It was not unusual to get a newspaper before entering the workplace.  Most people did, from what Josephine observed, and she was no stranger to this routine.  It had been strange when she first came back, but now, as she acclimated to English routines, taking a Daily Prophet had become like second nature. 

This particular morning when she took the paper into her office, she did not immediately have time to read it.  She had been called in to consult on the identification of an artifact, and then had to examine it for potential curses from Western Africa.  Thankfully, the object was harmless (and worthless), though much to the disappointment of the collector – and the Goblins.

Josephine personally disliked working at their beck and call.  She would have much preferred to be in the field, but until something came up that wasn’t recovering a Goblin wrought mask from Gomfrey, she was stuck. 

She did have a plan, of course, but was working out the last of it.  While she did that, she figured she could catch up on her reading, and picked up the Prophet. 

It took less than twenty seconds for the curse-breaker to be out of her cushioned seat and stalking toward the one person she did not wish to see.  Leave it to Cohen to destroy everything she had worked hard to carefully plan!  Part of the job was being impulsive, but really?!  She held the paper behind her back while her heels clicked on the marble floors of the imposing building.  You could probably hear her coming from a mile away, but she failed to care. 

She pushed past a group of Goblins, towering over them and entered the space Cohen was occupying only for the time being.  After this stunt, Josephine couldn’t imagine she’d be working there much long. 

She tried to keep her face as calm as possible, the newspaper still tucked behind her back, and stared down at the younger woman.  She clearly had something to tell her, and Josephine would stand her until she did.

Raizel hated Mondays.

It was nice, she had to admit, having a full two-day weekend.  She was never going to complain about getting every Sunday off.  But having a weekend was severely dampened by the fact that she now had a workweek, and was subsequently required to be present in the office at Gringotts for all five of the days that qualified as such.

Mondays were always awful.  For the past six weeks since she'd been put on desk duty, Raizel dragged herself in, took her place at the desk that she was certain was hiding a soul-sucking Dementor, and began painfully reviewing the mind-numbing requests that were going to be made of her over the next five days.  The freedom of field work, of setting her own hours and making her own schedule, was a dream of the distant past.  There was no variation in London; just deadening, heart-wrenching monotony.

This week was certain to be just as bad.  Even if she had minor things to look forward to -- the more interesting projects that she'd been working on the side, tracking down the Group and 'assisting' Akiva Eleor with her self defense lessons, along with the fact that she'd informed Adon by owl that they'd be celebrating his birthday on Friday -- none of it made the tedium any more bearable.  Raizel sat hunched over her desk, fingers twisted frustratedly in her hair as she attempted

The footsteps meant that someone was approaching.  Raizel hissed a sigh as they stopped in front of her desk, but she knew better than to look up.  Digging in, she twisted her hair more firmly around her fingers, hunching down to make it clear that whatever she was reading over, it was so important that she was entirely engrossed in it.  That was one trick she'd learned early on after her reassignment; making eye contact was as good as volunteering herself for every unwanted duty imaginable.

This time, though, whoever was standing there didn't get the hint to move on.  Scowling, Raizel chanced a look up, intending to glare them into submission.  When she saw who it was, she let out an unhappy snort, her nostrils flaring.  Of course St. Just couldn't take a hint.

"What?" she snapped irritably.  Whatever the woman wanted, she wasn't about to go play fetch and carry for her again; even tedious paperwork was preferable to that.  The elder Cursebreaker had no sense of appreciation for her colleagues.  "If you want something from me, then say it.  I'm busy."

As rude as ever, Josephine thought, looking at the blonde cursebreaker.  She looked positively horrible, though Josephine had to admit her top was... actually  nice.  She wouldn't have worn it herself, at least not anymore, but it was nice enough for the young woman.  Josephine had trouble rationalizing what she wore though - it did not match, but she supposed everyone had their quirks.

It also contrasted deeply with her actions - pretending femininity and demureness, but really a cold blooded killer.  This had Cohen written all over it, she reasoned, and coolly sat down in the chair in front of the desk. 

