(Friday evening, just before 5 PM.)

It was thirteen minutes to five, and the streets of London were already swarming with people.  The sun had set early, as was its inclination in November, and though the moon was due to be just past full that evening, it had yet to creep into the darkening sky. 

Instead, the streets and alleyways of the West End were thrown into a hazy twilight.  The grays and blacks of the encroaching evening were offset by the bright lights shining off storefronts and movie theaters, advertising the sights and sounds of a Friday night.  Londoners and tourists organized themselves into bustling crowds, trampling the sidewalks and overflowing onto the roads as they streamed to car parks, bus stops, and Underground stations.  Nearly everyone had drummed up an excuse to leave the office early, it seemed, and the minute hands on all of the clocks around the Square ticked on in unison, moving one mark closer to five o'clock as people flooded the streets.

Jonas had absolutely no idea how anyone could expect to apparate from such a location without being spotted by a half dozen Muggles.  Even with the performances not starting for a few hours yet, there were so many people milling about that a bloke would have been hard pressed to sneeze unnoticed, let alone completely vanish from sight.

The West End itself wasn't far from his office.  On a good day, it was easily walkable, and even on an evening with a chill in the air, his bum leg held up well enough that he could avoid the rush on the Underground.  Jonas had left with plenty of time to make the traverse, planning to give himself enough time to scout the area and get a feel for the scene before approaching his contact.

Though its lights were on and its doors welcoming, the Palace Theatre was not yet busy.  A few laughing and chattering people trickled inside in twos and threes, probably buying tickets for the night's show.  Jonas slowed down across the street from it, scanning the crowd, alert for anyone who might look like a wizard.

There were no outwardly obvious candidates, but a man stood apart from the crowd, arms crossed, leaning against the front of the building.  His appearance was unremarkable.  Though he was dressed entirely in black, in the center of London, such a color was extraordinarily common.  The streets filled with figures dressed in black coats and black shoes, offset only by the flickers of brightly colored scarves and hats.  Even the man's swarthy complexion blended in, matching that of any Londoner with Mediterranean blood. 

But his eyes gave him away.  They were constantly moving, watchful, flickering between passerby as he maintained a silent, unreadable vigil.

Jonas regarded him for a moment, then gave a mental shrug, tucking his hands into his coat pockets as he checked for traffic, and then started across the street.  The man focused on him almost instantly, eyes following him as he approached.

The private investigator shot him a cheery smile as he drew up short.  "Mister Malvivicus?" he asked brightly. 

The man didn't smile back.  "No," he replied, dark eyes shifting down to Jonas's pockets, then back to meet his gaze.

Obviously, he was the talkative sort.  Jonas sighed inwardly, drawing his hands out of his pockets so that the other man could see him.  "Wouldn't know where he is then, would you?  I'd hate to be late," he explained, trying to inconspicuously look the Mediterranean fellow over.  He couldn't see any sign of a wand, but that didn't necessarily mean anything; no witch or wizard would make theirs obvious in public.  "The bloke put so much effort into the invitation that it'd be a right shame to keep him waiting.  Victorian manners and all."

The man merely raised an eyebrow, then offered Jonas an arm.  "I'm sure he'll appreciate that," he replied, his expression completely deadpan.  "Let's go, Trevelyan."

Jonas blinked.  Hesitating, he glanced back at the streaming crowds moving down the sidewalk, and then looked back at the man.  "Err, here?" he asked carefully.  "Be a bit better to do that sort of thing sight unseen, innit?"

The man smirked, his dark eyes locked on Jonas's own.  "Worried?"

There was something at play here.  Jonas frowned at the other man, his mind racing as he considered his options.  There was no reason to apparate from plain sight on a Muggle street unless his opposite had something to prove - or really, legitimately didn't care if any Muggles saw.  It could bring any endless number of problems in the future, starting with the Ministry finding out and bringing him in for it, and ending with someone he knew finding out and passing on word to Anna that they had seen her ex-husband suddenly vanish.  For all he knew, the bloke was just testing him.  He could demand to move somewhere more private, point out that there was no reason to take such a risk, or flat out refuse to go along with it.

