Abby hovered in Aileen's bedroom with Roxy the crup in her arms, tilting her head to inspect her older sister in the mirror. Feeling festive, Abby wore heart slippers and a red shirt with the word 'heartbreaker' scrawled across the back, while Aileen had on a pretty, but demure dress, like something she'd wear to a school-sanctioned event. Such as the Hogwarts Valentine's Day ball.

But she wasn't going to the ball tonight. She was going on a date! Abby could forgive her, however. Even if the date wasn't with Jonas (le sigh!). It was with somebody, and that somebody was mysterious, and his name wasn't Oz, thank Merlin!

"Are you almost ready?" Abby piped up, grinning at Aileen in the reflection of the mirror. "For your date?" She whispered, then giggled.

Aileen's eyes narrowed as she glanced at her, finishing the last coat of lipstick. "Not a date."

They'd had this conversation before. Still, Abby strongly felt that anybody who asked a woman out on February 14th under the pretense of discussing an important article was either completely daft, or he had romantic schemes up his sleeve! Why couldn't her sister see this? Her sister, who saw schemes around every corner?

"Hmpf!" Abby shook her head, prancing over to sit with her on the vanity bench. It took a nudge or two, but Aileen finally sighed and moved over so both their bums could fit.

"No, I have nothing better to do," Abby informed her, as if she'd asked. "I was hoping you'd find it within your oh so gracious heart to supervise the Hogwarts dance thingy! So I could go! But no."

Aileen actually looked guilty for a split second, then annoyed. Annoyed was her default expression as of late.

"It's February 14th" Abby announced in a sing-songy voice at Aileen's resolute silence. "Which means... great expectations!" She laughed. "I bet he'll bring flowers. He better bring flowers!"

Aileen's expression turned sour, "I have had enough of flowers for today. There will be no flowers involved. None," She stated firmly when Abby opened her mouth. Aileen was through with alcohol for the day too, or she should be, Abby thought, remembering the ridiculous letter war she'd had with Oz. But she practiced restraint and said nothing.

"You think every handsome man over the age of thirty is some kind of suitor!" Aileen muttered, smoothing out her hair.

"I know right?" Abby borrowed her lipstick and tried some on. "Wait! You think he's handsome? Isn't there... someone else you think is handsome? Hmmm?"

Aileen gave her an incredulous look, and just as the name 'Trevelyan' was on the tip of Abby's tongue, the doorbell rang.

"I'll get it!" Abby raced for the door, trusting Aileen to pause and slip on her heels before making an appearance. The crup bounded down the stairs with her, stopping every few moments to make sure she was there, and almost causing her to trip multiple times. As Roxy barked excitedly, Abby flung open the door and grinned at the man, pulling him inside from the cold.

"Hello!" She shook his hand. "I'm Abby. Aileen's little sister. I'm sure you've heard all about me. This is Roxy." And Roxy kept barking. "Shhhhhh. Don't drool on his shoe!" She told the crup in a low voice. Abby looked at Mr. Grimm and smiled again.

"Aileen's still getting ready for your date." She paused for half a second, studying his face. "It is a date, isn't it?"

There was a child. And a dog. Alberic was not particularly fond of either, but of the two, he supposed he got on better with animals.

Though it seemed the child needed some assistance keeping her crup under control. And judging from her frenetic and somewhat frantic comportment, it was really no wonder. Alberic waited patiently through the bubbling child's chatter with a reserved smiel. As she attempted to shush the crup to no avail, Alberic looked at the crup with sharp, raven's eyes. The crup stood there, tail wagging, panting merrily for several moments until realising the gaze. Locking eyes with Alberic, it took a timid step back and gave a soft whine. Once into submission, Alberic knelt down to tousle the crup's terrier-like ears a little. Roxy the Crup did not so much as wag its tail. Alberic was satisfied.

"Nice to meet you, Roxy," Alberic said quietly, emotionlessly, before standing once more. "And Abby," Alberic said, nodding and holding his hand out. He bothered with a bit more emotion for this one. "Very nice to meet you." He gave a glint of a smile, looking both ways before leaning in somewhat. "The question isn't, Abby, what I've heard about you, but what you've heard about me." He gave a slight chuckle  as he raised his eyebrows expectantly.