"If you want something from me, then say it.  I'm busy."

My, she was snappy today.  The stress of having murdered someone was clearly getting to her. Josephine would have pegged her for the more serious type, and able to do something of the sort.  She was not sure if she was disappointed or pleased with this prospect.  On one hand, it meant she certainly couldn't kill her without feeling guilty, but on the other, it probably meant she had some capability to feel - which was always a disadvantage. 

But, if she wanted Josephine to ask, she would.  Tossing the newspaper on the desk, Josephine had very little to say, except: "An explanation would be appropriate." 

She crossed her legs and leaned back in the chair, folding her hands over the top of her knee.  Her ears were certainly open for this one. 

Raizel gave a loud, annoyed huff as the other Cursebreaker invited herself to sit and then tossed a bundle of paper onto her desk.  Who did St. Just think that she was?  She might be stuck on stupid punishment duty in the stupid Gringotts office, but that didn't mean she had to sit around and tolerate her coworkers acting like she was some sort of underling, there to get ordered around. 

Raizel eyed the woman across her desk, sitting up straighter as she crossed her arms defensively.  In a perfect world, she would have been able to maintain the stare down until St. Just got tired of it and left her alone.  But it took a mere few seconds before her curiosity got the better of her and she glanced down at the heavy papers in front of her.

"It's a newspaper," she said sourly.  "You read it.  The ones here aren't very good."  She snorted and reached to pick it up.  She didn't really want to play this game, but if it was the only way to get St. Just to leave her alone -- and, she realized with a quickly sinking feeling, there weren't really that many people that she knew here in the United Kingdom who were prominent enough to end up in a newspaper and create enough of a connection to her that would cause someone to storm into her office, and fewer reasons still why they might be newsworthy --

But none of the faces that she was suddenly fearful to see stared back at her.  Raizel blinked at the headline, then squinted at the lead article itself.  Snorting, she curled the newspaper back into a roll and tossed it at St. Just.

"Why would I have an explanation for that?" she asked disdainfully.  "He's your client.  If he's dead, it's not my problem[/i]."

The impetuous cursebreaker needed to pay attention.  Josephine wasn't asking for a chit-chat, she was asking for an explanation - a very much needed one.  Of course, the urgency of the whole thing was obviously not apparent to the blonde, Israeli, and she couldn't help but roll her eyes.  "Believe me, I've already read it," she answered in a flat voice.  If her eyebrows were any lower, she wouldn't be able to see - and she felt like she had sucked on a lemon-drop. 

When Cohen finally picked up the paper, Josephine let out a sigh of relief.  Really, the girl needed to pick up on these things faster.  Of course, when she asked her question, Josephine felt - for the first time, speechless.  After several moments of angered staring, Josephine opened her mouth.

"My client?" she asked in a strangled voice, "If you don't recall," she hissed, "You were there too." 

She pushed herself up from the chair and pulled a cigarette out of her cloak.  With a flick of her wrist, it was lit and Josephine was taking a draw.  She needed to calm down and she wouldn't give Cohen the satisfaction of seeing her all out of sorts.  She was just going to be puffing on that cigarette for a moment.

Balancing the small white devil stick between her fingers, she sighed.  "He is our client, Cohen, and you were there, just as much as I was.  You do not think you be overlooked in this, do you?"  she arched her eyebrow, "You are so messy."

It was as if St. Just were purposely trying to irritate her.  Raizel eyed the woman, eyed her cigarette, and then irritably fingered her wand.  Smoking was one thing; smoking at her desk, and obviously just to bother her, was clearly another.  Eyes narrowed with annoyance, she silently cast a Flame-Freezing Charm.

It took a few seconds longer for the other woman's words to sink in.  Raizel was hardly surprised that St. Just would blame her for any inconvenience -- of course he was only both of their client now, now that he was dead -- but this wasn't quite the finger pointing that she might have expected. 