The private investigator hedged for a moment, then sighed and bit the bullet.  If he gave this up now, there was no way to find out exactly what the whole smoke and mirrors show was all about.

"No," he said carefully, extending a hand to the other man's arm.  "But I don't really --"

---

The world rushed in around them as they reappeared with a disorienting crack.  Jonas's head swam and his knees nearly buckled beneath him; he put a hand to his forehead, catching his balance in time to avoid embarrassing himself any further. 

It had been over a decade since he'd last apparated, longer still since he'd been pulled between dimensions by someone else.  Even so, he didn't know how he'd forgotten what the twisting sensation felt like.  He probably would have remembered better, he thought sourly, if the bloody bastard hadn't just decided to up and apparate without even giving him a goddamned warning first.

There was a chuckling sound from somewhere nearby.  Jonas risked his swimming vision long enough to shoot a glare in the noise's direction, where the dark man from in front of the theatre was standing, clearly enjoying his discomfort.

"Glad to see you're on your game," the man said, smirking in the private investigator's direction.  "Need a minute, Trevelyan?"

Apparently he had agreed to get into some sort of contest of manhood without even realizing it.  Biting his tongue, Jonas swallowed any string of impolite comments that he could have made, pressing both hands to his head as he tried to force his stomach back to where it belonged.  If the entire purpose of this was to throw him off balance, he wasn't going to give the bloody tosser the satisfaction of a response.

As he stood there, catching his breath and his balance, it occurred to him that he could use this as an opportunity to survey his surroundings.  His shoes were pressed against fine-laid marble; judging by the temperature, he was clearly indoors, but he could hear the sound of trickling water.  Swallowing, Jonas looked up, avoiding meeting the other man's gaze as his eyes flickered across the room. 

It looked to be the interior of some sort of penthouse, though someone had apparently decided to go for a themed look whilst redecorating.  Gleaming white floors lined the enormous room from wall to wall, and long white couches, like something out of the feast scene in a gladiator movie, framed an enormous rectangular pool, water trickling from a marble fountain in its center.  Naked marble statues stood along the edge of the reflective pool, each one holding a different pose, and marble steps rose up into the air behind it, each one hovering as if held in place by magic.  Up above, light streamed down from an enormous circular opening; considering that it was nearly night outside, Jonas had no idea where the illumination was coming from, but judging by the lack of electrical sockets, he assumed the light source was magic and not Muggle.

Jonas frowned, his forehead creasing, and then glanced sidelong at his host.  The other bloke was still standing there, smirking in the investigator's direction.

"He's upstairs," he said, rough amusement plain in his voice.  "Did you want me to carry you?"

It was all he could do not to roll his eyes.  "No, thanks, I'll manage," Jonas replied, carefully straightening again.  He considered whether or not to draw his wand, but doing so seemed pointless.  If these blokes had wanted him dead, they would have transported him to the crazy wizarding version of the Colosseum, not the Pantheon. 

Whoever this lot was, apparating out of London in full view of Muggles and living in some modern-penthouse-turned-ancient-temple, Jonas had to admit that he was intrigued.  He glanced carefully around the room one last time, making sure that he hadn't missed anything, and then started cautiously up the stairs, keeping his weight on his good leg as much as he could as he ascended.

At least this would surely prove to be interesting.

_{(The title of the thread has been unceremoniously stolen from Nick Cave.)}

Upstairs it was more high ceilings and tall, broad windows which would overlook parts of London if the white Egyptian cotton curtains weren't drawn closed -- but the place, which seemed so far to be made entirely of marble on both stories, was not darkened in the least.  It was, rather, eerily bright, as if sunlight were streaming in from every angle once they reached the top of the enchanted stairs.  It infused the entire space with a sense of numinosity, as though the pair of them had just reached the pearly gates.  But Trevelyan was led beyond, to a room enclosed only by a deep scarlet drape curtain in the doorway which parted in its center.