A bit of banter built rapport. Alberic knew nothing of this little sister, and so he didn't exactly know how close she was to her sister. So it was prudent to win her over. Further, getting Abby talking about himself -- or more precisely, Aileen's opinon of himself -- would be advantageous information for later.

"Aileen's still getting ready for your date." She paused for half a second, studying his face. "It is a date, isn't it?"

This was slightly more difficult to tread. It was apparent which answer the child wanted; far less certain which one Aileen would want to hear, though from their prior communication, Alberic supposed "date" was a deterrent. Alberic had never been on a date before, and he was not about to start. He was certain that any answer or word he made would make it from Abby to Aileen, potentially in front of him, before they left the house. Keeping the same, ironic smile, Alberic made a show of checking his watch. "Date? It's February 14th." The answer was vague enough to be leading in whichever direction anyone chose.

Alberic did not suppose there would be much silence in this exchange, and so he relished the remaining seconds before Abby's no doubt rapidfire response, looking about the entry hall in approval. It was organised. Well-decorated. And slightly opulent.

Abby looked at the crup, she looked at Mr. Grimm. She looked at the crup, then back at Mr. Grimm. Roxy was staring at the man like he was some kind of creeper lurking on the Knight Bus, and Roxy liked everyone.

Bad sign!

Her eyes narrowed with a hint of her older sister's usual suspicious stare as he greeted her and asked what Aileen had said about him. The truth was, before today, she hadn't mentioned him at all. And Aileen told her everything! Or at least, she should!

Instead of answering his question, she came back with a question of her own, and his response made her eyes go wide in shock. Why did Aileen have to choose the blokes with the sticks up their arses? Was he being purposefully obtuse? The crup was now avoiding the strange man in the foyer and had taken to jumping up to lick her hand, wanting pets. Jump up, slobber, jump up, slobber, might as well be Roxy's mantra. Abby bent to scratch her behind the ears.

"Yes, it is February 14th," Abby nodded cheerily after a moment's hesitation. "When a man and a woman go out on February 14th," she continued in the same cheery tone, but slower, as if she were talking to someone younger than her who hadn't quite grasped the concept of the birds and bees, "It tends to mean something."

She crossed her arms, tilted her head at him, and grinned. "So? What are your intentions, Mr. Grimm?"

Merlin's boxers, she hoped he'd play along. From above, a loud thump sounded, and Roxy trotted away to look curiously up the stairs. Abby continued smiling at Mr. Grimm, suspecting that the crup had chewed through another one of Aileen's stilettos. Point for Roxy! Zero for Aileen.

Judging from the glare, there was a great deal of likeness between Aileen Reid and her younger sister, though whether this was attributable to family features or a more general attribute shared amongst females  would have defied even the most advanced theorists of humanity to determine. Alberic did not know Aileen well. He knew of her from reputation -- and it was a good reputation -- and he knew of her from their school days, of which they'd shared only 195.

"It tends to meeeean something," the child drew out. Alberic had heard the child was homeschooled; he had also heard she was a squib. While there were plenty respectable things that squibs could do in their society, Alberic, for a moment, wondered from the long, drawn out word and inane chatter, if it wasn't that this girl was, instead, rather slow.

There were not so many things a dull girl could do in society. He had hoped that, even if this girl was as girlish as she seemed, that might mean she'd read Witch Weekly. She might have noticed he was on the list of -- well, an awful title that was really not worth mentioning -- but rankings of popularity were particularly important to ages 12-17. The Weekly tabloid'd also asked for more information on him for a second feature; he'd declined, in the hopes of preserving some privacy. But in this instance, it might have been to his advantage.

"My intentions," Alberic said with a reserved smile, "are just what I've informed your sister; I'm taking her to dinner, and we're going to discuss our mutual interests." Like the undead in Egypt. But you didn't mention that.

