Cyrus Hawthorne
Deputy Head, Eldritch & Profane.

A little past 2300 hours. Fort Cascadia in the Pacific Northwest, US.


The moon was at its fullest, visible through the forest canopy when Cyrus Hawthorne apparated into the clearing that would gain him access to Cascadia. He hardly had to think about it - stepping into the thick of the trees, finding the hidden dirt path between them that led up the gentle slope. Once, he had been an Unspeakable at Cascadia.

In those days the allure of blood magic was intoxicating; to be given freedom to experiment, to test out even the most ludicrous ideas. The novelty of that freedom wore off but his interest never did.

At the gates of Fort Cascadia, he exhibited proof of identity and made his way into the quadrangle. A fair-haired vampire was waiting for him directly across at the main doors.

It was business as usual, being taken into the entrance hall and down winding steps to the room in which Oni Sapa typically received him these days. Cyrus shed his coat when he entered the cosy office, revealing the clean white outfit beneath.

A weak fire was kindled in a great hearth, and several mismatched armchairs were gathered about it. Oni glanced over his shoulder to nod his greetings. He was in his rumpled black suit, hair braided back.

Cyrus hesitated before approaching. They had company tonight: an unfamiliar figure occupied one of the other armchairs.

What was Oni thinking, entertaining visitors now of all times? On the eve of their trial-run, to be administered to the town of Winthrop? This was not a time to bring in unpredictable factors. Cyrus was tense enough as it was.

"Oni," he spoke, allowed his expression to betray his concern. "Thought it was just you and me tonight, old man."

Lazarus Blackburn of old Chicago way once upon a time chuckled from Oni Sapa's left. This big pine woods were not his home, but he was closer to where he'd come from than he'd been in ages and ages. He'd hidden a look of recognition upon seeing the face of Cyrus Hawthorn. He looked just like his picture, a perfectly pleated silver fox, hale and polite. Scared of something.

He oughta be, considering.

"Don't mind me," he said with a touch of vampire vanity. His rasp was close to a cough that wouldn't ever come, wet though, like a baritone. He sipped from his glass of red B-neg. "But who knows, I might be important. I could have something really interesting to say."

Then again, he could just be on a little exchange, a guest on inter-coven business all the way from Hookers. Terry had pull, even here.

Cyrus Hawthorne

He took the armchair on Oni's other side, wary of their visitor but secure in his ability to handle the situation. This guy sounded like a real smart alec - and he had the air of an older vampire, none of that restless energy or darting looks sometimes seen in the recently Turned.

       "Or," Oni Sapa spoke evenly in response to this new friend, "you could have something interesting to overhear."

At this, Cyrus gave the coven leader a sharp look.

Oni was positively glacial in his mannerisms, though, and met the look with one of unimpressed patience. "Cyrus," he gestured mildly. "Lazarus visits from the Old World. A transplant from our shores, not unlike an old acquaintance of yours."

Few individuals have known him for as long as Oni Sapa, and with so great a claim to his real opinions. It was Oni to whom he would rant after every meeting with Daylight[1] and it was only Oni who could harbor suspicions of the confidentiality Cyrus intended to betray.

Backed into a corner as he was, any fool move looked like a helping hand.

"Yeah? So how are things in the Old World these days?" Cyrus shifted his attention from friend to stranger, crossing his legs to affect a relaxed attitude. "Must be pretty sweet, those feeding laws."

1.	22nd Jan - Excessive Caution is Dangerous

Lazarus shifted his posture in his seat, taking in a good look at Cyrus. Laz licked his teeth, wondering at him. Cyrus looked like an aristocrat if those people dressed better than they did. But he was tense, like a sprung rabbit.

"Yeah, pretty sweet," Lazarus drawled. "Busy busy busy now that everyone wants to be a piece. Can't say I like that all attention, if I'm honest. But the Ministry ain't all bad. They're lookin' out."

Oni Sapa had filled in Lazarus on what that he could about Cyrus and Daylight and and Unspeakable bonds. And they said vampires had a flair for the dramatic.

Cyrus Hawthorne

"Your Ministry's always looking out..." he remarked dryly. "We like a little bit of leeway round these parts. But it's a big place, maybe we don't have a choice, if you really think about it."

Cyrus has been around the world but he is convinced that, short of maybe India, there was no place better to get lost in a crowd than the good ol' US of A. The oathless and rootless could disappear into it, easy.

