House of Atreus. Evening.


The elevator doors slid open on the second floor of the apartment building, and one weary Jebediah Layton got off. He glanced over his shoulder at Ira - a sharp outline adorned in cream silk - as she smiled patronising at the retreating figure. His head lowered into a quick nod just before the doors slid close and continued on its descent to the ground level.

Mirrors on every side of the space held a copy of her prepossessing appearance. As was sometimes expected, the persons in the reflections looked over at one another or wandered about in their respective realms, independent of their originator. Ira only stared ahead.

She was tired. It showed only in her slightly wrinkled brow that thoughts of an anxious nature plagued that usually unruffled mind; to do with unpredictable youths and the possibility of apprehension in her distant future.

Ding! went the elevator just then - her brow smoothed over in time to the doors parting. Ira watched passively as the building's opulent foyer revealed itself. And in the foreground, Johann Storm. Her brow rose in mock surprise. "Mr Storm. How unexpected. Do come in."

As the lift made its descent, Johann's mind wandered. The weather was beginning to turn, as November beckoned, but London was never all that cold, so his wool coat hung open, his brown leather satchel hung across his body from his left shoulder. His right arm held a brown parcel tied up with string, clearly addressed - Box 1895, Diagon Alley Post Office.

He was still working for the Ministry, but returning to part time hours gave him flexibility to work on other things. Some of it was private client work like the parcel under his arm (manufacturing instructions for yet more self-assembling furniture from his most legitimate of clients, with features to repel boggarts and other magical household irritations). But a good few hours were being put in to track down his late father's overseas accounts in his pseudonyms.

Today he'd been over in Frankfurt, and had taken his father's old secretary out to lunch. His head ached from entertaining her. His mother suspected his father had a very close relationship with the witch, and Johann was pretty sure she would hold either the knowledge or enough knowledge to piece things together. She was no Mrs Lanningham - Johann thought to himself as he waited for the lift, dusting a bit of international floo powder off his coat. Mrs Lanningham might have been easier, though probably just as difficult to prise information out of.

There was a chime of the lift arriving at the ground floor. He didn't look up immediately as the doors slid open, though when he did his head snapped up in surprise. He had not encountered Ira Almasy in the lift before now, even though she was the owner.

"Mr Storm. How unexpected. Do come in."

She was a dangerous beauty in cream silk, stood alone in the lift, towering above him. At 6'5 and a woman who could wear heels like they were air, she had the rare ability to make Johann feel short at 6'1 even before she fixed her eyes on him.

He swallowed on reflex, blue eyes a little wider than usual.

"Madam Almasy." He greeted, one of the voices in the back of his head quietly asking why she did not get out after descending from a higher floor, but instead invited him in.

"Unexpected indeed. Though," he stepped through the doors, "it was only a matter of time our paths would cross." He managed a polite smile, no teeth, and shifted the parcel from his right to his left arm, nearest the doors as he stood perpendicular to the witch on Ira's left. He caught his own, travelled reflection in the mirrored lift car walls, considerably less smart than he'd set out. He tried to ignore the hairs prickling on the back of his neck beneath his black curls

"Thank you once again for your kind letter of condolence." He bowed his head respectfully as the doors gently slid shut and then stood straight, raising his gaze to Ira's sharp face, already feeling he'd said too much.

Between enquiring on her niece's training in Greece and helping orchestrate events of the next few months, it was no surprise that she hadn't been able to play a landlord's role as of late - much less run into the likes of her tenant's new... toy. And such good taste he had. Johann Storm was exquisite enough to be a fixture.

Ira smiled at the wizard's courtesy as the doors closed and the elevator began its ascent. Her gaze only briefly fell on the package he cradled, noting the address. One of her reflections stood behind him, staring at the back of his long neck with interest.

"You are most welcome," she replied pleasantly and turned her head to better examine him. "And I am still in debt to your father. Are you still interested in being of service? I must apologise for failing to write. My assistant has been ill, you understand."

