Called on the Carpet

Khaat had not jumped into summoning the headmaster lightly. She was not medically able to work as she wanted, so she wasn't going to meet with anyone at Ministry headquarters. She had decided to keep the room that she had used for a couple of other meetings. She had had Marcus secure it, and she had sent staffers ahead to prepare it for the predawn meeting. Marcus had checked the room inside and had posted a second bodyguard there, this one at the door. Both he and the guard on the door were in their standard tailored black suits--their usual dress when they were out with Khaat at any business occasion.

After the crisis at the school, with the Headmaster nowhere to be seen and no one responding to it except Professor Cooper and Katrina Du Hunt, and Khaat's own staff, there had been nothing to prevent a massacre. Rookwood had not shown up. Nor had any of the other professors. Calling it shameful didn't begin to cut it.

She had more patience with this than her father did. He had been ready to force Ministry control of the school. It wasn't as if the Ministry hadn't taken over the school before. She had gotten him to be a bit patient and had agreed to 'discuss' it with Rookwood.

She had sent Archangel with a howler of sorts. Parchment, with an outer layer of black parchment, sealed with a gilded gold seal with her own Wizengamot seal and tied with a gold cord. It summoned Rookwood to the room upstairs above the Leaky at promptly 4 am.

Marcus took her there at 3. The room was the same as they'd left it. It was set up as an office with a formal, large desk and chair, and sitting room furniture. Medically, she wasn't out of bed yet,. She would have to conduct this meeting like the others. She would have to use the sofa, propped up on a sea of pillows.

She had made a rare choice and had chosen very formal black robes. Marcus had done her a favor and had changed the massive splints and bandages that thoroughly immobilized her shoulder to black fabric so that they weren't so gaudy. She had wanted to try to mask the werewolf scars on the left side of her face and down the left side of her neck, but even Marcus didn't have that sort of magic. She was forced to leave them.

Marcus helped her to the sofa and frowned a bit. The room was drafty tonight. It was turning bitterly cold outside, and the old pub was drafty. Marcus got out a comforter that he had tucked in the room just in case. It was as formal looking as comforters got. Slate colored velvet with a subtle, subdued gold baroque print. The pillows were matching either in a matching solid slate or gold velvet.

After he had her settled and after he had checked the room's security, he started a fire in the fireplace and made tea from a kettle on the hearth. This needed to be formal, and after all his time in serving heads of state, Marcus knew how to step up where he was needed. He prepared the tea tray. When it was prepared, he poured the tea into the pot and poured a cup for her, adding a dose of her pain potion and then slipping the little bottle back in his jacket pocket.

"How will you handle Rookwood?" he asked her gently.

"If he's lucky, I'll let him live," she said softly, sipping on her tea. "Did you send Archangel with the howler to Eli as well?"

"Yes," Marcus said. "If he responds, he should be here just about the time you finish chewing on Rookwood."

"Excellent," she said.

Scandinavia during the winter months was an inhospitable wasteland pocketed here and there with a few settlements in between bushy forests and sporadic attempts at urbanisation outside of the cities. In the high hills, up and out of sight of the mischievous Muggles, Durmstrang Institute was set, reclining into the landscape with its dark, brooding towers and walls - like a slumbering grizzly bear stranded in the snow.

It was there that Theodore Rookwood had chosen to go first on his tour around the European magical institutions, hoping to build much firmer relations in the hope of setting up some sort of exchange program so that the less wealthy students at his own school would have a chance to experience different customs and countries. They’d not all had the opportunities he had and, certainly, many of the students at Hogwarts during his current tenure as Headmaster would greatly appreciate such a chance, he was sure.

The High Master of Durmstrang was going to put Theodore up in his castle for a little over a week but as soon as he arrived, Theodore understood the necessity of the large fires that were always crackling away in the hearths dotted around the castle. It was a large, draughty building which had long since lost its modernity in a world that had far surpassed the need for such structures. Still, it retained some of its brooding charm and once settled into his room, Theodore forgave the castle for its chills.

He wrote to Hallie a few days after his arrival, detailing very little of the actual negotiations and proceedings but rather, instead, the methods of teaching that the Durmstrang Masters were employing. Certainly, it was something he was considering drilling into his own Professors but, even despite his upbringing, Theodore found himself balking at the Dark Arts lessons that took place and while he left that detail out of his letter he made sure that his wife knew that all was going well.

