~ Sylas ~

A week later, despite Jaxon's great reluctance, we meet Aurelio again—for lunch in a little restaurant at the city's edge, this time.

A crisply dressed waiter greets us when we arrive and guides us to where he waits, seated at a table covered in green satin cloth, enjoying a steak salad and a glass of wine.

As Jaxon and I sit, the waiter hands us small, elegant menus, and Aurelio invites us to order what we'd like. 

There aren't many choices, but what there is seems like the epitome of fine cuisine—Aurelio's 'steak salad' is actually 'torched Kobe beef with sake beet purée and miso crème fraîche on a bed of fresh greens.'

There are no prices listed, and I gather this is the sort of place meant for people who are rich enough not to care what they might be.

Reading the menu is like trying to decipher something written in a semi-familiar foreign language, and I cast Jaxon a look that carries a plea for help.

He sees it and rescues me.

"He'll have the poke bowl," he tells the waiter, nodding at me. "I'll have the stuffed avocado thing."

Looking mildly scandalized, the waiter takes our menus back and departs.

Aurelio swirls the wine in his glass and looks at Jaxon over the rim.

"Childish as ever, I see. You always did have a knack for enjoying the things that were handed to you while at the same time showing your utter disdain for them," he comments.

Jaxon settles back in his chair and I wince as it creaks beneath him. It's a delicate, rattan thing—a subtle 'this place isn't for you' aimed at anyone above a certain weight.

I haven't even tried the food yet, but I decide I don't like this restaurant very much.

"We may be brothers, 'Rel," Jaxon says evenly, "but you don't know me, and we aren't friends."

The barest hint of a smile touches Aurelio's lips. "If you say so." He reaches down beside his chair and pulls two large envelopes out of a leather messenger bag, handing one across the table to each of us. "Here are your dossiers. Everything is included: names, backgrounds, copies of necessary documents. Memorize what you need, keep the rest safe."

Jaxon sets his envelope aside without opening it. "This isn't my first rodeo. I know the drill."

"Good." Aurelio nods. "Then you understand the consequences, should you be caught."

"Better than you, I imagine."

"If so, you lack imagination."

Jaxon scowls at his brother, but a hint of curiosity lights his eyes.

"Just how deep in this shit are you, 'Rel?" Jaxon asks.

Aurelio takes a sip of wine.

"Think of it this way. If you're Sherlock Holmes in this little game, and our 'unknown threat' is Moriarty, then consider me Mycroft."

Jaxon gives him a blank look, and Aurelio sighs.

"You really ought to read more, Jaxon. Mycroft Holmes is Sherlock's older, smarter brother embedded in the government and wielding influence and power behind the scenes. Without having to do much actual work," he adds.

I take a sip of water. "I guess that makes me Watson, then."

Aurelio's eyes snap to me, and I shiver. I'd thought his expressionless features revealed a lack of emotion, but now I'm not certain; now his eyes are more like the surface of dark water, beneath which may lie fathomless depths.

"You'll have to do something about your appearance, Lovecraft," he says. "My brother can get by with a new hairstyle and a few weeks' growth of facial hair, but you're far too noticeable. You turn heads."

"I can disguise myself with magic," I say, trying to hold his gaze steadily, though I feel my mouth twitch with nerves.

The corners of his lips curl the tiniest fraction. He looks like a cat enjoying the terror of its prey.

"No good, I'm afraid. Harbor City College is a Crafter college, remember. Most types of magic are forbidden on campus—especially anything that could be used to cheat. Altering one's appearance or making oneself difficult to notice likely fall within that category. Fortunately, I have a solution."

He reaches into his suit jacket and pulls out a tiny vial of dark green glass, which he passes to me across the table. I notice his elegant brown hands look well-manicured, and wonder absently if he actually goes to a salon.

"My Sign is an alembic," he says, still watching me with uncomfortable intensity. "Do you know what that is?"

I shake my head, studying the bottle. It has an official-looking label affixed to it and contains perhaps twenty milliliters of liquid.

"It's a distilling apparatus," he explains. "Used for making things like essential oils and perfumes. Things with which one may make potions, in other words."

I look up, surprised. It seems that all the Spellwrights have unusual Signs—except for Jaxon, that is.

"With the proper permission, certain enchantments and charms are allowed on campus, of course. This—to the casual eye, at least—is a tincture for treating anxiety: extract of chamomile and passion flower, with a bit of magic woven in. Beneath this, however, I've added something else—a subtle enchantment of...disinterest. It's not strong—can't be, to avoid detection—and won't work if someone really pays attention to you. But if you're simply minding your own business, or sitting in class, it will make you...uninteresting. 'Essence of Boring,' you might call it."

His eyes narrow, and for the first time, I detect amusement in his tone.

Jaxon opens his mouth to say something, but Aurelio's eyes flick past us, and he lifts one finger from where he grasps his wine-glass, raising it halfway. Somehow, from a man whose every movement seems calculated, it catches my attention, and Jaxon's too, and the meaning is clear.

We wait in silence, and a moment later the waiter returns, setting our dishes in front of us. The servings are small, but it's obvious the ingredients are the best money can buy. Or the best money can buy in Harbor City, anyway.

The waiter departs, and Aurelio lifts a brow—subtle as his half-raised finger—inviting us to speak freely once more.

"You'll have to take practical measures, as well, of course," he says, addressing me while he watches Jaxon scoop half a stuffed avocado onto his fork and transfer it to his mouth. "Dye your hair an unremarkable brown. Wear glasses to hide the color of your eyes. Dress..." His glance flicks back to me. "Well, perhaps you needn't dress more drably."

Jaxon growls around his mouthful of food and Aurelio's reptilian gaze sharpens. I can almost imagine slit pupils in his shadowed eyes.