He heard a thump from above. Alberic glanced up at the ceiling, and was surprised when, a moment later, with baffling speed and omnipresence, Aileen was alread descending the staircase. Alberic smiled broadly and, alarmingly, genuinely, as she approached. There were few people Alberic sought out conversation with. It was a risky venture, full of hazards like needing to converse with inane children and reprimand slobbering dogs, but in Aileen Reid's case, he was confident he wouldn't be disappointed with the company.

As soon as they left the child and her dog.

Aileen was going to murder that crup.

She'd just slipped into her new pair of heels, staggered comically for a moment, then fallen over, and the crup was all to blame. Teeth marks marred her expensive shoes. Teeth marks! Having no time to fix it, Aileen slipped on a pair of emergency substitutes with the speed of a woman who knew that her younger sister was downstairs, likely embarrassing her.

Aileen made it to the first floor gracefully enough, smiling politely at Mr. Grimm as she thought about digging the crup's grave. The warmth of his smile escaped her notice. Luckily, she hadn't overheard Abby's interrogation, and could start the evening on a blissfully oblivious note.

Well, mostly.

Abby had her arms crossed and a mulish look on her face, and the crup was as excitable as ever, but hopping around a fair distance from the man in the foyer.

"Good evening," Aileen greeted him, fetching her winter cloak from the closet and fastening it on. "Sorry to keep you waiting. My other shoes met an untimely end," she raised her eyebrows at Roxy, who had seen the look many times before, and merely eyed her substitute footwear with interest while Abby tried not to laugh.

"Abby," she waited until the girl looked at her. "There's food in the fridge," she gave her a warning look that meant no eating or drinking on the white couches, because she would find out. "And your latest copy of Witch Weekly came in. I left it on your desk upstairs."

Abby nodded, less chatty than Aileen had expected.

"Be good," she widened her eyes at her and smirked, referring to the phrase their grandmother touted every time she visited: be good and behave yourself.

"I should be home in a few hours."

"Have fun, but not too much fun!" Abby waved them off, sending funny looks at Mr. Grimm as she held back the crup, who wanted to squeeze through the front door and join the outing.

For a moment Aileen wished she'd thought to make arrangements so that Abby could go to the Hogwarts Ball without her, but it was too late now, and she shook her head, turning towards Alberic when they exited the house.

"I hope she didn't pepper you with too many questions?" She caught a glimpse of the girl peeking out the window, and then the curtain fell back into place.

"Shall we?" Aileen smiled at him and held out her arm, suddenly glad she had plans tonight, even if it wasn't a date. And it wasn't!

As they began to walk from the house, Alberic thought themselves at a prudent distance to venture speaking. "Your sister is diverting," Alberic said, graciously inclining his head. With a bit of a smirk and a faint, almost rumble of laughter, he added, "I suspect that in a few years, she will be quite an accomodating hostess; she can talk to nearly anyone." And wizarding society entertained a wide variety of anyones.

He looked down at her footwear. "You look very nice," he informed her, though he suspected a woman such as herself not only knew this, but expected such compliments. They consequently held neither the element of surprise or candour. But they were socially discrete and civil. And Alberic would, certainly, be that much. "That crup will need to be trained," he mused aloud, "if he is to be at home in your house." The sister, he could not politely say as much. There was a good deal of promise with the girl, however. She was a Reid, after all. "Your sister's, I assume. It is kind of you to allow it. I'm not certain I would."

This begged the question of why the sister was at her home at all, and not her parent's. Alberic had been on friendly speaking terms with Trevor Reid -- until Alberic had decided it was no longer prudent to be so -- but he had not been in a position to inquire about familial affairs. Though he would get to that, he hoped, by the end of this evening.

Smiling as he offered his arm, he waited until he felt the gentle pressure before pulling out what had been described to him as "ball-point pen." For a portkey, he had wanted something small and something that would stick out from his other little objects lying about. Anything Muggle was an immediate distinction. "I'd thought you were probably as tired of local cuisine as I; I'd like to go somewhere to talk where we won't need to worry about --" how to put this without being disparaging -- "people. There is a cafe near the Vatican in Italy; it claims the best coffee in Italy, but I am more interested in their decor." It held the exhumed jewels of several popes, tucked away haphazardly in little corners. Members of the great Italian wizarding families had often resorted to buying the Church's silence and, if possible, adoration with gifts of jewels, gold, and sometimes less tangible prizes. However, while their actions were generous, it did not, by any means, mean that they allowed their recipients to keep them after death.
He tilted his head slightly at her. "Or we could go as close as Diagon, however, if you prefer it." He gave a little shrug. He hated people.