It was like a whole other world inside, with rich gold and reds lining the floors, walls and ceilings, that everywhere bore intricate designs.  There was a small table and two low cushioned chairs that matched the decor; they were pulled out at angles to face an elaborate golden throne where a decadent, grinning old Wizard sat -- absolutely poised.  He was humming a tune and his eyes followed Jonas from the moment he entered.  On top of the table was a silver Turkish coffee pot and two porcelain saucers, a bowl of rough-cut sugar cubes and a silver pitcher of fresh cream.  A platter of pastries sealed the deal.  Kronos had his hands laced together before him as he grinned down at his company.

"We're on time," said Kronos.  "How good of us.  Sit down, drink, have some gold."  Without warning, he tossed a heavy bag at the private investigator.  It was a very heavy bag of gold coins.  Many, many gold coins for the taking.  "Perhaps you will tell us you are a busy man.  But, I don't see that this will be a problem for us.  I pay you for your focus, and you do not want to disappoint me.  Do you like cats, Mister Trevelyan?"  Indeed, there were about a half dozen hairless cats slinking about the room.  One was currently making friends with the investigator's bad leg.  The reason for his asking was not to be given, and any answer on the red haired Wizard's part would be pointedly ignored. 

"Here, kitty, kitty, kitty."  The side of Kronos's mouth curved upward in a harrowing smile.  He had not taken his eyes off of Jonas.  And a well-beyond awkward moment of silence followed.

Whatever the private investigator had expected after the naked statues, elaborate fountain, ascent into heaven, and the surreal glow of the oculus, having a bag of money tossed at his chest wasn't it.  He just barely managed to catch it without spilling its entire contents out onto the floor, his forehead creasing as he looked down at the sagging sack.

On a logical level, Jonas knew that very few people ever went around handing out large sums of monies to individuals that they had just met.  That sort of generosity was the sort of thing that really only preceded lottery announcements, indecent proposals, and sting operations.  If this Malvivicus bloke was throwing sacks of gold at him, he was obviously going to want something in exchange, and one could logically suppose that the inhumanity of the return favor would be in direct proportion to the extraordinary amount of money that he had just been given.

But then, Jonas thought logically, there was very little reason to use common sense where such large sums of money were concerned.  The weight of the sack was so heavy and so very real in his arms, and his brain was already racing to calculate what that weight represented in real-world purchases.  It meant not having to worry about how the bloody hell he was going to pay Lexus.  Having a real Christmastime for the kids.  Being able to afford an actual flat, which after over a year of sleeping on a sofa had been sounding more and more appealing as of late.  Ever since he'd left the Auror corps, finances had been a constant shadow over his life.  Windfalls like this were few and far between, and he knew exactly what each coin could mean.

"Ah, we like them alright," he replied, feeling a bit dazed as he glanced down at the feline that had made its own introduction to his trouser.  "We're a bit allergic, but I don't reckon that'll be too much of a problem with these blokes."

As the awkward silence stretched on, Jonas glanced quizzically at his host, as if seeing the other man for the first time, and then back behind him at the curtained entrance.  The man who had apparated him to this Grecian hideaway had followed him in, waiting just inside the door, dark eyes still fixed watchfully on Jonas. 

There was no doubt that something wasn't right here.  He had just been given an enormous sum beyond his wildest imaginings, there was a hairless cat proposing to his leg and some kind of goon staring at his back, and his host apparently thought that five-minute breaks in the conversation constituted proper etiquette.  The smart thing to do, Jonas knew, was to turn around promptly and say thanks but no thanks, let's apparate back home now, shall we? 

But if he did that, there was no way he'd ever find out what the hell was going on.

