Josephine was displeased.  Being in London for so long without any leads on her last assignment for several months now, she was being bumped over to another mission – an easy one, at that. Being asked to retrieve an artifact was generally not something she had trouble with, and this was almost like dropping the mask directly into the Goblins’ hands. 

Mr. Lazarus Rippringham-Gomfrey of the Wizengamot was an older man, stoic and pureblood.  Josephine had met him before, at a holiday gathering years ago.  He certainly had a penchant for schmoozing and port.  Josephine took advantage of this knowledge to schedule a meeting with the man at his estate, on a Friday in the late afternoon.  He would surely be enjoying the end of his week and a glass of aged spirits. 

She had intended to do this with someone she had worked with before, Leandre Vallaincort, a man of the club, so some would say, and they paired well, particularly when dealing with the upper echelon.  He handled talk of business with cigars and liquor, Josephine manipulated her way into the collection and got what she needed.  The plan was going to work splendidly for this mission, of course, if she had been able to actually get what she wanted.  Rutherford was off in Scandinavia, unfortunately, and she had to look elsewhere.   

Her search ended with the young Israeli who was currently on desk duty for mucking up her last assignment.  It wasn’t as though it was much of a secret, but it was a good way for Josephine to ensure she would do exactly what she asked, and it never hurt to throw two beautiful women in fronto of Gomfrey.  Naturally though, she advised the young woman to go for sophisticate, not for typical.  Josephine certainly did her part when she got dressed.

After apparating, Josephine smoothed out her cloak and barely glanced over at Raizel, “Follow,” she said pointedly, before the large, wrought iron gates swung open, allowing then to walk forward.  Josephine’s boots clicked against the cobbles.  Despite approaching six o’clock, the sun was still out, and it was most assuredly bouncing off her auburn hair, only to stop when they entered the generous and shady overhang of the entryway.  Josephine used her wand to lift the heavy door knocker and banged it three times. 

While the door started to open, Josephine looked at Raizel one more time, “Remember your manners.” 

Raizel Cohen was Not Happy.

Her unhappiness radiated off of her for everyone and the world to see.  She had been Not Happy since the moment she'd first been ordered to stay in London, and the emotion, complete with a mental set of capital letters for emphasis, had only increased after Josephine St. Just had ordered her to show up for an assignment. 

Normally, the endless monotony of Gringotts would have had her leaping at any chance to get away, but the thought of having to play assistant to the older, much more well-reputed Cursebreaker was enough to make her shudder.  St. Just had instructed her to make sure she looked sophisticated -- as if what she wore every day wasn't good enough to go running errands for the goblins in, she had thought sourly -- and so the mage had purposely dressed down.  Her outfit had passed muster, but only just; Raizel wasn't sure if she hadn't been sent home to change because St. Just was in a hurry, or because the older Cursebreaker had simply dismissed her as being incapable of mimicking the ridiculous, over-the-top that she herself seemed to favor.

They'd apparated onto the walkway in front of Mr. Something Ripping-longname's distinguished abode.  Raizel had barely appeared when St. Just barked out another instruction, immediately sweeping down the path as if she expected her companion to follow in her wake like a puppy. 

Raizel stared after the older woman for a moment, completely dumbfounded, and then huffed out a breath, her nostrils flaring dangerously.  She was not here to fetch and carry.  She was a perfectly talented Cursebreaker in her own right, and even if she didn't have the sterling reputation of Josephine St. Just, it wasn't because of any lack of skill.  The apparent misconception about their partnership had better be cleared up quickly, or she was going to start thinking of hexes to fling in the redhead's direction.

The residence looming over them was overdone in a purely British sort of way, and as such, was completely unimpressive.  Raizel gave it an impatient look as she hurried to catch up to St. Just, scuffing her boots on the cobblestones.  The witch had already knocked on the door, leaving her with precious few moments to raise the issue.  Raizel cleared her throat pointedly, preparing to launch into her dissent, when St. Just turned impassively to face her and dropped another dismissive bombshell.

"Remember your manners."