However, what he didn’t realise was that very little was going well on her end.

During the third night of his stay at Durmstrang, in the middle of a late night game of chess with the High Master, an owl swooped in through the open window, dropping a Ministerial Howler on Theodore’s lap. The man put down his glass of Firewhisky and with noted trepidation he opened it up. Of course, he immediately wished he’d skipped out on that - perhaps burnt it instead - for the Howler was not nearly as kind as the conventional ones and Theodore, once the letter was finished, was immediately Portkeyed out of the castle.

When he landed, Theodore’s vision brought into view for him the bar of the Leaky Cauldron which was still littered here and there with a few worse for wear looking patrons. The caretaker immediately approached him, grabbing him by the arm and foregoing all protocol and respect that Theodore would’ve demanded usually - and, stunned, the man didn’t reach to correct the presumptuous caretaker, either.

Soon enough, Theodore found himself on the doorstep of the room he’d been directed to and, after regaining his countenance somewhat, he opened up the door to the room, finding within the Chief Warlock looking about as healthy as a corpse and another man who Theodore couldn’t say he recognised.

“I don’t take kindly to being summoned quite like this, Madam.” Theodore began, unabashedly before demanding: “What on earth is going on?”

"Headmaster," Khaat greeted him with a distanced formal tone. "sit." Her tone was not a request. It was an instruction. She had expected that he might be testy at being summoned abruptly at 4 am, but she was not moved much by his tone. She had enough unhappiness of her own at the moment.

"Do you have any clue as to where your wife is tonight?" she asked. "I do. Do you have any idea where your students have been tonight? I do? Or how about where your Gryffindors are sleeping tonight? Because I do.

"I am about an inch from enacting that little used foulness that allows the Ministry to take over Hogwarts if the staff is somehow ill equipped to do so. I normally abhor that law. After the last several hours-- in which you and all of your staff, save one, were noticeably absent--I find myself feeling I may well have no alternative.

"So--this is not a request. This is an instruction. Give me good reason to not send the Ministry before daylight to supervise the operation of the school. Account for yourself. Where were you? Your post does come with the ability to be magically notified if there is an emergency at the school. What part of that did not work so well for you this evening?"

The Chief Warlock neither looked well or particularly content and at four o’clock in the morning, Theodore couldn’t blame her. However, he wasn’t moved by her by any stretch of the imagination. He’d experienced the ire of both his grandfather and his father many times over the course of the years and he had long since gotten over the childish fear of people when they were upset with him. Certainly, also, he was sure that the Rookwood intolerance of women in powerful positions also came into play somewhere along the line but Theodore believed, above all, that his immobile response to her words was borne out of fatigue rather than anything else.

“I’m sorry?” He sneered finally, his fingers curling into his palms as he fought to tolerate her just as much as he was sure she was tolerating him - as though it was some great feat to challenge man she knew little of. “How dare you speak to me as though I am an abhorrent child capable of nothing but ill acts and folly?”

Theodore’s mind began to spin, the cogs in his brain clanking wildly as they fought to attach what he knew and extract what conclusions he could manage to grasp hold of from what little assaulting information Khaat had supplied him with. The Gryffindors weren’t in the tower. Something had happened to the school. The students weren’t safe. Hallie. Hallie wasn’t safe. What horrified him the most was the arresting fear that tugged at him and wound round his conscience at the thought of his wife being anywhere else but tucked up in his quarters or in their home in London. She wasn’t safe and neither were his wards.

“I was doing business with the High Master of Durmstrang if you must know,” he sniffed derisively. “The Governors are aware of my absence and they are also aware that there is very little that can be done about contact as all magic in contactable forms is neutralised when you step over the threshold of the High Master’s castle gate. We were having supper. We were playing chess. I was winning on both the negotiation front and the game.”

Finally, Theodore took the seat that he’d been offered, refusing to keep up the stubborn charade any longer. He still felt indignant and unjustly harangued but he could do nothing about the latter. He attempted to soothe the latter as he laced his fingers together in his lap, his index finger and thumb looping around his wedding ring, his mind floating away to Hallie despite his best intentions to focus on the students. His wife. She was hurt. Was she? Was she alive?