"You are worried because I broke a vase?" she asked amusedly.  Smirking, she shook her head, clearly entertained at the idea.  "The Aurors here are better than that.  Maybe in Jerusalem," Raizel said loftily, giving a dismissive wave of her hand to show how unimportant the comparison was, "they would worry about that, but here, they are good."

A flicker of doubt coursed through her mind, but Raizel squashed it instantly, firmly locking down on the thought.  Things here in the United Kingdom were not like they had been back home, where the Near East Ministry had picked and chosen its investigations and indulged in unrelenting pursuit of anyone they considered a possible villain.  She trusted at least one or two of the Aurors here.  Even if her name did come up in the investigation, she was not going to be thrown into a small room and interrogated until her sister raised enough of a fuss to get her out.  This was not her problem.

Still smirking, she cocked her head to the side, regarding the other Cursebreaker with obvious bemusement.  "Besides.  I was just following orders," she said chidingly.  "You were the one making inquiries.  If he's dead, then it's your problem to explain it."  And the thought of someone else in trouble with the goblins for a change -- of Josephine St. Just in trouble -- was making her nearly giddy at the prospect.  "Maybe if you remember your manners, the goblins will not get mad at you much."

Josephine could have smacked Raizel Cohen.  She could see it in her mind's eye, standing up, squashing the frozen cigarette on the desk, and then leaning over, leaving the reddest print on the side of her face.  It would be stunningly easy to do - but she supposed Gringotts would not approve of two of their cursebreakers fighting.  Even more than that, it wouldn't give her any more sense than her actually relying on something other than her connections to keep her out of trouble. 

"Get the vase out of your empty head, Cohen," Josephine hissed.  This was not about some silly trinket that was probably illegally purchased anyway.  She obviously couldn't get past the one and only thing that she perceived she did wrong the whole day and focus on the fact that they were going to get investigated. 

She rolled her eyes at the mention of the aurors and Josephine sighed.  "And as such," she clipped, responding to the 'good' comment, "you can't think they wouldn't leave even one stone unturned."  She pushed herself out of the chair and stood, letting out a breath. 

"Just following orders?" Josephine quirked her eyebrow, letting out a laugh with the shake of her head.  Oh, that was rich.  "I would swear up and down I did not order you to enchant a mirror, Cohen.  And believe me, they can - and will - trace that to you." 

She smacked her lips, a quirk that marked she was in thought - or pausing.  "I was otherwise engaged at the time, if you do not recall."  The wine stain had been gotten rid of, of course, but she wouldn't let Cohen forget that it was her doing.

"This," she pointed her wand at the paper, and it zoomed back toward her, catching in between her well manicured fingers, "is much bigger than just getting in trouble with the goblins.  This man," she pointed at the picture of Gomfrey with the tip of her wand, "was in a position of power.  And you," she cut with a sneer, "and I are amongst the last to see him before he ended up inside-out." 

She looked around the office, making sure she had definitely closed the door and leaned against the desk. "There are rumors, Cohen.  Runic magic was involved."

Not only was Josephine St. Just obviously in trouble -- a feat that Raizel imagined she'd pay an entire month's salary in shekels just to see -- but she was clearly on the verge of losing her composure.  The blonde Cursebreaker smirked back at her, regarding her opposite smugly across the desk.  At least something had finally gotten to St. Just.

But as the other woman spoke -- as her words slowly sunk in -- she couldn't ignore the slowly sinking feeling in her own stomach.  The last people to see him... Runic magic... Raizel swallowed hard, her right hand curling instinctively into a fist as she tensed.  For the Jerusalem Office, that would have been more than they needed.  Plausible suspicion and they'd drag anyone that they liked in. And the questioning could drag on for days.   A momentary panic flashed through her -- all alone in a room, people shouting at her, while she braced herself and shouted back --

"None of that has anything to do with me!" Raizel insisted.  She lifted her chin, fighting back the wave of panic as she leveled a glare back at St. Just.  "I didn't kill him.  And I'll tell the Aurors that."   She set her jaw, a stubborn glint in her eye.