Under other circumstances, she might have allowed for some circumlocution but niceties were a strain on her at the end of the day. Even now she was finding it difficult to recollect whether the morning had in fact been a separate period of time, having primarily spent it on foreign shores. Her assistant's condition did not help.

"It is trying, is it not, to find good help?" Ira continued as the elevator continued upwards at an uncannily leisurely rate - there were no buttons; the carriage was enchanted to acknowledge the destination of its passengers. "One hardly knows who to trust."

Madam Almasy was most polite in her response, and for one moment Johann felt somewhat at ease. Well, one never felt entirely at ease in Ira's presence, but comfortable enough to share the lift space with her without feeling like prey.

"… Are you still interested in being of service?"

Johann's head turned, there was no hiding his interest with the way his blue eyes examined Ira intently. Between reducing his hours at the Ministry, and the associated loss of income, pursuing his father's dodgy banking he seized every opportunity that sounded even vaguely like work might be at the end of it. Ira Almasy had been a brief, but lucrative employer.

"It is trying, is it not, to find good help? One hardly knows who to trust."

"As each day passes the number grows smaller." Johann agreed respectfully, nodding subtly. "I am willingly attained if my skills are of value once more, Madam." He shifted the parcel ever so slightly under his arm and stood a little straighter, shrugging off the lethargy of the long day.

"I am at your disposal whenever convenient to discuss." He explained, though couldn't help but feel that 'disposal' might be the wrong word to utter before the sharklike Ira Almasy.

Like an eager puppy, she thought. It was almost too easy to forget the tree from which he fell.

"Now, then?" Ira queried in an agreeable voice as the elevator carriage slowed to a halt, having altogether missed Johann's intended floor. "It won't take a minute. I'm certain Balfour will not mind my keeping you," she allowed her gaze to drop and take in the wizard's frame with interest. "Or perhaps he will. He can wait either way."

The doors slid open to reveal a corridor that differed slightly from the other floors. It led straight to a single apartment entrance. There were no other flats on the sixth storey, being her penthouse offices. Anyone who had the privilege of traversing further than its entrance foyer would know that a labyrinthine collection of storage rooms, libraries and cells lay beyond it.

Not many survived seeing them. It was nobody's business, really.

"Do you typically have your mail sent to the post box, Mister Storm?" she asked as she led him down the passageway towards the offices. "It does seem an inconvenient way to receive materials."

Ira failed to mention her appreciation of its use where hidden identities were concerned, but it hardly seemed necessary - she knew him by both name and face. And if he signed a contract, she would know him as a formality, too. Albeit an illegitimate one. Nothing too dire just yet.

Even she had mourning rituals. Honour amongst assassins.

The door swung inwards on approach and reveal a perfectly square room with dark wooden floors. A surprisingly relaxed and elegant air pervaded the space. The witch indicated one of the armchairs as she went up to a glass cabinet to obtain a standard contract parchment, prepared for this purpose. "Please, sit."

Ira's suggestion to do so immediately was a little surprising, but Johann tried not to let it reflect in his face. Her mention of Balfour brought the slightest of smiles to his features instead. Come to think of it, the lift would almost certainly have stopped at the floor by now.

The doors slid open to his left and he realised that of course they were not on Balfour's floor, but a different one. Higher, he could only presume, Balfour had mentioned Ira had the top floor.

She led the way out of the lift and he followed at a respectable distance. His compliance was already given.

"Do you typically have your mail sent to the post box, Mister Storm? It does seem an inconvenient way to receive materials." Johann glanced down a moment at the parcel in his arm and then back to Ira.

"Only of late, Madam. I have not had a long term address for some months, and it has been a necessary simplification for my clients." His glance was distracted by the door swinging open before them, the lift's sliding shut behind them at the same time.

His shoes crossed over the threshold and onto the dark wood floor, looking about himself quickly to understand the layout of the room before he got too far in. When instructed to sit he paid her full attention again, obediently approaching the indicated armchair, sliding his shoulder bag off to place it down beside.