Aileen smiled slightly, glad she wasn't the only one who preferred quiet to the yip-yapping of the crup. "I told her she had to train it," she remarked, slipping back into calling the creature 'it'. "The question is what she trains it to do. The creature never goes after her shoes."

She glanced at him, wondering how much he knew about her sister and why she was staying with her. "It keeps her company, I suppose." Aileen decided not to tell him that Abby had brought the crup home one day and pleaded with her until she'd let her keep it. Too embarrassing.

Just as she was starting to worry that they would, Merlin forbid, walk to their destination (her shoes might have been substitutes, but they were still high heels), he explained his idea for the night, saying that they wouldn't have to worry about people. Aileen smirked, assuming he meant people they both knew, and then raised her eyebrows when he suggested Italy.

That didn't sound like a casual get-together. A cafe was one thing. A cafe in Rome? Completely different. She eyed the muggle quill device suspiciously for a moment, taking it as proof that he'd put a lot of thought into this. Aileen glanced at his face, trying to read his expression and only finding a polite sort of blandness. No clues there. And the compliment that she'd thanked him for earlier had been safe, as compliments went, nothing too extreme.

Despite her confusion about what he expected, Rome sounded exciting. Fun, even! She didn't want to go to the same old places in Diagon or risk bumping into the same faces. Also, Alberic wasn't the type to leave her stranded at a strange muggle coffee shop unlike some people she knew!

It was clear what his preference was as well. "Rome sounds lovely," Aileen answered with an encouraging smile.

A minute later the portkey had transported them to a narrow alley in Italy, close to the cafe. 

Alberic could not reasonably suggest that in this case the trainer become trainee and that Abby Reid might, in fact, benefit from some discipline. The girl seemed charming and, despite Aileen’s apparent consternation at the crup’s behavior, it showed a certain ingenuity and cleverness in the child that Alberic appreciated. Even if he didn’t approve.

“Well,” he said mildly, “it is frustrating, to be sure, but I for one have confidence that you know how to manage the situation. If you can handle a handful of adolescent children at Hogwarts.” He smiled slightly, thinking of it. His schoolmates had been horrible. One of the primary satisfactions as prefect, and then Head Boy, was that he was able to ensure that things ran as they ought to. It had to be even more pleasing as a professor. “Do you find Hogwarts much changed since we attended? Madame Snark is quite different from Albus Dumbledore.”

This question hung in the air and, perhaps remained in England as they were quickly transported and things took their course as Alberic intended. It always went as Alberic intended.

Everything was meticulously executed. The transition was smooth, the reservation was for five minutes prior to their arrival -- lest they have to wait on other's dawdling, much better to make them wait. Then again, he'd made three other reservations at other places at Diagon.

They would just have to be disappointed he did not come. He was certain they were used to it. Alberic Grimm was a man who liked to keep his options open, and on Valentine's Day, it would be difficult to change courses unexpectedly. But it was always best to let the lady decide.

To be frank, Valentine's Day was a stupid sort of holiday, centred around an emotion that was, most probably, contrived anyhow. As with many things, Rome had been the start of both pagan and Christian traditions, which might make this an appropriate choice for the evening, but Alberic had no intentions of indulging in any of the historical holiday festivities, particularly either of theirs.

From Feb. 13 to 15, the Romans celebrated the feast of Lupercalia. The men sacrificed a goat and a dog, and then, whilst naked, whipped women with the hides of the animals they had just slain. Women would line up for this; the rite was believed to make them fertile. Men would then draw names of women from a jar, and the couple would then copulate for the duration of the festival.

By the time Christianity got their hands on the holiday, trying to sanctify it through the association of a martyr, Valentine, it was too late. Pope Gelasius I combined St. Valentine's Day with Lupercalia to expel the pagan rituals. The only difference Alberic could see between the Christian and pagan celebrations was that the Christians seemed to have put clothes back on. And different, though undoubtedly no less repulsive, ways of hitting on women.