Raizel's jaw nearly hit the cobblestones.  "Remember my manners?!" she managed in disbelief.  Who did this witch think that she was?  "I do not need to remember my manners!" she hissed back indignantly.  "You're the one who hasn't stopped ordering me around since we--"

The door was already in the process of opening, revealing a tiny, elderly looking house elf with a long nose and ears that were far too big for its wrinkled head.  Raizel barely had time to snap her mouth shut, stamping her foot down as she spun back to face it.  The look she shot St. Just, complete with gritted teeth and widened eyes that promised future retribution, hopefully made it clear that the conversation would be continued in the near future.

The house elf looked between them, blinking its large, cloudy eyes, as it took in first Josephine and then Raizel.  It shifted its rheumy gaze back to the taller of the two, and then cleared its throat, giving the effect of centuries' worth of dust being blown off an ancient tome.  "Yes?" it asked in a creaky voice.  "You are Madame St. Just?  Mr. Rippringham-Gomfrey is looking forward to your visit."

Rebellion did not get Raizel Cohen anywhere with Josephine.  She did not appreciate the blatant disregard for her orders, but it only made Raizel look like a hoodlum, not her.  She had only been warning the girl in her best interest – when dealing with people it was best to play to the audience.  Whatever anyone ever said about being one’s self in the company of others was a bold faced lie; you did what others expected of you, that’s how you stayed on top.

Obviously, Miss Cohen thought that she was going to get there of her own accord, but she’d see.  The reception they were going to get would be completely different.  Josephine would be treated as a lady, Cohen would be treated like the bag boy. 

She did not bother to address Raizel, she would, if she knew best, shut her mouth of her own accord, proving (against Josephine’s prediction) she could actually learn something. As she was the one addressed, Josephine took the lead in the conversation with the elf, nodded curtly.  “Yes,” she answered plainly, “I do hope we did not keep him waiting,” she added breezily as she passed by the ancient little thing.  She would have pushed it out of the way had it not moved quickly enough. 

“Dusty will inform Master Rippringham-Gomfrey of Madame St. Just and Mistress…”  “Cohen,” Josephine interjected, “Cohen,” the elf mimicked in the exhausted and crackling voice, “have arrived.”  He popped out of the entryway and Josephine removed her cloak. 

Josephine looked at Raizel.  She really was a ragamuffin, or perhaps just too pigheaded to admit that she could use a little advice.  Josephine pushed some of her red hair away from her face and sighed, looking around at the art in the hallway.  It was a very medieval looking estate, Gothic – everything was dark.  It certainly had some appeal about it, and she wandered just a little bit further into the hall, looking at one of the portraits – definitely framed in a goblin made frame.  She’d seen a similar one on another job. 

“He certainly is a collector,” she commented to herself, trying as much to ignore the unpleasantness that radiated off of her companion.  If she couldn’t pull it together and pretend to be congenial they would get nowhere with Mr.   Rippringham-Gomfrey.

"Would we be here if he wasn't?" Raizel muttered back, still looking unhappy as she followed the redhead inside. 

That was part of the problem with their so-called assignment today, she thought irritably as she tromped down the hall after St. Just.  This wasn't anything close to what she had signed on to Gringotts for.  There were no curses involved in inviting themselves over to a rich old man's house and plying him with wine until he was willing to make the sale.  Raizel could hardly imagine a more boring way to spend her afternoon, save for juggling paperwork, but at least no one criticized her choice in clothing when she was doing that.

This entire day was a complete waste of her time.  Raizel let out a heavy sigh as she cast an impatient look over the interior of the entryway.  Ornate paintings, expensive furniture, intricate statues and exotically carved artifacts -- it practically screamed 'Too much money,' simply judging by the sheer amount of stuff that he had on display.
 
Or at the very least, it screamed something about the man's opinion on imperialistic privilege, Raizel thought with a roll of her eyes.  She stepped over to peer at a bronze hand mirror that was set up prominently inside a display case.  The scene on the back of the mirror looked Etruscan, but it was done in a raised relief instead an etching: probably a counterfeit, she decided sourly.  That did not say much about Mr. Ripping-Something's ability to judge good quality imports.

"How much of this do you even think is real?" she asked Josephine, extending her right index finger toward the display case.  She could feel the hum of magic as she got closer -- there was apparently some sort of charm protecting it.  Frowning, Raizel stepped back, shifting to the side as she squinted at the glass, trying to make out any protective runes in its surface.  "He's going to a lot of trouble to protect something that can't be worth very much."

