1100 hours
Institute of the Alleghenies[1]
Appalachian mountain range, United States.


The surface of the small reservoir appeared smooth, undisturbed. Everything underneath was... well, nothing. A darkness Virgil recognised as the same one he walked through four years ago.

Unlike the archway back home, however, this gateway to death had its home in a far more impressive setting. Stone walls stretched high overhead and the cavern itself was vast. Different indeed from their gloomy little chamber on Level Nine. The only thing they really had in common was a complete lack of safety markers.

Virgil stood at the very lip of the rock basin, one hand behind his back as he took off his sunglasses to peer in.

       "All you have to do is fall..." a deep voice warned and he took a step back, raising an eyebrow at none other than Cyrus Hawthorne. Muggle clothes, like most American wixes, though the deputy head certainly had exceptional flair in his casual dark suits.

"You make it sound so easy!" Virgil replied cheerfully as they shook hands.

This was not his first run-in with Yavin's old colleague. Hawthorne had been the one to visit London on behalf of EPA, and they had chatted a bit at New York HQ since Virgil arrived for the exchange program.

       "Isn't it?" Cyrus replied dryly. "If your reports are anything to go by."
"Flattery will get you everywhere. Is that why I'm here?" V glanced at the reservoir. "Trying to figure out where you went wrong?"

When he turned back, Hawthorne's expression had hardened somewhat.

What did he expect? They'd kept V out of the cavern for months. He didn't waste four months of fucking around with Cerebrum and the Guild.[2]. Even the Agency had a gossip mill alluding to those experiments.

       "Saves me the trouble of asking." Cyrus broke his silence crisply. "If it's not a problem."
"Not a problem at all!" V affected a bow with flourish. "I live to serve."

He was getting on Hawthorne's nerves. Virgil could tell: he had a lot of experience irritating people who wanted to fuck him.

1.	One of many research groups under Eldritch & Profane. Its Unspeakables are nicknamed 'Skulls'.
2.	Cerebrum is a mind magic research group loosely associated with EPA The Clockmakers' Guild studies time, and crafts objects like time-turners. They are referred to as 'Tinkerers'.

2045 hours
New York City


       "Drink before we eat?"

"You're the boss," Virgil stifled a yawn, following Cyrus down the entrance hall of his brownstone townhouse. "God, that took ages."

Lunch was a hurried affair, busy as they were going over reports from the Skulls' multiple attempts to use their reservoir for time travel. From what he surmised, CAWW was pressuring the Appalachian groups to figure out how they can intentionally trigger a time loop.

Hawthorne led him past a rustic looking living room and cluttered study, straight to the kitchen. It was all birchwood and steel, and it looked well-used. Virgil stood before a wall of framed photographs by the breakfast table, studying them thoughtfully while his host poured drinks.

Mostly old photographs of farmland. Some featured a tall, scowling wizard who shared Hawthorne's brow. His muggle grandfather perhaps.

      "So what do you think?" the wizard in question approached from behind and handed him a tumbler.
"It's a nice bit of land," V examined the sprawling landscapes, distractedly. "If you like that kind of thing."
      "I meant the experiments."

Of course he did. They had done nothing but talk work - even this dinner was something of an afterthought, trivial and secondary to the Institute's mysteries. Cyrus had brought him along without remark as if it were the most natural thing.

"Hard to gauge without knowing intent," Virgil finally turned away from the wall, managing not to give pause at the older man's sudden proximity. "You've hardly been forthcoming about that."
        "Is the spirit of discovery not enough?" Cyrus shrugged and clinked their glasses.

Virgil laughed. It was a genuine laugh, which somehow made it worse.

"Seriously? Discovery?" he smiled at Hawthorne's glower. "Oh yes. I'm certain that's why your Skulls are working with the Tinkerers. Despite the fact that they clearly hate each other."

While CAWW was bigger and more varied than his own Ministry, it was vulnerable in other ways. Rivalries and tensions thrived between the groups working under Eldritch & Profane.

Just the kind of thing it was easy to exploit if you could pass yourself off as a shoulder to cry on or a neutral confidant.

       "Yavin was right." Cyrus declared blandly, and drank. "You're too smart for your own good."

"He has his moments..." Virgil agreed, leaning against the breakfast table. "Was it like this, when you were working with him? Drinks and dinner after a long day?"

Better to change the subject. Eventually, he could circle their conversation back to why CAWW wanted the Agency to keep experimenting. Get a sense of what weighed on Hawthorne's mind.

Jacqueline Devereaux was the real threat: tattling to Yavin[1] on CAWW's intentions. Virgil was a distraction, if anything, while less noticeable plants went about verifying Devereaux's claim.

       "Sometimes," his host smiled faintly and then nodded at the glass in V's hand. "Whisky not your poison?"
"It'll go straight to my head." Virgil admitted, putting the drink aside. "But I don't have to be drunk for you to get what you want, do I?"

It was Hawthorne's turn to laugh. He gave up his own drink to bracket V against the table - his cologne was faint, traces of patchouli and lime lost to a natural musk. Nice eyes, too, which helped.

Then Virgil felt it: a searing tingle along his forehead.

Rude. He volleyed back a sharp stab against the intruding mind. Cyrus flinched.

"Terribly sorry!" V affected mock sympathy, stifling his genuine irritation. "I assumed it was my body you wanted."
       "I was counting on that as a distraction..." Cyrus muttered shamelessly. "You're not half bad."

The Unspeakables at Cerebrum had tried as well. They saw it as a game or challenge, testing his defenses. Hawthorne probably thought it would be something of a conquest to lord over Yavin the next time they met.

Gross, honestly. As Nemo would say. But orders were orders and it was no real hardship to put those feelings aside. Hawthorne certainly wasn't put off.

"You know what? I lied." Virgil pulled himself up onto the table, putting on an unbothered air. "I'm not sorry. At all. You should probably do something about that."

One way or another he was going to ingratiate himself into Cyrus' life.

1.	As arranged with Michael!