“I do believe, Madam Lupin,” Theodore began coolly, “That you are threatening someone who is blissfully surrounded in ignorance so if you would be so kind as to enlighten me as to the condition of my wife and my students and the Gryffindor tower then we can decide whether it would be worth letting your little government meddle in my affairs. However, from the outset I think you should know it won’t end well if it is allowed. There’s not a pure soul left in that Ministry and I’ll be damned if you poison my school with their meddling, too.”

She wasn't entirely surprised that he had attempted to use arrogance to cover his insecurities.  She was accustomed to seeing it in Slytherin families because there tended to be more old money there, and arrogance appeared to be an acceptable way of rationalizing any number of things in wealthy households.  She did notice she had struck several nerves though.  She allowed him to settle into the chair and let him finish speaking before she answered.
She motioned for him to help himself to the tea.  It was hard enough to be up at 4 am, much less without caffeine.  

"First of all, if our 'little government' hadn't meddled, your school would be in ruins right now and its very likely many of your students would be dead," she said quietly.  "You're welcome.  While you were having dinner and playing chess, your school was breeched tonight. The gates were literally blown off their hinges and your castle was set on fire. Gryffindor Tower was all but destroyed.  Because of separate violence, one student is dead, and four more are missing. Your protection spell might as well have not been there at all."  She paused a moment to let him absorb that before she began to explain.  It was news she knew Rookwood wasn't prepared to hear. Nor was it news she had really wanted any part in having to deliver.

"A powerful dark wizard set Hogsmeade on fire, destroyed the school gates, breeched the grounds, and desecrated the tomb of Albus Dumbledore.  We responded.  And as the well trained auror she is, your wife responded with other aurors.  As a responsible professor, her mother responded as well. And--so did James Blood's pack of rogue werewolves.

"The dark wizard proceeded to set the castle on fire, and when we confronted him, he killed himself. The werewolves entered the already breeched school grounds, where they turned four students into werewolves and killed one other.

"Professor Cooper is almost singlehandedly responsible for saving your student body tonight. While we dealt with the dark wizard and the werewolves, she evacuated the students out of the castle and did her level best to keep them all safe.  Her skills were exceptional  None of your other staff appeared to even be present. I do seriously question the safety of your school if your staff, save one, can't muster up when you're gone. And, like it or not, that pressure goes right back to you and the governors.

"And, yes, your wife was injured in the line of duty for the Ministry. She was trying to save the students and the school when the castle was attacked. She fell from Gryffindor Tower tonight.  Fortunately, she's going to be fine.  She is at St. Mungos, recovering.

"But that's just the first chapter from tonight.  There is more--much more. You have not heard it all."

She wanted to verbally blast Rookwood, her own trauma from the evening a bit more raw. Perhaps it was the serious fatigue of doing more than enough tonight when she needed help just to get out of bed.  Or perhaps it was the stress of willingly offering herself up as the necessary sacrifice, offering her own life as the ransom for the students of Hogwarts to the creature who, not that long ago, had nearly been very successful at mauling her to death.  Instead, she paused a moment and didn't say anything, refusing to lose her professional "edge" in this meeting.

"Mr. Rookwood," she breathed in a bit, trying to keep her own issues buried, "I am not your enemy, but you and your govenors had better prepare yourselves because you're going to have not just the parents of your students, but every witch and wizard in England breathing hellfire up your proverbial robes by daylight.  If you thought you knew that sort of heat before, let me assure you.  You haven't seen anything yet. If I had the ability to reduce that, I would, but this was so blatantly public and violent that there is precious little I can do with the public or the papers.'"  Her words were not intended to be a threat. It was reality.  She had been dealing with the "court of public opinion" for a long time, and Rookwood was about to be thrown into it, headlong, about up to his eyeballs.

Leaving the school had not been something he’d undertaken lightly and while Theodore felt he should protest that he doubted that it would mean much in the wake of what had gone that evening. Very little could be said to make his position seem less damning. He should have been there, in the grounds, against whomever and whatever decided it was unto them the actions that would jeopardise the safety of his students. But he wasn’t. His wife was. His mother-in-law was. It seemed that the Lupins were. The students were.

“Merlin,” Theodore breathed as the enormity washed over him. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and brought his fingers up through his hair, his nails scratching absently into his scalp as he tried to order the scenarios. Werewolves. Dark Wizards. The Ministry. Merlin.