Josephine ignored Raizel’s pointed quip.  It wasn’t worth addressing.  If she could not put aside pettiness for a mission, she could just as easily say she wanted to leave an go back to sitting behind the desk.  Josephine had never had a problem lying to the Goblins before.  She’d be happy to inform them of her and Raizel’s success, the girl didn’t need to stay.  Of course, that was probably the reason she hadn’t bolted – it would make both of them too happy.  She did not seem like the type that would do something logical if it meant defying principle. 

Josephine’s eyes lingered on the frame for one more moment, making a mental note of its location, and sighed.  Everything in this place was probably stolen, in one way or another.  The dealers got pieces from all over the world and men like Gomfrey bought them.  It was the way of things.

Of course, Joie had seen some of the communities magical artifacts came from.  She resented the stealing of artifacts, at least from other witches and wizards, particularly ones that were so helpful.  She probably would have taken a number of things back if she knew the next time she’d be returning to Africa. 

“A good deal,” Josephine finally answered, eyeing the very same suspicious looking hand mirror.  Any serious dealer or collector would know the difference, by Gomfrey wasn’t the type.  He’d see it, think it looked expensive and someone could take him for all he was worth – at least they’d try, he was worth more than Josephine had ever seen in her entire career, it’d take a lot to rob him blind.  “As long as no one looks too closely, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind, if he even knew…” she trailed off as the faint pop of a returning elf entered the hall.

“Master Rippringham-Gomfrey is ready.  Dusty will escort you to Master’s office,” he nodded his head, slowly, as though his neck might snap if he moved too quickly, and turned on his heel, expecting them to follow as he led them down the hallway and toward the master staircase, looming in the distance and covered in a deep carpet, which Josephine thought looked like a deep shade of green.   

Josephine once again glanced at Raizel to make sure she was following and quickened her pace, “Just direct us, Dusty, and we will be on our way,” she said breezily – affronting the Elf, as he huffed anxiously, sucking in air in wheezes, as though it was some great inconvenience for him, but at a sharp look from the redhead, the Elf turned quickly. ”Dusty will quick his pace, Madame,” Dusty huffed and jolted up the stairs.

Josephine was pleased and followed, her heels clicking on the marble at the top of the stairs, making sure to keep her hands to herself, just in case.  “Master is expecting you,” Dusty said as he stood in front of double doors, which seemed to open without provocation.  Of course, it was elf magic that did it, but Josephine nodded at him, and started through the doors into the study and office of Rippringham-Gomfrey, a rotund man of his sixties, perhaps seventies, sitting behind the desk.  Of course, at the entry of two ladies, the portly man with impressive mutton chops stood. 

“Greetings!” he seemed jovial, enough to match his rosy nosed (someone had a tumbler on his desk) expression, “I hope you did not wait long,” he added, motioning to the chairs. 

"Not at all," Josephine smiled serenely.  "We've met before, Gomfrey," she just barely laughed, shrugging her shoulders, "But you haven't had the pleasure of meeting Miss Cohen.  Miss Raizel Cohen, Mr. Lazarus Rippringham-Gomfrey." 

Raizel would never admit that she'd jumped at the elf's reappearance.  As it was, she jerked back quickly, nearly smacking the display case with her elbow as she spun to face the sudden apparition.  Scowling, she sent a dirty look in first the elf's and then St. Just's direction, as if it had been entirely their fault for nearly startling her.

The entire exchange was getting more and more ridiculous.  St. Just jostling with the elf over who got to lead them to the study, and the little wheezy creature insisting on leading the way.  Raizel rolled her eyes, affecting a bored look as she trailed along behind them.  She didn't care who showed them to Mr Ripping-Whoever; she just wanted this entire ridiculous mess to be over with so that she could go back to not doing paperwork.

The furnishings in Mr Ripping's house were as eccentric as his collections.  Plush green carpet gave way to finely-laid marble at the top of the stairs, which finally permitted them entry to the presence of Mr Ripping himself.  Raizel barely stopped herself from making a face as Josephine launched into a well-practiced round of introductions.  The longer it took to get down to business, the longer she'd have to suffer under St. Just's whim.