"I've got to say, the cheery atmosphere's almost overwhelming," the private investigator remarked cheerfully, stepping over the cat as he limped over to one of the cushioned chairs.  The animal followed behind him, mewing anxiously, as he lowered himself into the seat, dropping the sack of gold on the floor beside him.  "The welcoming committee in particular was awfully well done; really friendly bloke you've got there, mate.  He's a gem.  And we'll take tea if you've got it, thanks," he told the man on the throne in a friendly tone.  "But we'd hate to be any trouble."

It was always so very much fun to see the looks worn by blokes when they were transplanted into the life of a God, thought Kronos.  Where nothing was beyond their reach.  It was remarkable how even the most ethical of specimens could find a reason not to say no to the big bag of gold in this sort of situation -- and so it was with pure enjoyment that Kronos watched even the most minute of corruptions taking place in his subjects' heads.  He could hire almost anyone he found, and he did so like to Be their Boss.  As for those who wouldn't take his money, there were always those employees who would, and they'd do it in exchange for using force to ensure that others did their jobs.  It was a Magic thing.

Kronos wore a smug grin as he fiddled with the heavy gold-chained pendants crowding his chest.  He gave no immediate notice to Jonas's request for tea, and he didn't look away when Terry was referenced.  Instead his beady brown eyes followed the private investigator to where he sat. 

"We're allergic," he repeated thoughtfully, mentally adding 'Locked in Small Space with Long-Haired Cats' to his list of bemusing, personalized torture possibilities.  "And we have a family?"  Kronos's head twitched and was redirected upward, to the side, in a lofty position just as he breathed in heavily through his nose like an alpha wolf.  "I like families -- so interwoven.  So connected and yet, so many secrets."  He sighed, lowering his gaze on Jonas and looking amused.  "How we would hate for those secrets to come to light," he said.  He aimed his wand first directly at Jonas, then casually lifted its tip to the Turkish coffee pot, muttering an incantation to transfigure its contents into tea.  He laughed heartily at that.  "I like you, Mister Trevelyan!" he announced with a sudden, splitting grin.  His small honey-brown eyes glinted with mischief and heavy lines showed on his eager face. 

"We'll have to do something about the knee, though!  Not so good for stealth, that.  Knees are terrible things when given by Muggles, Mister Trevelyan," he said, as though scolding Jonas for not choosing a better dealer.  Kronos snapped his fingers and a House Elf appeared at his feet.  It immediately bowed.  "Get us some of the alchemist's clever joint juice," he said.  The Elf vanished without a word. 

"I've had myself a good few dances with the help of this bit of brew," he told Jonas.  "Only my well's running dry now -- ever since that little scab of mine... broke loose.  Can you imagine the dirt that would dream of taking away an old man's dance?  Nothing so difficult to fix as is cartilage!"  Kronos made no attempt to check if Jonas was actually following the line of his one-sided and convoluted conversation.  This was not a business meeting, after all.  This was another day in the life of Kronos -- that is, they were on Kronos Time.  Those who missed the punches were overlooked.  Though Jonas would be put to use, little else mattered but that he understood what he would be doing and... what it would cost him if he didn't -- fall in line.

"Mister Trevelyan, please do tell me that you're rather good at finding folk.  Stalking folk?  Oh, but ever will there be a space for you, Mister Trevelyan.  Long as you do as I like, you see.  Would you like to know what your job is, Mister Trevelyan?  Or perhaps you'll like some crumpets."

The House Elf reappeared then, extending a hand toward Kronos.  "To him," said their host, lazily lifting a finger at Trevelyan.  The young and obedient House Elf ducked and turned in the direction of the private investigator, kindly offering him a small bottle of liquid.  Kronos was clearly all too happy to be demoralizing his new pet with prizes.  Meanwhile, his other pet -- the hairless cat named Rapunzel (for all Kronos's cats bore the same name) -- had been pawing at Jonas's pant leg.  The feline presently hopped into his lap and proceeded to climb up to his shoulders, where he hoped to rub his hairless face against the back of the red-haired man's head.