Werewolf rights were a testy, difficult business that he was sure the Department of Fluffies were fervently for but old prejudices seemed truly justified to Theodore as he dared to imagine what they’d done. He reached into the pocket of his robes and drew out a silver cigarette case, opting for something a little better and more expensive than what he usually had a penchant for. He opened it up, picked one out and closed it again before tossing the case in the direction of the Chief Warlock, followed by his lighter after he’d lit the cigarette.

“In that case,” he began, exhaling smoke into the air above them. “I would greatly appreciate the presence of your little government’s Aurors.” He quirked an eyebrow at Khaat briefly before sighing. “Actually, keep them. Send them after your Dark Wizard. What are your Beast Specialists or Being Specialists or Rogue Dog Catchers or whatever they are doing about Blood?”

Priorities were always askew for Rookwoods but, rightly or wrongly, Theodore felt his were justified. He was feeling antsy. Knowing where Hallie was, he had to see her with his own eyes and assess for himself whether or not she was recuperating and whether it would be apt to lock her away forever somewhere so she wouldn’t be hurt again. Of course he realised how completely ridiculous that was. He didn’t know Hallie but he knew enough to know she’d gut him if he even thought about it. So that idea was put to bed.

“I’ll let the governors deal with the parents,” Theodore said after a moment. “I’ll speak to the ones who are bereaved, personally. Then we can throw some sort of ball for PR’s sake once everything is repaired. The student populous is overwhelmed with werewolves, though. You have your opinions, obviously, and I have mine but what you advise I do, Madam Warlock, in the light of this? They’ve been a danger all along but the game is different now, no?”

Theodore pressed his lips together. “Perhaps it would be worth closing the school for a time.”

"As to the dark wizard, he is dead. His name is Thaorson Elldir, Sr.  He will be buried, either by his surviving son, or by my father and Michael Tremaine.  There is a history there that you need to know.  He was a childhood friend of my father and my uncle and a good many others.  There was a time when we trusted him with our lives.  In his latter years, he seemed to lose his sanity. He became quite murderous.  He was on the run from my father because he was responsible for the massacre in Diagon Alley awhile back--among other crimes. He is the person who attempted to kill my father and nearly succeeded.

"As I understand it, when he was confronted tonight by Professor Tremaine and the aurors, they discovered he was, in fact, bewitched.  I'm not sure I understand the reason, but he did turn his wand upon himself and killed himself. "  She saw the cigarettes. She only smoked on rare occasion but this seemed like a worthy exception.  "Thank you," she said, selecting one. "I believe I will."  Marcus picked up the lighter and lit it for her. He did not want to see her try to light the thing one handed, and he knew she had enough independence to want to try.

"Its only because I don't want to see you set yourself on fire," he said to her dryly. She shot him a bit of sarcastic glance but said nothing.  He replaced the lighter on the table with the cigarette case near the ashtray.

"It does appear he has some sort of unfinished business because his ghost has apparently decided to take up residence at Hogwarts now. I do not know what his intentions are.  Hopefully, his passing has rid him of his curse and his intentions are benign now.  If you need help in determining that, I would suggest you perhaps enlist the help of my mother's seers skills. At least then you know if you and your students will be safe.

"You could close the school I suppose, and perhaps the damage to the castle would be a rather benign reason to begin the Christmas holiday break a bit early if you chose.  If not, then it seems you must look at contingency planning.  I did manage to find a wizard that, although he didn't have your headmaster privileges, he posesses enough power to start the proper reconstruction spell to repair the damage to the castle.  Your own privileges will surely be needed there, though and on the White Tomb.

"The werewolves are another matter altogether.  Check your library.  There are several texts there on werewolves, many of them written by Edward Donohue.  He is best known for slaying ill or out of control werewolves.  We have enlisted his specialized skills.  He was with us tonight and was able to negotiate the pack off the grounds without further loss.  I've asked him to assemble as many fighters as he needs to kill the pack.  

"The leader of the pack is perhaps the largest and most violent werewolf I have ever known. His name is James Blood  You won't miss him if you see him. He stands 7 foot tall in human form, and when he's transfigured, he is taller than that.  As a human, he's bodybuilder.  As a werewolf, I find him something beyond enormous.  He has no conscience and kills sometimes just for amusement.  Donohue told us Blood infected four of your students and took them with him to join his pack.  If that is the case, and if we cannot talk them into taking wolfsbane and controlling their curse, we will have to eliminate them. We are sure he is the one who killed the one student who died, probably in an effort to turn her to a werewolf.