"We've met before, Gomfrey, but you haven't had the pleasure of meeting Miss Cohen.  Miss Raizel Cohen, Mr. Lazarus Rippringham-Gomfrey."

"Charmed," Raizel said sourly.

The portly man, who had been in the process of extending his hand, gave her a sharp, disapproving look, and then immediately turned his attention back to St. Just.

"Well, come and have a seat, Josephine!" he enthused, gesturing the red-haired woman inside.  The house elf, who had seemingly vanished, suddenly reappeared behind the nearest armchair, obediently pulling it out for their guest as Mr Ripping directed St. Just over.  Raizel, scowling, was left to trail along behind.  "I hope you don't mind if I'm so informal?  How is that gentleman who was with you the last time I saw you?  Still married, I hope?  Would you like a drink?  Dusty," he commanded in a suddenly imperious tone.  "Fetch us the port, won't you?  And two -- no, three glasses."

It was like watching a fawn attemtping to look as majestic as a full-grown doe in the woods.  Cohen was out of her league and out paced in an avenue like this.  Now, it wasn't as though Josephine valued this part of the job above all others, but she knew when she had to put on a different face and a different attitude to get what she wanted.  Pride had no place when you were in front of older purebloods who had nothing better to do than drink port in their studies and shoot the breeze.

They had an objective, but you couldn't just fly in and take it without some level of diplomacy.  Josephine offered an olive branch before she extended her wand.  Cohen was apparently just acting like a begrudged fifteen year old.  If that was her perogative, it would only serve to make Josephine look much more rational and even tempered.  Perhaps bringing her hadn't been a complete waste of her time, if that was the end result. 

It was apparent that Gomfrey was not impressed with Cohen either, not the first one that day, mind, and Josephine led into the study with no problem. 

"Thank you," Josephine said calmly as she slowly lowered herself into the chair, crossing her ankles.  "Informal is perfect," she smiled without teeth, glancing at Raizel who looked as though she had been sucking on a lemon.  Maybe a glass of port would do her well. 

Small talk was taking a sour turn, even for her, she had to admit.  Mentioning Leandre and his marriage was always bound to wrinkle Josephine's facade.  She tried to make it as casual as possible though, after all, it wasn't as though it was anyone's business. "He is doing well, and yes, still married.  How is your wife?" she informed him without too much elaboration, quickly changing the subject.  She was fairly sure Gomfrey treated his simpering wife the same as Leandre did... She certainly hadn't stopped a spur of the moment trip to Paris, but that was beside the point. 

"Good, good, a shame he couldn't be here," he chortled at the news, leaving Dusty to do the work as he less than elegantly plopped into his chair, which creaked under his weight.  He rubbed his mustache and side whiskers at the question of his own wife, however. "Ah, she is doing well, off in Bath for a spell with her sisters," he chuckled, the whole of his torso jiggling with mirth.  Apparently her absence would not be missed.  Josephine was not going

"Only a little for Miss Cohen and myself," she addressed the issue of the drink, "As much as I would love to keep this a social visit, we are here on business." 

"Business?  Already?  It must be urgent to bring up before Dusty returns with the Port!" he exclaimed.  Of course, as if on a timer, Dusty returned with the glasses and the rather ancient house elf returned with the glasses and the drink.  Truth be told, Josephine didn't even enjoy port, but whatever the master ordered, she supposed.

Alright, Josephine sighed.  "Yes, very important."  She nodded a thanks to the elf as he handed her a poured glass, looking to Cohen to make sure she was being gracious, and shifted only slightly in her seat.  "It has come to my attention that your family may be in possession of an ancient harvest mask crafted by goblins?" It wasn't really a question... but if she framed it that way, she'd probably get the information she needed.

It only took a few moments of standing there impatiently for Raizel to realize that she wasn't going to be similarly offered a place to sit.  With a long-suffering sigh, Raizel glanced around the room.  Mr Ripping had laid claim to the only other visible armchair, which implied that she was expected to stand through the next hour of small talk and chitchat.  Rolling her eyes, the mage stalked over to the  desk, crossing her arms as she arranged herself to lean against it, one ankle tucked over the other.