"I can do that," I say, preempting the fraternal conflict, and turn my attention back to the vial. "So, how's it work?"

Aurelio waits to answer until I look up at him, then enunciates his words with care, his eyes locked with mine.

"One drop," he says. "Under the tongue."

I shiver again as his voice sends a tingle up my spine. It has an odd quality, gentle yet rough, and almost like a physical touch. Somehow, it's both pleasant and unpleasant at the same time.

"Taken in the morning, the effect should last all day," he goes on and nods at the bottle. "Try it."

Before I can reply, Jaxon's hand closes over mine and takes the vial from my grasp.

He returns it to his brother. "Why don't you demonstrate."

Aurelio sighs. "If it will convince you I haven't gone to all this trouble just to poison your lover in the most obvious way possible, very well."

Uncapping the tiny bottle, he holds it up, tips his head back, and lets a single drop fall into his mouth. He recaps the vial and hands it back to me.

I study him, but see no change.

He shrugs. "As I said, the effect is subtle. You're making a conscious effort to pay attention to me, which is enough to overcome the spell. But observe."

As the waiter walks by on his way to another table, Aurelio raises his hand, waving him over. The man keeps walking.

"What does that prove?" Jaxon asks. "The guy's busy."

Aurelio's brow lifts a fraction. "I'm not the sort of man who gets ignored by wait staff."

Jaxon grunts, ceding the point. Aurelio barely has to move at all to capture attention, usually.

"Well?" He gestures at the large envelopes he'd given us. "Aren't you curious how you've been cast?"

I have to admit I am, and pull out the stack of documents inside.

As I look over them, my heartbeat quickens with mingled excitement and apprehension. Under the name Sylas West, I've been registered as a transfer student, starting with the Summer term.

I'm a history major, with a focus on Craft, and I'm registered for three dauntingly titled classes. As I read through each, my nerves begin to hum with new anxiety.

1) Mediaeval Magic: Europe and the Near East; 2) Indigenous Magic in Modern Media: from Appropriation to Representation; and finally 3) Philosophy of Craft: A Multicultural Perspective.

"Will I... Will I actually go to these?" I ask, my voice coming out a little strained.

Aurelio swallows a bite of food and takes another sip of wine before answering.

"Of course. These aren't random selections. Each is taught by one of our top targets: professors with deep knowledge of Craft and vast networks of connections. If anyone knows of the Devil's Song, or even has it in their possession, it is one of these."

"But..."

"Yes?"

It takes everything I have not to flinch beneath his gaze.

"But...I've never actually been to college," I say. "Don't these classes have...?"

"Prerequisites?" Aurelio supplies. "Of course. But your job isn't to succeed academically. It's to get close to these professors. Gain their trust if you can—at least gain access to their offices. You're a student on paper only, Lovecraft. In reality, you're a spy. Remember that."

I frown at him, but nod, and return to studying the stack of papers outlining my new identity.

"Facilities and Security, huh?" Jaxon grunts, examining his own dossier. "I suppose you think that's fitting."

"Isn't it?" Aurelio asks mildly. "It suits your talents and gives you a plausible excuse to be almost anywhere, with any set of keys. You'll be inconspicuous, yet ubiquitous—able to observe without being observed. What's not to like?"

Jaxon grunts noncommittally, and I get the feeling he agrees, but doesn't want to give Aurelio the satisfaction.

I turn my attention to my food, ducking my head to hide a smile.

There isn't much to like about Jaxon's family—besides Jaxon, of course—but what there is seems concentrated in Aurelio.

He's unnerving, enigmatic, cold and calculating; but beneath the surface I sense more complexity than I had at first given him credit for. He may be morally ambiguous, but I don't get the sense he's actually depraved, like Marcus, or misguided, like his mother was.

Instead, Aurelio Spellwright seems like a man with many layers, and despite everything, I find myself a little curious to know what really lies beneath.

I listen as he and Jaxon continue to discuss our arrangements, and finally try a bite of the raw tuna that stars in the dish Jaxon had chosen for me. My eyes widen in surprise as it almost melts in my mouth like butter, the delicate flavor alighting on my tongue like a true gift from the sea.

"They only serve the best bluefin here," Aurelio comments, noting my expression. "I'm not partial to sushi, myself, but I must admit it is quite excellent."

I have to agree, and finish the rest of my meal with careful relish, somehow finding it even more delicious for the knowledge that Aurelio is picking up the bill.

All the while, I'm aware that he watches me with an oddly satisfied look of his own.

He eats with exceptional slowness, I notice, and at least a quarter of his meal remains on his plate when, with our business concluded, Jaxon and I rise to go.

"I'll be checking in soon," Aurelio tells us. "And I expect you to contact me immediately upon discovery of anything relevant. Whatever you do, do not act alone. There are likely more factors at play here than any of us know, and we need complete data to make sound decisions. Do you understand?" He looks between us both.

Jaxon nods. Once again, he looks unhappy, and a bit pained to admit that what Aurelio says makes sense.

"As for you, Lovecraft," he adds, looking at me, "while you needn't excel in those classes of yours, you do need to maintain a believable cover. If you find yourself struggling, get in touch. I happen to have minored in the History of Craft, and I'd be willing to help you along, if need be. Here."

He half rises from his seat, pulling a card from his breast pocket and holding it towards me.

"Call me if you like. I'll send along my old books."

I extend my hand to take the card, but Jaxon intercepts, blocking my reach.

"He doesn't need that," he says to Aurelio. "I know your number."

Aurelio remains still a moment, not even blinking. Then, with one fluid movement, he replaces the card in his pocket and sits back down.

"As you say, Jaxon."

Glancing past his brother, he gives me a strangely intense look.

"Until our next encounter, then, Lovecraft," he says, and returns to his meal as Jaxon and I depart.