"And I'll tell them about your boyfriend, too!" she said sharply, defensively.  "The one that the house elf was supposed to owl about the mask![1]"  She drew herself up to her full seated height, her eyes flashing as she jabbed a finger towards the newspaper.  "He must know runes if he works for Gringotts. How do you know that he didn't kill him?"

1.	"We'll need to send an owl to Leandre..."

"You think that matters?" Josephine outright laughed at her.  That was naivety at its finest.  No, no.  She was a silly little girl who had stepped in shoes much too big for her.  Of course, Josephine's blood ran cold at her assertion that she would tell the aurors anything. 

Her lips pulled in and her stare got white hot.  "You will tell the aurors nothing."  Her words flew out like whips, each syllable a snapping lash.  She practically hissed at the end of the last word, pushing herself up from her seat across from the young woman and instead, resting her hands on the desk.

She lowered her gaze, hunched her shoulders, and for all intents and purposes, felt like a jaguar ready to pounce on a monkey that thought itself all too clever.  How pleasant that would have been, she thought back to her African experiences and sighed - she'd have dealt with a thousand poisonous darts and spears to not deal with this upstart.  "You will not approach them, you will not mention a thing to them." 

"In fact, until they talk to you, you will not even look at them," her nostrils flared just a little, and she took pause, wetting her lips.  "You know nothing of the politics of this," she motioned to the newspaper, and then to each other, and then the whole room, pushing herself up with a disgusted sneer.  "And to implicate anyone," especially him, "would be foolish."

Talk of Leandre was particularly painful, especially with little girls who pretended they knew everything.  Josephine stashed the barb away and controlled herself.  "Mr. Vallaincort is a well respected - well connected pureblood who works in the International section of the bank.  He has very little to do with curses and curse breaking."  It didn't mean he didn't know it, but his motivations were considerably less tied down.  Additionally, he had money and a family name to protect him, she hoped her dim little friend would pick up on that. 

"Until they approach us, we are not to speak a word of this." She pointed at the newspaper, "And don't run off and be foolish thinking you can fix everything, because you certainly won't.  The standard for proof is not very high when it comes to political figures and assassination, little girl. You'd do well to keep that in mind."

Raizel glared back at her, but the steel in her gaze wavered.  She knew these words.  In magical society -- in most societies that she had encountered -- blood and birthright mattered far more than anything else.  If he went unchecked by justice, a pureblooded British wizard who had been born into this world could point a finger anywhere that he liked.  At anyone that he liked -- and she had no doubt that a foreigner with no standing and no connections would be an easy target.  If Gringotts was going to be implicated in this, the goblins would vastly prefer that any fingers were pointed at a rogue Cursebreaker who was already missing hers, rather than an esteemed bank representative who was seemingly in high standing.

If St. Just's prior threats had made her feel like she had ice in her veins, the other Cursebreaker's insulting nickname made her feel like her blood was about to boil.  Raizel gritted her teeth, practically sneering back at the other woman.  The standard for proof might not be very high, but not every Auror was going to jump to conclusions.  She opened her mouth to protest, and then shut it uneasily once more.  Even if she could probably rely on Adon to be his usually stubborn self, he was still in Israel.  Letting St. Just know that she had a possible ally at the Ministry might convince the other woman to start shifting the blame too quickly.

She huffed out a quick breath, and then gritted her teeth.  "And you would do well to keep in mind that I am not the one with political connections," she said, each accented word crisp and curt.  "If they bring me into it, I will only be able to tell them what I know."  She let the words hang as she eyed the other woman.  About Vallaincourt.  About St. Just herself.  The threat was implicit.

Raizel swallowed hard, the muscles in her throat still tight, and then forced herself to relax.  She unclenched her hand, pressing it flat on her desk.  "Is there anything else?" she asked stiffly.  "Or can I get back to work?"