They'd exchanged pleasantries, inquired after each other's significant others, and then finally -- thankfully -- got down to business.  Raizel refrained from letting out a sigh of relief as she turned her attention more squarely on the portly wizard.  Claims about goblin-made artifacts were a dime a dozen; every wizard who wanted to sell a supposed artifact at an exorbitant rate insisted that it had been made by goblins.  Outwardly, the goblins themselves ignored most of the boasts; it was only quietly that Gringotts ever sent the Cursebreakers to investigate or to reclaim what they thought was theirs.

Raizel had been sent on several supposed recovery assignments, but this -- a harvest mask -- showed that the goblins were losing their touch.  What did goblins even need to harvest?  Her expression darkened as Dusty waddled over to proffer her a glass of port.  For all she knew, the only things they ever ate were rats.  She doubted they had any need for anything relating to planting crops or harvesting, save for the fact that they wanted it simply because they thought it was theirs.

Dusty, losing patience, was thrusting the glass of port at her more firmly.  Scowling at him, Raizel wrenched it away, setting it down on the desk beside her.  Only a little or not, she wasn't going to drink when she was supposed to be working.

The portly wizard barely seemed to notice as his house elf, shooting Raizel a dirty look, shuffled over to offer him his own glass.  "A harvest mask?" he echoed.  Worry lines creased in his forehead as he regarded St. Just, his mustache twitching with sudden, badly-veiled concern.  "I have all sorts of things in my collection.  I can't hardly keep track of all of them.  Why would you be interested in a...in something like that?"

If not for the poor impression the young Cursebreaker made earlier, Josephine might have offered her seat instead, but she figured it would be good for the young woman to stand and feel out of place.  She had certainly stepped out of her place earlier and deserved to suffer the consequences.  Besides, she had a different vantage point in the room.  Both of them didn't need to be staring at Gomfrey.  He might have liked it, but it wasn't going to be the way things turned out. 

She was instantly put on alert when his forehead creased.  There was a disturbance.  He certainly didn't expect that to come up.  He probably thought she was going to ask questions about his vault and the fact that it was simply overflowing with things that couldn't fit or just weren't good enough for his private displays at home. 

The mask was clearly from bygone days when Goblins and wizards had more stable relations, when each other's magic could benefit the other race.  It had to be thousands of years old and after finding record of it, tracing its relationship to Gomfrey's ancestors, and finally through the family line, it brought them here. 

Josephine calmly sipped out of her glass, a tiny sip to show her willingness to be a good guest and used the short time to form her next question.  He was on alert already, she didn't want to press too quickly. 

"Just a matter for the records.  It's clearly listed as your property on Gringott's records," falsehood, "but doesn't appear to be in your vault."  He started to shift, looking agitated at the assertion someone else had been in his vault.  Before he had the chance to say anything, Josephine cut in, "I personally saw to it," which only seemed to quell his agitation minimally. 

"I trust the filthy beasts had no part in that," he huffed, disbelieving.  Perhaps he was right to be upset, but Josephine could not betray her bluff now.  His disdain for the goblins was not unique, and though Joie could not claim to like them anymore than the average witch, she worked for them and had to represent their institution and interests.  She wouldn't have been here otherwise. 

She stretched her neckly slightly, taking a brief breath.  "You know how they are," she responded flippantly, "always scheming ways into peoples' things.  You needn't worry, however," she smiled slightly, "I wanted to come confirm, with you, that it was on your estate, or we might have to involve the authorities..."  she lingered on the last word before sipping her drink again, waiting to see what he, and Cohen, would do.  A shame she hadn't let Cohen in on her back story.

The exchange was becoming moderately more interesting.  Raizel relented and picked up her glass of port, more for something to do with her hands, and raised it to sniff it and take a sip.  So St. Just had been inside Mr Ripping's vault.  That was out of the ordinary, and she didn't believe her for an instant that a goblin hadn't been there.  No Cursebreaker, not even the well-enculturated ones like Charisma Aldridge, were allowed to wander around vaults unaccompanied.  Raizel had never even heard of a Cursebreaker accessing someone else's vault without them present, although it wouldn't surprise her if St. Just was the sole one permitted.  As much as they loved treasure and wealth, goblins took their bank's security very seriously.