This was, Jonas thought as he settled in the chair, what it must feel like to be a mouse with an invitation to tea from a hungry cat.  The mouse knew that it was a bad idea, that it really ought to decline, but the anticipated finish promised to be too hilarious to risk excusing himself.  Of course, such a situation was probably more hilarious for the cat - and now that he thought about it, not really hilarious so much as delicious and full of irony, but he still couldn't help himself.

One thing that he'd always appreciated about wizards was their well-developed sense of the dramatic.  Nothing in the Muggle world came close to the color and the verve of the magical.  And it wasn't just the magic itself - as exciting and thoroughly entertaining as spells could be, there was just something about witches and wizards that lent well to eccentricity.  Jonas half suspect that it must be genetic, some quirk of nucleic acids that made one more likely to go over the top even as it granted the ability to work wonders.

Either way, he certainly wasn't complaining.  As exciting as Muggle dramas on the tele could be, there was nothing half as spell-binding in real life.  He'd gone an entire goddamned decade having to worry about licensing and heating bills and making house payments.  After ten years of monotony, the anticipation of something out of the ordinary was almost more compelling than the bag of Galleons by his foot.

Which wasn't to say that Malvivicus wasn't obviously a bit off.  Jonas got the distinct feeling that the old man regarding him as having just as much potential for amusement as the private investigator had found in the old man, and being watched like that was disconcerting.  Malvivicus might be a bit barking, but his eyes were sharp and his gaze didn't waiver.  Jonas half expected to be offered some Turkish Delight or be invited back in the morning for the next Pandemonium Shadow Show.

It was the mention of family that made him tense, just barely perceptively.  Jonas let out a slow breath, and then gave the old man a polite, sincere smile.  He wouldn't react.  A flinch gave ammunition.

"Glad to hear it," he replied cheerfully, in response to the statement that he had apparently passed muster.  "About that tea, then?"

Jonas couldn't help watching the old man with fascination - and, almost, a hint of admiration - as he bombastically plowed on.  It was almost as if there were an art to it, with Malvivicus testing his defenses one by one, first niggling at his family and then moving on to the obvious target of his knee.  Maybe he was wrong about the Turkish Delight; this one seemed far more likely to go for soul-stealing than waste his time on bestial sacrifices and druidic stone tables.

Following the conversation was a bit like trying to watch a rock skip all the way across the English Channel, but Jonas did his best.  He clued in again with certainty once the subject turned to crumpets and stalking.

"Long as there's no pomegranate seeds," he replied cheerfully, taking the small bottle as the hairless furball leapt into his lap.  It attempted to jump onto his shoulder, but was foiled by the normal cat weakness - namely, that it was much bigger than it thought it was, so that its weight set him off balance and nearly knocked the cat tumbling.  "And yeah, but I was thinking that maybe we ought to have a singsong first - hey!" he yelped, as the feline took revenge for its near-return to the floor by sinking its claws into his arm.

Jonas gritted his teeth as he spent a moment waging war with the cat.  Detaching it was obviously not an option, and he didn't stand much of a chance of convincing it to retreat to its love affair with his foot, so he eventually settled for wrestling it into what could have been a choke hold, but was more likely a comfortable cuddle in the crook of his arm. 

"I'd like to know what you're looking to hire me on for, sure," he said finally, once the cat had been settled and the small bottle had been safely tucked away into his pocket.  That was another curiosity, but one that would have to wait until later.  "I should tell you up front though, mate, that the fee structure is set.  It's a flat rate for the first two weeks, and assuming that I'm still looking for whoever it is that you want me to find, it goes hourly after that."

The lowly investigator was barreling hilariously on about price tags, and Kronos watched wide-eyed before breaking out into the most raucous, ridiculously long-lasting laugh he could muster.  It seemed a whole minute had passed them by before he had even somewhat begun to recover his composure.  And even when he had found strength enough to summon words, he still half laughed, half applauded the man's endeavors at having the Upper Hand.