"I have deal with Blood before.  We must make every effort to make sure he does not find access to the grounds again.  I would suggest you make it mandatory for any student infected with lycanthropy to take their wolfsbane on a daily basis, not just at the full moon, and to be required to do so in the hospital wing under the close supervision of your healers. We must be certain that James cannot use one of your students against you all.

She hesitated to add the last bit because she didn't want to confront him again, but she spoke anyway. "I would suggest that if he does manage to access the school again that you call for me," she said.  She glanced up at Marcus, who was looking very grim, not liking at all what he saw she was going to offer.  "I have something he wants," she said seriously.  "But in this case, it can be a very useful weapon."

"If you're going to tell him the truth, then you tell it all, Khaat," Marcus spoke up uncharacteristically. "You let him know how much danger they could be in.  Headmaster, Blood was the man who nearly killed the Chief Warlock. His mauling is responsible for the damage to her that you see now.  It took several skilled fighters to fight him off her during that attack. He is not a beast your school is, in any manner, prepared to deal with, much less his whole pack.  What she's not telling you is that one of the things we know he wants is her--and he wants her dead. Its the one lure we know we have."

Theodore Rookwood would’ve been a bad liar if he’d have claimed not to have considered picking Khaat Lupin up and trying his luck using her as a pawn to barter with but he knew to do so would be idiotic. Lucky for him, she seemed perfectly happy using herself in part of the grand game they’d all unwillingly entered into. The Lupins were willing martyrs whereas he really did want to live. He’d save his own skin before that of anyone else - though there was considerable change in the air on that front - and, certainly, if sacrificing Khaat meant he’d save a thousand students and countless other civilians outside of their accidental war then he’d do it. In a heartbeat. But he didn’t have to. He was happy to let them roll those dice.  

“So I have a suicidal, mass-murdering ghost living with Peeves and the Bloody Baron who will, as a collective, harass the Grey Lady?”

Needless to say, Theodore was less than amused. Why couldn’t Elldir inhabit the damn village? Why did everyone who happened to die feel the need to take up residence in Hogwarts? Theodore was, with reason, beginning to despise his job - especially now that it came to pose a risk to the fledgling life he was trying to lead with his wife. Still, they rubbed shoulders painfully and while the sexual tension was running high it didn’t actually substitute a real relationship - a real marriage. She was his card, though. His wife. He’d let her burn, though... let her burn when he should’ve had her dressed up pretty playing backgammon with the High Master’s wife.

“Thank you for this, Madam Warlock,” Theodore growled, irritation fake in his tone as he couldn’t help but find the absurd hilarity in the whole scenario. Not to mention the murderous werewolf who was hell bent on being a successful Fenrir Greyback. “You’ve implicated my school and my family,” how bizarrely the last word fell on his tongue for, indeed, his wife and his mother-in-law were his family. “Because there’s an overgrown dog on the loose and another loose end in a man who is now sort-of-dead only not really and not for long because ghosts have this ugly habit of coming back. But not for a while, eh? Blood you’re expecting, no doubt.”

Theodore sighed, testy once more as he stubbed out his cigarette forcefully into the ash tray.

“I’ll secure the school. Fix things up. Make it a delightful PR centre of excellence and boost morale. However, I am not going to put up with a dead man who just exacerbates the delicate equilibrium of my ghosts and I am not going to allow my students to be haunted by a werewolf who clearly missed the memo that they’ve got their rights so there’s no need to go Greyback-style on the Wizarding World. I will deal with my end of it. You deal with the dog. Do you have an exorcist’s address at all? I might be able to flush out Peeves too and hit both birds with my religious stone.”

Theodore rose to his feet.

“I’m leaving,” he declared, buttoning his suit jacket. “However, know that it is not because I am disentangling myself from your endeavours. Do not put my school in jeopardy by doing anything stupid. Do not put yourselves in too much jeopardy either, hm? Now, if you’ll excuse me, Madam Warlock, I am sure you have things you need to be doing - recuperation you need to busy yourself with and the like. I need to go and see to my wife and mother-in-law... not to mention what’s left of my school. So, good evening, Madam. I do hope you get to bed soon.”

With that said, Theodore apparated out of the Leaky Cauldron and into the centre of London onto the street opposite St. Mungo’s. He had a wife to see - and not just any wife. His wife: who was in much more trouble than any broken bones or whatever other grievous injuries she’d sustained. Once he was threw with her she’d want to go back and do the evening all over again. How dare she make him worry?