The tension in the room had risen considerably.  Even if St. Just was still acting matter-of-fact, her inquiry had clearly upset the portly wizard.  And not just the wizard, Raizel realized, her gaze flicking momentarily past the other two.  Behind the chairs, out of sight, Dusty the House Elf was staring at the back of Josephine St. Just's armchair with fiercely narrowed eyes.

"What authorities?"  Mr Ripping-Something was breathing heavily now, his mustache still twitching.  If his face was more red than it had been a few moments before, it wasn't the fault of the port; he hadn't even raised his glass, and his fingers were clutching hard at the crystal until it looked in danger of shattering.  "You can hardly call the authorities in here on the account of an item that I legally possess, my dear.  As you said, it's clearly listed as my property.  What Auror would even care?"

He had taken her insinuation as a threat against him.  Goodness no, of course not.  She would never do that to a loyal customer.  He apparently thought otherwise, however, and the redness in his face and the grip on his glass were all but indicators that he was feeling threatened. 

Cohen played a good game face, Josephine could at least give her that.  She did not betray surprise.  It was all bullocks, anyway.  No one was allowed inside a vault without the owner.  Goblins didn't think much of their clients, but they were like Switzerland - security was no question.  Apparently, no one had informed Gomfrey, and that couldn't have worked any better - well, it could have... but it was going just about as well as she expected. 

Josephine assumed a less threatening voice.  She didn't intend to ruin this now.  "Only for your benefit, of course," she pointed out, "if something was missing from your collection I'm sure many of the aurors would be very interested in its disappearance." 

Of course, by the sound of his retort, it didn't seem that everything was on the up-and-up.  She wouldn't question it, however.  "I'd just like to confirm it is here so you," she licked her lips after a slow sip from the glass, "are protected.  I would hate for something like that to fall in the wrong hands.  And, if it is, as it most likely would be, here in your private collection, a quick tour and confirmation of its existence would be all we require." 

He huffed, glancing around the room, first to a rather dense looking appointment book on his desk, and then moved his eyes to linger on the beautiful, antique grandfather clock.  "I'm afraid I haven't the time for that now," he then glanced down at the book again, "Dinner engagement with a colleague." He ended sternly, though he wavered at first. 

Josephine nodded, stepping back for a moment from the topic of the mask.  "Of course," she answered simply, "I do have a question though - regarding something I saw in your entry.  Was that an authentic West African shaman's costume mounted on the wall?"  She knew it was not, she had been in West Africa for much of her early career, but it was a neutral topic. 

He huffed a little, settling into his chair.  "It is," he answered shortly.  "I don't suppose they want that catalogued as well?" he was sore, clearly, about the intrusion, but Josephine had a job and it was better to make the Goblins look bad than her.  "No, just personal interest," she smiled.  "I spent time in Western Africa, myself."

He seemed sated, to say the least, but still ill-at-ease.  His beady eyes, now looking far too small for his bulbous head were still darting about the room.  "It was a pleasure, ladies." The dismissal was coming, "But I am afraid I must get ready for my other engagement."  He stood first, hands clasped behind his back, waiting. Josephine quickly followed, placing her glass down on the desk, having stepped a few feet closer, quirking her eyebrows.  "A pleasure, Gomfrey."

It was probably too bad that she was only now becoming interested in this exchange.  The portly Mr Ripping-Something knew as sure as she did what it meant when the goblins sent their agents to inquire after a goblin-made artifact.  But there was still something -- ...Raizel couldn't put her finger on it, but the situation didn't even seem that straightforward.  St. Just hadn't bothered to broach the subject delicately, but why had Ripping reacted so harshly?  If the object was really listed on his property records at Gringotts, he couldn't have been going to too many extremes to conceal it.  Why act so startled that the goblins had stumbled upon it?

Something was not right.  St. Just surely knew that as well as she did, but the older Cursebreaker was apparently willing to accept their abrupt dismissal.  The house elf had shifted creakily back into view, its expression once again placid, with no hint of the malice that she'd seen in its beady eyes mere moments before.  They were going to get shown out, and there'd be nothing to show for any of this.  Even if Ripping-Something did have the goblins' mask, he'd simply move it to another location.  The entire visit would be nothing but a worthless mess.

Letting out a heavy sigh, Raizel maintained her hold on the glass of port as she straightened from the table, and then stumbled as her boot skidded on the marble floor.