"That -- you -- HA!  Mr. Trevelyan!  I -- HA -- Oh, titillating FUNDOM! -- What a conundrum!"  He laughed some more, gripping his belly as he lost his breath.  He finally rounded out into an amused exhalation ("Wooooh, ohh, haha, oohhha... haha... haaaahahaha, haaaaaah!").  And at the end of this elongated and theatric scene, he leveled his gaze pityingly, still occasionally shaking with the lingering tremor of amusement.  Another strange pause followed before his explication ensued.

"Here's how this" -- he wheezed -- "works," said Kronos.  "I have more money than you know what to do with, and you will most certainly follow through with what it is that I want.  You better hope that you can act in satisfactory ways, and provide the substance which I desire -- demand for my services, Mister Trevelyan!  No matter how long that it takes, and it really ought not be long, you will perform to my standards and... barring any unforeseen penalties, will provide what it is that I am... looking for.  For an... exuberant price."  Again he hooed and hawed and guffawed like the crazy old man he was.  Young!  By Wizarding standards.  But so aged by his precious trade....

And at the end he looked upon his pawn with squinting eyes of fierce amusement, the crows feet plain on their corners and his hands hooked into an evil, menacing sort of gesture -- much too orchestrated to seem anything other than contrived.  But little else was as satisfying as an encounter like this, and the only thing that could ever even start to come close was... maybe... The Rocky Horror Picture Show -- on ice.

Kronos licked his lips and dipped his head, making a frightening hissing sound unannounced.  Like he'd flicked a switch, the cat that was cradled in Jonas's arm, along with all the rest of them, jumped up and came to their master's feet, sitting regally as though ready to receive a most brilliant treat (he'd trained them with shrimp and gizzards).  It was impressive how tall-backed and at the ready they were.  It was a testament to all the hard work he put in with each new litter, training and imperiousing and jinxing till they took the regal posture at the appropriate sounding hiss.  It always came in handy, at least, when catching a normal man off his guard.

"An Alchemist!" he barked, finally lurching his gaze upward from his army of kittens.  But in this mood, oh how could he resist?  He was as always so keen on playing.  "Where are my manners," he interjected.  "You asked for a sing-song."

He didn't actually sing, but his tone slowed to account for rhythm and his voice was as rich as ever.   

"Oh, how do you do, I," said Kronos. "See that you've met my -- faithful handyman!"  Kronos gestured to Terry Katsaros.  "He's just a -- little brought down because uhh -- when you knocked, we thought that -- you were the candyman!"  Another broad pause, followed by another broad grin.

"And with that out of the way, Mr. Trevelyan.  She's a hot head.  Fancies herself very bloody clever, that one.  Slipped from my grasp.  Red and black striped hair, you'd think she'd be like a shining bloody beacon with a mane like that.  She's a -- vixen.  Midget.  She's a midget."  He said the word vixen as if it brought a real, disagreeable flavor into his mouth.  Midget seemed much more readily agreeable.

"Dazmond Wiedman.  Think she's in London," said Kronos.  "You'll find her, and then you'll watch her.  You'll watch her very closely and then you'll tell us what you see."

Inspiring an old man to hysteric laughter did wonders for one's self confidence.  Jonas kept a carefully polite expression on his face, still smiling slightly, as Judge Doom dissolved into laughter and then recovered himself.  At least if all else failed, he could probably launch into a clever song-and-dance routine and get the old geezer to laugh himself to death.

Whatever Malvivicus might say, however he might threaten, this was not how it worked.  Still, Jonas swallowed the rest of his normal speech, which contained the particulars of how he'd report in and a flat assurance that he would not commit any act that was illegal.  Somehow, the private investigator got the sense that the former would be unnecessary and the latter would go over worse than his statement on pricing.

The vague feeling that he was being purposely maneuvered into a corner, that maybe leaving would have been the proper recourse, was growing slightly stronger.  The old man's expression made a chill clamber up his spine, and the cats - well, he'd heard of Parseltongue before, but never Felinehiss.  Their stiff obedience was just as disconcerting as the sensation that he was being watched, which was probably what Malvivicus was hoping for.  Jonas kept his expression carefully blank, though he couldn't help crossing his arms against his chest. 