Being guided by prudence, Alberic kept all of this from Aileen Reid. Most particularly the part about whipping. Alberic had no intentions of any sort of Valentine’s Day. In fact, Alberic Grimm had never been on what one would call a date. And this was why this evening would not be called one.

Not one inclined towards emotions in general, it would be difficult to construe Alberic’s intentions as romantic. Nevertheless, he had taken an interest in Aileen Reid for clear, quantifiable reasons. She was intelligent, proficient in many areas he was proficient in – and prudently inexperienced in the more distasteful, unladylike areas, such as murdering the already-dead. She was attractive. And she had information about the mummy attack on January 1st that he needed.

If she was charmed, pleased, and away from her social network, all of his intentions would be easier to accomplish.  As they moved from the alleyway, Alberic was aware that they had passed several moments in silence which was not, to him, disagreeable. However, his aim was to know her better.

“You’ve been to Egypt recently. I’d imagine your Runic Studies take you to other places as well. Have you ever been to Rome?”

They crossed a wide piazza to cross beneath a portico, Alberic paused to open the door for her. Ducking in after her, he took in the surroundings to ensure that they were still as he remembered. The restaurant was not overly small. There were 12 or so café tables laid out in an open space, which was lit by floating candelabras, hanging chandeliers, and wall sconces. Built into the wall were various nooks for stowed away artifacts which Alberic knew – or at least could guess the history of. If conversation ever did run thin, this would be a viable topic change.

They were guided to a table. At which point, Alberic stopped the waiter from helping them and moved behind Aileen to move out the chair and remove her coat, as was expected of any well-mannered man.

Aileen was glad that apparation gave her an excuse to ignore the question about Headmistress Snark. It was an innocent enough question, and Alberic couldn't have known how much she hated the woman, but all the same it was nice not to have to feign a polite, sensible reaction when all she really wanted to do was sneer and say she hoped Snark fell into a canyon during her trip to America.

On their short walk to the cafe, Aileen appreciated the warmer air, and though her feet did not appreciate the uneven cobblestone beneath her heels, this was a nice change from London, from Hogwarts, from the many reminders that had been stressing her out this year. She liked hearing the Italian voices and language, and found herself looking at the balconies over the piazza and wondering what it would be like to move, to suddenly change jobs, to escape for a year and try something completely different. She didn't usually stay in one place for long, anyway. She'd thought being a professor was what she had wanted, but with Snark as Headmistress and the cursed dagger making her life miserable, being happy was next to impossible. Running away from her problems wouldn't solve anything. But she could entertain the daydream.

Or she could keep fighting. The stubborn, prideful part of Aileen (pride and ego being a very large part) wanted to win, wanted to find a way out of her own messes, wanted to stay in London because it felt like home. She could solve the problem of the cursed dagger and get Jonas off her back. She could ruin Snark, somehow. She could make her sister's life better, find something good for Abby to do, give her confidence. Climb higher in her career. She could do all of these things, needed to believe she could, if she just had more time, had the resources, had that one epiphany. Asking for help was out of the question. She'd tried it with Jonas when the dagger had been stolen, and now she had problems worse than a stolen dagger. She'd tried it with Trevor, and before he could tell her to get out, he'd been arrested for his own messes and problems. It was better to go it alone. Safer.

Though of course, that didn't mean she couldn't enjoy this evening, enjoy the company, as puzzling to her as it might be. She and Alberic headed into the restaurant, and she glanced around at the floating lights, the cozy tables covered by white cloth, the artifacts tucked in the walls that he'd mentioned earlier. The place wasn't overly crowded. Aileen approved. She also approved of Alberic's good manners, opening doors for her and helping her out of her cloak.

Aileen thanked him, gave him a polite smile with just the faintest hint of real warmth, and answered his question as they sat across from each other.

"Yes, I've been to Rome a few times," she told him with a small smile. Purebloods who were well off often did some traveling, and if not for her upbringing, he was correct to assume that her work had taken her all over Europe.