"Harah!"  Gripping anything in her right hand was slightly precarious at the best of times, and once she'd lost her balance, it didn't take much to send the port glass flying.  It splashed all over St. Just, splattering across the white marble as the crystalline glass shattered on the hard stone floor.

There weren't words in English to really communicate appropriate displeasure.  "Shit, shit, shit," Raizel muttered, shooting St. Just a chagrined, unhappy look.  She didn't feel too bad about splattering the woman's fancy clothes; any Cursebreaker who couldn't deal with a mere stain was hardly worth her salt.

"Sorry," she said brusquely, defensively.  Dusty was already teetering past her, in a creaky panic as he scrambled to gather the bits of glass.  Raizel tossed her hair, tucking her right hand into her pocket self-consciously.  "The floor must have been wet," she said sourly.  "I slipped."

She wanted to get more out of this, that was for certain.  Knowing that she was going to leave and there was nothing she could do about it, except perhaps break in later in the evening, but it would be gone - she was not a fool.  That step closer she took to her target, she wanted to breach in order to read him - to see just what she could do to change his mind, to just humor them with a little tour. 

There was something wrong with this picture anyhow - if he was so sure of its ownership, then why on Earth was he so protective.  If it were here, wouldn't he wish to show off a priceless artifact?  It didn't add up.  Her suspicions were doubled as he refused to look  her straight in the eye. 

Josephine had barely enough time to register the frustration and anxiety in the face of the man she was supposed to steal from when she felt a splash against her clothing. 

She looked down and there was the reddish-hued liquid dripping down the front of her dress and off her arm.  She sneered, looking at Cohen, who could not have seemed more pleased with herself, despite what she was saying.  Clearly she was not sorry, and she had to admit, if she thought higher of the girl, she might have thought it was on purpose - for a reason other than petty revenge. 

Sighing, Josephine wiped her hand on herself and the red-faced Gomfrey stepped in.  "Miss Cohen," he huffed, "Dusty will show you to the entry." This was not so much a cordial dismissal, but an order from the master of the house.  "The bathroom is down the hall, to the left." His tone changed considerably, much softer, and he stepped aside ushering her through, hurrying her and leaving Cohen and the house elf in their wake. 

Josephine shook her head, "I'm fine," she assured him, "just a spill," but he would hear none of it, she certainly didn't need to use the loo to get a stain off, and was already removing her wand by the time she got out of the room.  But he insisted, so she took the time in the hallway, looking at the walls, seeing what was around.  No sign of anything even close to a mask. 

"I'll be just a moment, thank you," she said as she slipped into the bathroom, giving her host an imploring smile.  He was still huffing, either from the frustration of the intrusion, the clumsiness of his guest, or the walk to the bathroom.  She quickly shut the door behind her and scoured the port within seconds.  Without hesitation, she turned on the water and quickly took out her earrings. 

Placing the two earrings on the sink counter, she waved her wand over both, licking her lips as she silently cast the spell.  She secured one earring to her right ear and the left, she left just a little loose...

Exitting the bathroom, she smiled, all clean and fresh, "Thank you, Gomfrey.  I just have to grab my cloak in the study," she said sympathetically.  The man was calmed and nodded, turning and starting to waddle back toward the study.  Hopefully this would work...

Relegated to the care of the house elf.  Raizel sighed, eyeing the creature with nearly as much venom as it was eyeing her as she stood lounging in the entryway.  It clearly didn't trust her enough to leave her alone, which was going to make executing the second part of her plan rather problematic.  Gifted Cursebreaker or not, she'd need to actually cast spells to pull off the second part of her plan.

Letting out an impatient huff, she cast a glance back down the hallway.  Even St. Just wouldn't take more than a few minutes to clean up, although if the other Cursebreaker was worth anything, she'd catch on and do her best to delay for as long as she could.  The portly Mr Ripping was gone, and Raizel was alone in the entryway -- alone save for the blasted house elf, which wasn't about to let her out of its rheumatic sight.

That meant she'd have to find a way to get out of its sight.  Raizel let out a loud sigh as she turned to examine one of the shelves full of expensive-looking knickknacks behind her.  She thought she knew what runes would be protecting that mirror -- a few seconds wouldn't be enough time to delicately crack them, but if she guessed right, maybe she could still deal with the protections.