There was a reason he had always been a dog person; these things gave him more of a start than house elves.  He made a mental note to look up the breed later. 

In other circumstances, the revelation that his host was a Tim Curry fan would have made him double over with laughter.  As it was, he kept himself carefully still, mentally taking note of Malvivicus's words as he moved on from his tribute and launched into a dramatic oration of the task at hand.

Dazmond Wiedman.  Jonas had never heard of the witch before, but that didn't mean much; he normally didn't have much of a memory for names, and considering how long he'd been gone, there were probably plenty of well-known London celebrities that he'd stand no chance of recognizing if he passed them on the street.  Jonas filed the bits of information away; it should be easy enough to remember without taking notes.  Red and black hair, alchemist, hot-headed, very bloody clever, either a female fox or vertically challenged, although Malvivicus seemed much more definite about the latter option.  He doubted that finding the witch would be especially challenging, although watching her might be more so; it wasn't as if he could follow his normal procedure of sitting in his automobile across the street from her flat once he finally located her.

It was very probably simplest just to agree, but something in Jonas rankled at being told what to do.  He wouldn't say no to the money - couldn't, at this point, because even with the funds coming in from Tamis Raynor's case, Jonas had no intention of bleeding the Head Auror dry, and he had to pay Lexus somehow.  He likely wouldn't even say no to the excitement that was sure to come out of this, because Merlin only knew it had been a good long while since he'd had anything resembling an adventure.

Getting ordered around, though - there being no question that he'd do as he was told - that bothered him.  And he might play along, but Jonas was certain that he wasn't going into this as some bloody obedient manservant in some wizarding class war.

"You're the boss, Mister Malvivicus," he said, smiling slightly and doing his best to ignore the eerily-still cats.  If he was going to be required to keep watch on poor Miss Wiedman, then he was going to damned well keep a proper watch on everything she did.  See how bloody clever Malvivicus felt when he returned eons worth of notes recording every last sneeze and nose scratching.  "You got a statute of limitations on that watching?  I hate to ask, but you're not the only client I've got, and I've got to make sure I split the time fairly, yeah?"

Kronos grinned and sat back leisurely in his throne, smug and content with Trevelyan's acquiescence to his authority.  The cats wavered in their patience, however, once they realized that they weren't going to be jinxed or given gerbils.  One of them meowed loudly and a few others wandered away.  Kronos laughed lightly as he leaned back.

"Try not to be so damn agreeable sometimes, Trevelyan.  You're going to terribly disappoint my employee here."  He looked to the ceiling in thought and his attention stayed there a while. 

"I will require weekly reports on Dazmond Wiedman," he said finally.  "That's W-I-E-D Man.  You know those German creeps and their terrible sense of humor when it comes to letters and sounds.  I think she has a relative in Quidditch.  And I want to know what she is doing, where she is living, and who she is close to.  Use any means at your disposal.  Surely I've provided you with more than enough gold to fund even the most spirited endeavors.  Do use it wisely.  I trust, Mr. Trevelyan, that you will make my cause your number one priority.  And in exchange I will see to it that your family clan remains blissfully oblivious and safe from -- foreign terrorists.  Nasty lot."  He shot a glance at Terry.

If that wasn't enough of a threat, Kronos didn't know what would be.  Men of all castes had a common weakness:  Family.  It was always family.  That was why Kronos had seen fit to get rid of his. 

"Work it how you will," he said.  "But be sure to keep a good eye on my case.  That's all, friend.  You'll be hearing from my associate soon.  Now get out.  Go on!  Get to work!"

Wiedman with a W-I-E-D, humorless Germans, relative in Quidditch.  Jonas mentally tucked the bits of information away; he'd have to make a point to write it all down once he got back to the office.  The old man's request for constant surveillance bordered on the vaguely unsettling; if he'd been a spurned lover, Jonas would have politely but firmly begged off.  As it was, the supervillain vibe was nearly enough to make him refuse, but his protests were muted by the lack of any visible death ray or pool of man-eating sharks (not to mention the enormous sack of gold at his feet, which, the private investigator was slightly embarrassed to admit, did wonders to increase his moral flexibility).  In all likelihood, Kronos Malvivicus was probably a very nice old bloke who was just unable to properly express his grandfatherly affections.