Khaat allowed the Rookwood toss himself rather deep into the bitterness that came from a man who was doing a job he loathed.

Oh, Lord, where is Edgar Doyle when you need him? she thought.  At least Doyle was a man she understood.  Rookwood appeared, to her, to be simply rather pathetic. He was speaking like his every task was his own personal crucifixion.  

She didn't know what he envisioned as a better career, but she could see him sipping some rather foo-foo style of martini while he lounged in preppy, overpriced designer nautical-styled sportswear on some large luxury yacht on the Mediterranean, surrounded by Playboy bunnies in scanty bikinis. And, most likely, while Hallie was busting her backside at some wilderness survival training exercise.

She said nothing, while the not-so-flattering visual of him ran through her head.  She felt sorry for Hallie. She liked the young auror, and she felt Hallie deserved better than his conceited drivel.  

She said nothing as he took his leave.

Marcus looked at her, "Well?"

"I think that actually went better than I expected," she said.  

"Do you expect your meeting with Elijah to fare any better?" he asked.

"That all depends on your definition of better," she said.  "But, overall? No. Not really. He does have the ability to surprise me, though."

Where was Elijah Krum? Where was the Deputy Minister? Where was our leader?

Where was he? He was behind his desk, rolling a cigarette and running the country in the midst of doing deals with the German Ministry.

But where was he meant to be? Well, everywhere but where he was wanted, wasn’t he?

As it was, on that particular evening, Elijah Krum was in bed. Asleep. Alone.

After tossing and turning for what felt like hours, a little after twelve he’d finally succumbed to his fatigue and drifted off into a fitful slumber. Sometime after one o’clock he felt the bed shift and was joined by a sleepy Cepheus and Caelum who sniffled and snored away the colds that clung to their chests and, unfortunately, had stolen away much of Elijah’s attention over the last few days. Between the cold war that was commencing between himself and Mira, their health and the Ministry, he’d not had a lot of time for anything and, finally, he was going to leave the soulless manor house in Scotland in favour for something in Northern Wales. The logistics of that had been a complete nightmare, too, and, really, he’d not had enough time for anything at all so it was no wonder that he had trouble sleeping with all that he had clogging his brain.

Of course, sleep would never keep him for long - did it ever? - and Elijah found himself being roused by a concerned, weary Caelum who pointed to a rather dark looking bird perched on the chair by the window Elijah didn’t remember opening. He sighed heavily and lifted himself up, out of bed before putting Caelum back down, whispering for him to stay where he was. The little boy nodded and shuffled back down next to his brother. Elijah put his glasses on, a new feature he wasn’t entirely sure he enjoyed, and shrugged on the dressing gown he’d left on the sofa set off away from his bed. He scowled at the bird and pointed to the bedroom door, out of which they both went.

The nearest drawing room was bathed in yellow light when Elijah entered and he reluctantly took the Howler that he was greeted with. The Bulgarian man sighed heavily and shook his head after it had finished its piece and with a flick of his wand, destroyed the pieces that the letter had destroyed itself into. He ran his fingers through his hair once more and grumbled under his breath before turning off the lights to the drawing room and returning to his own, removing some clothes from the wardrobe before hastening off to dress in the bathroom.

Once dressed, he moved down the hallway and stuck his head around the door of the room in which his cousin Andres slept with his wife Tatiana. The latter was roused by the sound and she extracted herself from her husband’s hold long enough to see and comprehend that Elijah was going out. He whispered, breaking the precious silence, that he was going out. Tatiana nodded wearily and nodded again when he told her where the boys where. Then, with that said, Elijah shut the door behind him and, after donning his cloak, finally apparated to the Leaky Cauldron.

Thankfully, the barkeep was a lot less brusque with him than he had been with Theodore but Elijah was no less amused when he was told gruffly to follow the man upstairs. When he arrived at the room, Elijah was unsurprised to find the man Stelladora had sent in way of ‘help.’ He narrowed his eyes briefly but with a sigh accepted the nonsense of the situation. When he settled his eyes on Khaat, however, he raised his eyebrows, wondering absently where the melodrama was all coming from at what was, in short, a horrendous hour to be awake.

“The world had better have ended,” Elijah swore despite remaining neutral posture. “Because this is ridiculous-o’clock.”