You can only control so much, which sounded like something Pratchett would say to justify his weapons development.

       "Yes." Oni added, deadpan. "It is a big place. If we turn our eyes in one direction, we are blind to the other."

Was that how he wanted to play it? Cyrus drummed his fingers against the arm of his chair, eyes still on Lazarus.

"Do you plan to do much sightseeing while you're here?" he asked, which made him feel like he was making small talk at a cocktail bar. "Maybe I can point you in the right direction to see some interesting stuff. Big fan of local tourism, you know."

These Unspeakables. What short, intense lives they lived, Lazarus marveled. Tales of horrible oaths, of eyes and tongues lost to told secrets, accountable to whims and capricious whims of government bodies bodies bodies. Mortal life was not exciting enough for people like Cyrus Hawthorn that they had to become agents of the Mysterious. Good that they did, maybe, Lazarus mused. The work was dirty and someone had to brew it.

"I'm interested in all kinds of people, places, and things," Lazarus replied to Cyrus Hawthorn who couldn't say anything. "My, but my, where should I go?"

Minding of course that Lazarus was limited to the dark hours of the night.

Cyrus Hawthorne

He had been contemplating this for some time. The Unspeakable's Oath was not a blunt tool - Cyrus couldn't name the town or the method, not with the intention of giving the game away.

But maybe he could point this Lazarus in the right direction and hope for the best.

"You could go skiing," he smiled a laughing smile. "Methow trails, south east of here. If you're into that kind of stuff."

The ski site was not far from Winthrop, the town whose water works were to be their first trial run - even if the vampire didn't figure out exactly where, he'd hear about no-maj falling sick by the dozens should their experiment succeed.

       "I implore you," Oni spoke to his friend now, "to take your time. Appreciate the views."

"Y-es." Cyrus agreed, a wrinkle appearing upon his brow. "And I should add that it would be wiser to feed round these parts before you head there. The fare by Methow... might not be so agreeable to your constitution."

Last thing they needed was a vampire getting sick off one of their incidental guinea pigs.

It wasn't often that Lazarus felt the gravity of mortality anymore, the dread that so plagued humanity because the consequences were so immediate and so dire, but this night, Lazarus's stomach turned. Cyrus Hawthorn was in perfect control of his mind and heartbeat, but Lazarus could smell his anxiety, pungeant like a cologne.

"It's the best way to travel, really, eat like a local," he said in a loud voice as if they were going to be overheard and he must sell their conspiracy as normal. "Yeah, yeah, sounds like a really great time."

But it wasn't some bug that Lazarus has to convince, it was Cyrus. Cyrus had to know without knowing that he'd said the right thing to the right person she he'd stop saying more. That's right. The less the Unspeakable said, the better. Lazarus rose to his feet, cleared his throat of nothing but the ghost of the fire that nearly killed him a hundred years and fifty ago.

"I find, I find I'm pressed for time," Lazarus said and held his hat to his chest in gratitude. A little bow to Oni Sapa. He donned it and tipped it to Cyrus Hawthorn.

"Gentlemen."

Cyrus Hawthorne

He watched the stranger leave and remained seated for a long while afterwards, in Oni's company. Cyrus almost half-expected his oath to break; his tongue and eyes to be claimed by the powers that bound them to secrecy.

Nothing happened.

Logically, he has no way of confirming that this Lazarus being will tread the paths suggested or draw conclusions accurate. He could wander the area as anyone of the magical world might wander it.

"Is the solution prepared?" Cyrus broke their silence almost an hour of its persistence. "I've arranged for our people not to be disturbed when it's administered."

It had been no trouble. The bureau's people were scattered in all mixed wix and no-maj towns, and Daylight was as keen to get this trial underway as anyone. For one of the agents to simply look the other way was an easy matter.

       "It must steep under this full moon," Oni answered, eyes closed as if in meditation.

"Of course," he leaned back in the armchair, fingers interlaced on his lap.

Cyrus hoped, desperately, that the solution worked. If they could not develop something here in Cascadia, then it was a return to the drawing board with his Skulls and Tinkerers[1] to find another path.

To turn tricks with Death and Time was significantly more dangerous. It was a price Cyrus was far less willing to pay for so dubious a reward.

1.	Death and Time researchers under Eldritch & Profane