough to shatter, I overwhelm it with sensory input by smearing the bloody, enchanted soap onto it. The feedback loop should cause it to burn away. And indeed, after a moment, the wall starts to smoke slightly. I open the window and use a fan to let the smoke out. Next, the physical bug. Carefully removing it from the lamp without messing with the power situation, I put it into one of the thick dresser drawers, filling the dresser with towels. I add to my mental list that I should pick up a cheap audio device so I can play some useless garbage for the bug to keep whoever’s on the other end from planting another one. Finally, I pick up the pen. It is familiar. The signature reminds me of one I’ve seen before. Shaking my head, I whisper grumpily to the pen, “Stop spying on me, Therese,” before tossing it out the window as well.
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