He had been about to cheerfully agree again - partially because he would have anyhow, and partially to irk the other wizard whom Jonas was certain was still glaring daggers at his back - when his new employer's last statement sent ice shooting down his spine.  Jonas stared at him, his expression set in a carefully bland countenance.  Did Malvivicus have any idea what he was talking about?  Chances were he didn't.  Anna and the children had been so carefully sequestered away from the magical world that there was no way that anyone there could have happened across them.  The private investigator had made certain of that.

Jonas took a deep breath, pushing aside his misgivings, and reached for the bag of gold at his feet.  "I'd be happy to, friend," he replied easily, taking a moment to regain his feet.  Gold in hand, mysterious vial in pocket - he hadn't done an ounce of work yet and he'd already made out well on this case.  "Might need a bit of a hand with that, though.  I'd hate to apparate out of here not knowing where I'm going and ruin the marble."

A snort sounded from an uncomfortably close distance behind him.  Jonas managed to stop himself from jumping just in time; a glance behind him revealed that the exceptionally friendly bloke from earlier had closed the distance between them without a sound.

"We couldn't expect you to manage on your own," he replied, taking unrelenting hold of the private investigator's arm. 

Somewhere in the faint distance, familiar bells began to chime what Jonas could only assume was five o'clock.  He had barely opened his mouth to protest when there was another crack and the world twisted around him for the second time that night.

---

The West End was thrown into life around them in a disorienting blur.  Even though he'd had a split second to prepare this time, Jonas nearly doubled over again; it was only the fact that he'd nearly materialized on top of a young woman that forced him to jump out of the way and recover more quickly.

The last lingering bell tolled the evening hour as the girl gave a cry of surprise and jerked back, staring at them with wide eyes, and then scurried off to rejoin a gaggle of her friends down by the street.  Jonas flashed them a helpless smile, and then turned to eye the other wizard, trying to put the whole intimidating weight of the Statute of Secrecy into the glare. 

The other man gave him an infuriating smirk in reply.  "Watch yourself," he remarked languidly, bending down to pick up the bag of gold that had fallen by Jonas's feet.  "Don't want anyone to think that you're out of practice."

Jonas bit back the smart reply that immediately rose to his tongue.  There was no point in starting a war now, not if he'd be dealing with these blokes for a while yet.  "Thanks for the advice, mate," he said briskly after a beat.  "Like I said, a gem.  Let's just leave from somewhere a bit less public next time, yeah?"

The other wizard's smirk grew more defined as he tossed the gold to the private investigator.  "Of course," he said.  "Your place work all right?"

It was a distinct feeling, being prodded at.  Jonas couldn't decide whether or not the strike was intentional as he caught the bag of galleons with both arms.  "Be a pleasure," he replied, gathering it into the crook of one arm.  How to safely walk home with an enormous sack of gold was one of the things that never got mentioned in any of the supervillain movies he'd seen.  He was obviously going to have to improvise.  "The office is just over near Diagon.  You got an address you want me to send the surveillance on to?"

His opposite gave a snort.  "We'll come by to collect it," he said flatly.  "Don't do anything stupid, Trevelyan."

As the other man disappeared with another crack, Jonas found himself considering the irony of the fact that he had been doing nothing but stupid things all night long.  Walking - well, apparating - into the lion's den, agreeing to take this madness on; there were certainly better decisions that he could have made along the way.  Sighing, he hefted the bag under one arm, flashed the still-whispering gaggle of disbelieving Muggles near the street a wan smile, and started off down the road.  Now that it was officially after five o'clock, the crowds had nearly doubled.

At least, he thought dryly, he couldn't complain that this wouldn't be interesting.