Almasy was busy with parchment, and he slid his coat off respectfully to fold it over one arm of the chair, retrieving a suitable quill from the inside pocket of his suit jacket that was of high quality to sign a contract with.

"Would the nature of the work be similar to that I have conducted for you before?" He asked politely, perching on the front edge of the armchair, quill between his fingertips. "Only I am now quite well versed in gobbledegook, these days, should you require it." He managed a gentle smile, more to put himself at ease, as if this was any ordinary contract.

Her thin fingers went running along the rolled up scrolls in the glass cabinet as she listened to Johann, noting each parchment for its purpose by touch along. Ira paused at one to draw it out and unrolled it to give the contents a cursory scan. Yes. That would do nicely for him. Nothing with a blood bond.

"Translations, minor forgeries. The odd trade documentation." she drifted over the seating area and lowered herself into a matching armchair as the contract was proffered. "I might have use for your Goblin tongue if circumstances are fortuitous."

The witch crossed her legs and interlocked her fingers, watching her guest as a cat might observe a bird it is too indolent to chase. He wasn't going anywhere. In fact, she would rather that he didn't wander too far at all. Johann Storm was amongst those few individuals who had caught sight of her at the first Werewolf games - even if he did not know the hand she played in those events. A small liability.

Layton would not object to keeping an eye on him.

"Have you considered more a permanent residence?" Ira queried with the suggestion of a satisfied, teasing smile. "We are a most welcoming community, at Atreus. And it would afford you better access to the gardens..." she trailed off, not looking away.

Ira was not hesitant to mention what she would require and Johann replied with a simple nod, eyes following his newest regular client as she took her seat. His hand went out automatically to receive the parchment, and he pulled it open between his hands.

He gaze in return was unblinking, and as ever the hairs on the back of his neck began to prickle. Between her startling beauty, and her sharp mind, the gaze was enough to put anyone in their place. Ira Almasy was a true power and Johann both respected and felt excited at the prospect of working with her more closely.

He began to read the contract, a slight frown on his face as he read carefully. His blue eyes darted across the page, searching for anything he felt uncomfortable about.

"Have you considered more a permanent residence?" Ira asked and Johann glanced up a moment, surprised at the question.

"We are a most welcoming community, at Atreus. And it would afford you better access to the gardens…"

She was staring right at him still. Despite himself, a little colour came to Johann's pale cheeks.
"Ah yes, your gardens," he managed in response, glancing down at the parchment again, swallowing down his thoughts of what had happened in Ira's garden last he'd been up there, "Beautifully kept, an oasis in Knightsbridge." He replied, looking up again. "I haven't found anywhere I feel I would suit, in honesty, Madam. yes, from those I have met, Atreus is most welcoming." He gave a respectful nod of the head, implying Ira was in particular.

"But I am here to sign a contract to work with you Madam," he managed a smile, "and I am sure your rooms here are beyond my more modest income." He paused, "Balfour's role at the Ministry outranks my own, especially of late."

Johann was not entirely dismissing the thought, only that he felt ever so slightly intimidated by it. Ira might have hired him in normal circumstances, but he couldn't help but feel she was doing so in the short term to balance out the kindness she owed his late father.

Atreus was rather grand indeed, and he preferred to live in the city. The country was too quiet. He had just never imagined himself to be the right calibre for Almasy's requirements.

Was she trying to distract him from reading the contract properly perhaps? He brought his eyes back to the parchment and continued to read.

Oh, how she wished she had the energy to cackle. It wouldn't do. Balfour would not forgive her and they still enjoyed the occasional afternoon tea. Ira smiled faintly at the wizard's modesty - his unerring focus on the task at hand, a great asset to have in one's help in spite of being vaguely irritating. People acted as if though they had a place in society, and must remain there.

Ambition was looking past that position. Humility meant knowing your limits.