"The first time I went, I was a teenager and pretended to be jaded. But even I was impressed by the Colosseum, Pantheon, and the Sistine Chapel," she raised her eyebrows, poking fun at herself a little.

"Later on, I visited Italy to get a better understanding of the Etruscan and Latin alphabets, to see how they influenced the Runic script."

And before she could veer off into a scholarly discussion, she gave him a curious look, realizing that she didn't know as much about him as he seemed to know about her.

"What about you? Have you done much traveling for your work, or otherwise?" She knew he was a Necronomist, had a vague idea of what that meant: expunging ghouls, zombies, ghosts, and other dark things that should stay in the ground. He'd helped calm the mummies at the museum, after all. Funny how she'd caused work for him in that case. It was the artifact's fault, obviously! But she was connected to the ancient curses, the dark creatures that went bump in the night, the engravings and words that dimmed magic and extinguished life, maybe even stole souls.

Alberic's lips curled into a smile at her self-admission. "Sometimes being jaded is beneficial for a more objective view, but it really does little for the soul." Disillusionment was only one of those other emotions that clouded judgement and kept one from seeing what really was. It, like love, hope, and anger, was just a form of illusionment. That was to say, it was a way the mind kept a body from perceiving actuality.

Alberic had felt the emotions she'd described. Awe and appreciation. If he had not, he would not have been able to discern or to judge. He grew thoughtful. "To be completely honest, I've not thought much about the effect of great sights and scenery. They are fascinating, surely, for the role they play in larger dramas, but I find that the only things truly impressionable are those at a higher level -- fate, life, death--" he shrugged. This was probably boring. And distracting.

Another question about her. "I know little about Etruscan scripts, though I'm obviously familiar in Latin." Any learned wizard would require that much. "Do you merely study the script, or the spoken language as well? That is to say -- many claim the languages dead, but I find like people --" here he gave a cryptic, thin-lipped smile, "it is very hard to ever classify anything as 'truly dead.' Influences and traces remain." Alberic, for example, was proficient in ancient Egyptian. And not merely the hieroglyphics. "Your field goes into some of that, I imagine?"

The question she asked in turn -- a mere echo of his question -- was a more difficult question than she, perhaps, had anticipated. Alberic was not accustomed to getting substantive questions about his work and so, took the time to sip from the glass of water before him before speaking.

"Physically, I find that I usually stay in the UK," he began cautiously. "Though I am certain my research could benefit somewhat from some travel." Nowadays, people like that young Caulfield thought they could become masters without ever stepping out of a laboratory. And while it was true that most of Alberic's explorations and battles took place on a metaphysical setting of varying levels of consciousness, he very much doubted that Caulings did even that much. At least, however, he was interested in The topic of death and life.

"Mm," he said, setting the glass down and shaking his head. "No; I misspoke. There were also extensive trips to Egypt, when I was beginning," he corrected, recalling the extended stay, nearly 20 years ago. He offered a rare, hesitant smile that seemed almost bizarre on his features. Candour came seldom, though bluntness and accuracy were frequent.

"Which has been increasingly helpful for me of late," he said idly as he began to peruse the menu, glancing up at her surreptitiously. "You doubtless know that I've been working for the past month and a half on a resurgence of Egyptian undead. Linked to some curse, apparently." Which was to say, it had become apparent to him. "The trofie al sugo di noci, tagliatelle al sugo di lepre, and ciceri e tria are all good here," he rattled off in easy Italian in the same, level tone. He closed the menu, having picked his own, and quietly asked, "Are you fond of wine?"

This was definitely unlike any other dinner date meeting she'd been on before. At turns he was philosophical, then cool and cautious, then smiling. She found herself puzzling over his mannerisms rather than really, truly listening to his words. Aileen couldn't yet tell if this mysterious aspect of him was a positive or negative thing, but it did make her faintly uneasy. She liked to feel that she understood the people she interacted with. It was easier to stay ahead of the game that way.

