There was the most awkward moment of silence. Francesca looked at both of them.

«You mean he didn't tell you?» she asked, and Banshee panicked.

«....No?» she tried to say, feeling her mouth drying up. Garaham, on the other hand, had in his eyes a terrible light of late understanding. But it was too late.

«Garaham, you didn't tell them about the transfer? Oh maybe you wanted it to be a surprise and I ruined it all?» now, that was a phony sorry voice. «Garaham had put in his transfer request, he's moving up the ladder. Logistics.» she put on her proudest smile, waiting for the reaction. She saw a strange light pass through Banshee's eyes, as she moved her gaze from her to a speechless Garaham.

Then Banshee smiled.

«Jesus wept, that's great news! A promotion, aye? Finally! Ye work yer ass off so much, ye surely deserve something like that!» she gleamed, extending her hand for Garaham to shake. Taken aback, the man recollected himself and shook her hand, manly, under the eyes of a very taken aback Francesca. «Ye should have told us, I would have made a cake or some muffins!»

«Better this way. You have no idea how hard it is to keep a regular and healthy sugar intake in this godforsaken Country.» Francesca interrupted them. «I'm sure your Coven will find themselves marvelously with your new Enforcer. You know dear, I had half a mind to pour in my father's ear the idea of moving River from the Expendables up to the Pollos. It's true, he's in disgrace, but I think that could be a wonderful way to put him to the test for rehabilitation. After all, they do seem to get along pretty well already. Don't you, Banshee?»

Garaham's jaw clenched visibly.

«River's a good fellow.» Banshee diplomatically answered. Francesca smiled at her. Banshee smiled at Francesca. Garaham deeply wished for a gash to open under his feet.

«I'll leave you to your catching up, I see Councilman Blair beckoning, and I must comply. God, he's so boring. See you later, dear.» she patted Garaham on the arm and floated away like a peach-colored cloud with a golden tail.

The two remained in silence for some moments.

«Believe me, I was going to tell you all. I wanted to tell you the evening of the dinner but...»

«Don't worry, no problem.» shrugged Banshee.

«It wasn't... I didn't want to... I just think that I don't have enough energies to keep up being your Enforcer and...»

«I told ye, ye don't have to say nothing.» Banshee was serious but was eerily calm.

«I feel like I owe you at least an explanation...»

«And there's where ye're wrong. This is yer career we're talking about, and yer a hard worker. If ye want to climb the ranks, it's yer right and a good idea. Yer a good chief, a good organizer, ye deserve everything that makes ye happy. We're not kids, we'll work as much half-assedly as we did under ye with any other Enforcer.» her smiled slightly widened. «I'm not happy not to be able to work with ye anymore, that's fer sure, but I'm not six. We'd still see each other around. Or if not, at least once a year, on a particular night.» she raised her hand and patted him on the shoulder, the opposite shoulder as Francesca's, then turned to reach River again.

«It was before that day. Not after.» he just said. Fast. Low. Banshee stopped in her steps and turned to look at him. There was that something in his eyes, hurt. And a strange anxiety, as if he had perfectly seen that that had appeared in her eyes, too, at the mention of the transfer.

Just like magic, those words made it disappear from her eyes, as she said nothing and started walking again. But as many spells go, the price of it succeeding was for him to keep his own hurt and hide it deep again.

This was truly the best decision for everyone.

https://youtu.be/ozPZ9votiIQ

He was sitting in the central row, the easiest one to eventually stand up, Chico was on the extreme left and Vopros on the extreme right, ready to go. Banshee was right beside River, in a central row quite back.

The amber floodlights went up, and the room was filled with a wonderful springy atmosphere, as was the stage. As the ambient light started to dim, and the chatter to calm down, everyone's eyes went forward, to the stage.

The minutes passed, and the stage remained empty and silent.

Garaham started tormenting his shirt's collar.

He rapidly signaled Chico, the nearest to his position, to go and check. The Mexican desperately tried to ignore him, but in the end, he had to yield and reached the side door that led backstage. He followed the long, narrow corridor with the dressing rooms, reaching the one Staccato had conquered when he had arrived.

The door was closed, but for a sliver that let pass a blade of bright light. And voices.

Plural.

«... because if I have been preposterously charged with this charade, I might as well do it well and teach to these commoner fools what music is like.» Staccato's voice was snorting in an annoyed pitch.

«And you often find me in agreement with such... perfectionism. But now is not the time.»

Chico fought against its own breath. A jolt of fear crept within his limbs when he heard the cavernous voice answering.

«It's not like we have a thorough deadline, isn't it?» the necromancer replied.

The other creature emitted a deep breath that sounded almost like a growl.

«We most certainly don't. But nevertheless, your... personal matters might be getting in the way of your work. You're already in bad waters, after what happened. She is displeased, with you.»

«Do you doubt my abilities?» came the stern response.

«I would never dare. She doubts your heart.»

«And you're both wrong. The fact that I dabble in some well-deserved revenge doesn't mean I'm not working on the target. The pact was clear: I was not to be distracted. I wasn't. I just made two phone calls, and that was it.»

«As both you and I approach our goals, your despair fades away. You seem like you fear her no longer. But the problem is this: if you let your misery wane, your powers will do so as well.»

«Is this a threat?» Staccato grunted.

«I appreciate the little note of fear in your voice.»

«Answer me, Zeno.»

Chico found the courage to peek into the room. He saw the graceful posture of Staccato's legs hanging from a chair, the rest of his little figure covered by a beastly huge back.

Its powerful build was a true antithesis to the elegance the creature sported in entwining its clawed fingers in a gentleman-like position behind its back. He recognized the beast he in the scry of Staccato's cellar.

When Zeno entered his perception, Chico was struck by a wave of fear and anguish. He retreated leaning against the wall. That feeling overwhelmed him. In a way that didn't feel... natural. At all. Familiars didn't act that way. Didn't talk that way.

The figure emitted a low purring sound, followed by short sobs, that felt like an unnatural chuckle.

«A messenger is not worth shooting, am I correct? Besides, I have my ulterior motives. Truth is...» and the spirit's voice wavered for a second «It's like my life-lasting wounds could heal if I only got the see her anew.»

«I see. It's always about her.» Staccato whispered «What was her name, again?»

«Cordelia. Once you will have the privilege to see her, you'll understand. It's impossible not to fill your soul of her to your heart's content.»

«But, in the end, you will just leave me, right?»

«I am afraid that it will be so. But you'll be happy by then, am I correct?»

Staccato waited a bit before answering. «Perhaps.»

«That's my pupil.» The beast wholeheartedly laughed. A sound so terrible and sad. It then continued

«I'll miss these conversations. Don't be worrisome.»

«Haven't I always been?» the beast laughed again. «Now, go out there and charm them.»

A faint odor of smoke, a snapping sound.

The aura of sadness and fear that had entangled the mage's spirit left so abruptly that he feared he'd fall on his knees. But he managed to keep its composure. Long enough to run away from the corridor, seconds before Staccato opened the door and left for the stage.