Dull. The only thing that separated men like Johann from men like Spectre was circumstance, breeding. An ocean of decisions made differently between the instant of conception and death. She didn't much care people who knew their place. Most want more than they claim.

You only had to give them a push in the right direction to reveal it.

"Income would hardly be an issue." Ira informed as those bright blue eyes continued on their meticulous mission, picking apart the routine contract and its secrecy clauses. "I must confess to a personal interest in your future, Mister Storm. You have potential and I enjoy keeping my friends safe, you understand, as is the case with our mutual acquaintance."

There was a hard edge to her voice. Not threatening but indicative of a partiality that didn't lend itself to being challenged. "My generosity is not..." she endeavoured to find the right sentiment, a delicate frown crossing her face as she leaned back. "Altruistic. Your being here would ensure the safety of the work I entrust to you, as well."

Johann Storm was the latest in the line of wizards in her life who barely had enough confidence in themselves to keep a straight spine. Ira wondered if she was better off appealing to her own selfishness rather than his ambition.

All seemed to be in order, Johann believed, as he reached the final clauses. However Ira was surprisingly keen to elaborate on her reasons for mentioning lodgings. He supposed he might well have been rude to brush them aside like that too.

She called him friend. That was odd, very odd indeed. He would never consider himself Ira Almasy's friend. A business partner if he flattered himself, but nothing so social, so potentially mutual as a friend.

Ah. This made sense now. The contract so seemingly mundane and straight forward came with unwritten clauses that she was applying verbally. The inference that he was of use to her, but potentially haphazard. Like the Ministry, Ira perceived he could be unreliable. Keeping him right there under her nose was one way of making it very easy to keep tabs on him.

Then again, Vedir had been the same, and had once offered him lodgings, but his arrangement with Colin had been easy enough, and living with an unspeakable had seemed to be permitted by Prideaux.

"Of course Madam." He replied, looking up. "Quite understandable." He sat a little straighter, quill now firmly gripped in his right hand fingertips to sign.

Would it be all that bad? Did he have much choice? Certainly he would need to work here, and working was somewhat interchangeable with sleeping in his life. He had lived near two years out of a bag. It had worked so very well to have his own space before, and here he would be amongst others at the very least. He made his mind up.

"I did not mean to appear rude in response to your proposition," Johann assured Ira, looking up and meeting her gaze, "I am willing to work in rooms with the building to maintain secrecy. Should it be suitable that I may also reside at Atreus, then that would be most generous indeed, and we shall come to suitable financial arrangement." He gave a firm nod and glanced down.

His quill scratched across parchment, his signature and the date added to the end of the contract with no further hesitation.

"Thank you, Madam." He spoke a little more assured this time, a smile creeping to his face, reaching his eyes. His hands wound the parchment, before extending his right hand, the left reaching over the parchment back to Ira.

"It will be a pleasure to do business with you again."

Ira Almasy blinked slowly, unsurprised but pleased with this change of heart in her new recruit. Always so careful with his manners.  At least where rooftop liaisons were not concerned - but even there, resourcefulness could be found. Imagination was prized. He would need it if he was going to remain clear of the same troubles Wolfgang Storm brought upon his own head.

"We certainly shall. My man will be around to see you and arrange the details of your tenancy," she couldn't help but smile at the idea of giving her assistant yet another wizard to trail behind. "I think you will find your stay with us to be most agreeable."

House of Atreus was not, after all, without its mundane witches or wizards. It harboured as many customary tenants as it did those who caught Ira's eye as potential allies. Each one was a brick in her wall of social respectability and soundness. Dropping in the occasional irregular would hardly put a dent in it.

Not to mention, there were those who might view the move as an act of benevolence in light of recent events.

Ira accepted the parchment in one hand - a tingle of magic running between them - and his proffered hand in the other, firmly. "You are more than welcome." An exceptional end to a long, long day for her. "It will be a pleasure to have you in my employment."