She played along well enough, nodding and keeping eye contact, and answering his question about dead languages. There were some, like Etruscan, where the last known person to speak the language was long dead, so relying only on the script and written language was more of an unfortunate necessity. Though she had the fleeting thought that Alberic was just the sort of person who would love to bring back Emperor Claudius and inquire about the lost books he'd written on the Etruscan people. Or bring back a few Etruscan ghosts themselves. That seemed more his style.

He smiled when he mentioned Egypt, and Aileen smiled back, glancing up from the menu. Her attention was piqued now.

The curse! Aileen glanced at Alberic sharply, about ready to hex the waiter that chose that moment to appear at their table, though he was probably trained to hear 'wine' from the opposite side of the cafe. Still. Very bad timing.

She ordered a glass of the Bera Dolcetto d'Alba, and decided on the Ciceri e Tria he'd recommended, treating the waiter with her usual politeness even though she really wished he'd scurry off.

"You mentioned a curse?" She asked a moment after the waiter left, schooling her expression to reflect mild curiosity.

"I suppose that's not too surprising," she offered him a slight smile. "It must take a powerful curse to cause that level of undead rebellion."

When he'd asked her questions after the mummy incident in January, she'd been just helpful enough to try to direct his attention elsewhere, explaining that one artifact likely hadn't caused such a disastrous undead uprising (ha), that it must have been a combination of things, or even affected by the number of wizards who had visited the museum that day. The pyramid object they'd found on the scene? The duplicate had, thankfully, been hastily created, so she'd passed it off as a trinket from a gift shop. Nevermind that she had the real thing hidden in her home.

"I hope your work has been going well. You seemed to be on the right track when I last spoke to you."

Jonas had better have kept his mouth shut, she thought viciously, remembering the lies he'd taunted her with when she'd been called in on the day of the Grosvenor girl's murder.

Aileen was most certainly unexpected. She appeared perfection -- to the point of boredom. Perfectly composed. But there were several interesting chinks in perfection: the way she blustered about the crup. Or even Snark. The way she was overly fond of her sister. And candid in her imperfections. Some of them.

Alberic didn't need the confessions to see the foibles. (The only ones she admitted to were years past, anyhow, which was far less interesting than the present ones.) And Alberic found himself surprised: these imperfections didn't seem to be shortcomings. They made her an interesting study.  He regarded her.

She had taken her advice on the food, but had ordered for herself. Most pureblooded women were supine enough to allow the man that position. It was a bit jarring, but, once more, not wholly off-putting.

"Undead obedience," he corrected, giving the same, tight-lipped smile. "You see, there are two great causes that command life and death: the things you die for, and the things you live for. After conversation with the mummies' spirits --" he let that hang in the air a moment, "it's clear which we're dealing with, here. They live for it. In life, they were guardians of the . . . well, I am getting ahead of myself," he said, placing a bit more distance between the table and himself.

He smoothed the creases of the tablecloth slowly.

"Your advice was very beneficial. I understand a bit more of the cause of the curse as a result. Torquil Foley -- who you directed me to -- seems to have made a duplicate of an artifact. A small pyramid." He said this slowly, tenting his fingers lightly into the shape as though this was not only the first time Aileen could have heard this information, but the first time she might have imagined such a thing as a small pyramid. "It's always interesting, these cases. Curse and cause become almost antonymous. The Cause for their Living is to obtain the pyramid. The lack of the pyramid brings about the curse, but brings the Cause. Really, the only way to satisfy cause and annihilate curse rests in returning the object."

"At any rate," he said, shrugging his shoulders a bit, "the mummies weren't fooled and will soon, I'm sure, set about looking for the possessor. Not even I can interfere with the Cause of Living. The only concern that I have is that I have not fully come to understand the result of the curse. And who might be so unfortunate as to invoke it." No, he did not entirely understand Aileen Reid. And had not the indecency to wholly employ legilimency. To understand Aileen -- her motives, personality, and soul -- had been the purpose of this evening. It would, at this rate, need to be a medium-to-long evening.

The waiter returned and first poured Aileen's glass before his. Giving a muttered thanks in Italian, he wet his lips before tasting the drink. "My work has been interesting. We are both fortunate in our work, aren't we? Solving puzzles. For some, that's just a Sunday afternoon's hobby."