There wasn't much to do but to go for it.  "What is taking them so --" Raizel started irritably, as she turned back toward the stairway and managed to slam her knee into a large, extremely ornate porcelain vase that stood nearly as high as her waist.

It all happened in seconds.  The vase tipped; Dusty shrieked; and Raizel stumbled backwards, jabbing her wand behind her as she slammed into the pedestal that held the mirror.  The porcelain vase didn't stand a chance -- an instant before Dusty could save it, it crashed to the carpet with enough force to shatter.

"I'm SORRY!" Raizel wailed.  The elf let out what could only be described as a hiss, baring sharp and pointed teeth at her as he began to scramble around and try to gather the pieces.  The mage bit back a smirk as she gave an unhappy grunt and turned back to steady the pedestal.  As long as the elf's attention was taken with the broken vase, she'd have time to work.

Mr Ripping-Something was a Hogwarts graduate, which meant it was likely that he'd used Nordic runes in his protection spells.  Some involvement of Algiz, Teiwaz, Wunjo, and Othila seemed the most probable.  She'd have to determine exactly which to figure out the proper runic combination to counter them, but she didn't need to break the spell in order to get past it to the mirror.

Raizel nudged an elbow into a china bowl sitting on the shelf beside her to send it likewise crashing to the floor, and then a pair of porcelain figures for good measure -- just in case Dusty needed something else to occupy himself with for a few seconds -- before turning back toward the mirror and its pedestal.  She raised her wand, using it to quickly trace the firm, even strokes of Ehwaz into the air before her.  Placing the tip of her wand to the center of the rune, she infused it with magic, and then cast, willing the rune-infused spell that had been protecting the pedestal to shift its roots to the shelf behind it.

There was a swift shimmer in the air as the horse rune did its work.  Nearly grinning in triumph, Raizel snatched up the now-unprotected mirror and aimed her wand.  The second spell she needed to cast was more complicated, but it was one that she'd practiced.  With any luck, it would only take her a few moments to get it well entrenched.

Josephine was glad to be leaving this place, despite the apparent failure, she would be back later and get what she needed.  He couldn't hide anything for that long, and Josephine had eyes and ears everywhere.  It would not be long before the mask was in her hands, then back at Gringotts where it belonged.  The sooner the man realized that, the more cordial their interactions might have been. 

But, here she was, putting on her cloak and being ushered out with small talk ringing in the back of her head.  She imagined this was what it would be like to be a courtier.  Saying one thing, meaning another, and generally only revealing the emotions that were exactly the opposite of what one was having - if they were good at it.  Of course, it was not so hard then, to figure out everything that was going on, but Gomfrey was nervous and he wanted them out so he could get the mask and do whatever he was going to do with it. 

She assumed it would not be going to the bank.  That would almost make it easier, at least.  She couldn't gain access if it was there, and the Goblins wouldn't touch it if it was in the vault.  If it was out of the bank, she could get it. 

All of these thoughts were pulsing in her head as she walked.  She went down that same staircase, hurrying her steps as she thought she heard something coming from the front.  She wouldn't put it past Cohen to muck something up, and she was horrified that this would cost her the entire mission.  She couldn't go too quickly though, Gomfrey had a hard time of the stairs with his girth and he waddled quickly, but not quickly enough.

Dusty was coming their way, slowly but sure with broken pieces, grumbling.  He did not even stop to explain.  Gomfrey walked quickly and Josephine out-paced him, entering the entry hall with Cohen standing there looking like she had touched things, and the elf was gone, so she was the one who broke them.  "Cohen," Josephine spoke through a tight mouth, not wanting to lose it in front of their host, but at the same time, wanted to show her displeasure as well.  Gomfrey was practically wheezing at all of this, red in the face and agitated. 

"We'll be going now," she assumed a position next to Cohen that urged her forward, and glanced at Gomfrey.  "Send Gringotts the bill, they will oblige any costs incurred."  She did not want to linger and pushed Cohen toward the doors that were already opening for them, a quick dismissal.  "Quickly," she gritted her teeth in the other woman's ear, "before he does not let us go so easily."