It hadn't taken long for Elisabeth Blackstone to identify one of the spies on the campus, though she did have the assistance of her brother's ravens.
He was one of this years' freshman, a dark-haired, portly lad with some major self-confidence issues, from what Elisabeth could tell. His grades were decent, but not great; his ability to use magic was miniscule, but present. His clothes were cheap but well-maintained, and he was never late.
Makes sense. The kind that's easy to manipulate and slow to think.
A perfect stooge.
He's exactly who I would've used, if I were the one infiltrating the school.
I wonder how they got him?
Money? Power? Lust?
No… no, it's much simpler.
They gave him affirmation.
Looks like I'll have to destroy that affirmation.
She knew exactly when he'd be the most vulnerable: his lunch period.
He usually ate alone, and seeing how his few friends had classes right now, that would be the case today as well.
But the one thing I'll have to contend with…
Elisabeth glanced around the Academy Keep; it was full of students, many of whom were looking in her direction.
…this bloody reputation.
Luckily, she had practice with avoiding the watchful gazes of others. Without making any movement to raise suspicion among her classmates, she wordlessly moved towards the womens' loo. Once inside, she checked her surroundings and verified her solitude before uttering a single word:
"Vanish."
Both Elisabeth and her brother were the products of the Blackstone family's genetic experimentation through selective reproduction. A specific trait had been identified, 'latent psychic tendencies,' it was called, which Richard Blackstone sought to bring out in humans with potency never before seen. For all of his faults, the experiment had been successful, and doubly so: Caspian and Elisabeth.
Elisabeth's brain, the metaphysical tool which chants used to shape the magic fields and create wondrous results, possessed the highest level of synchronicity between semiotics and semantics known to mankind. In other words, her brain developed in such a way that her ideas, her concepts, her interpretations of this mystical thing called 'reality'—all of them were nigh-indistinguishable from reality itself.
This synchronicity vastly multiplied the efficacy of her magic chants, as long as she understood what she was chanting.
"Purgel malprg pan ardox!" she chanted, aiming the fireball at Caspian. The ancient language passed down through the Ravensleigh Grimoire was not a language in which she was fluent; her ideation of her spells faltered because of this, making the spells appear as if a normal magician had cast them. It was perfect for a duel such as this, where neither she nor Caspian wanted to reveal even the slightest extent of their abilities.
When Elisabeth said "Vanish," then, the effect of the single word uttered with the intent of a well-trained magician was stronger than a Master-level invisibility spell cast by a veteran. Elisabeth vanished from sight, her brain interpreting and executing the magical command to bend all electromagnetic waves around her, hiding her from nearly every of detection.
With this cloak of secrecy in place, Elisabeth exited the Academy Keep and made her way to the cafeteria in the Research and Development wing of the castle, where she knew the spy would be waiting.
She found her target.
He was sitting alone, as usual. At his table, as usual. Skimming a magic treatise, as usual.
This is going to be fun.
Checking her surroundings, Elisabeth uttered another word:
"Appear."
In the blink of an eye, Elisabeth was visible once again. Feeling a surge of confidence, she walked over to the spy's table and slammed it with both palms.
Poor boy was almost startled to death.
"Hey, you," she said, allowing her voice to take on the contemptuous tone which was becoming slightly too familiar for her liking. "You're in my seat."
"W-what?"
"Did I stutter?"
She narrowed her eyes.
"N-no—no," he said, clearing his throat, "but there must be some mistake. I've sat here every day since the beginning of the term… so… so… yeah."
Elisabeth didn't say anything. In fact, she didn't even move a muscle.
The boy, who had only briefly glanced at her before looking away, looking for a shelter in which to take respite, now looked his aggressor in the eye.
He was terrified by what he saw.
He had been bullied before; he didn't have many friends in primary school, or secondary for that matter, and loners are frequent targets for harassment.
Adolescents are like wolves: even when they hunt in packs, they still try to separate the weak from the strong to prey on them when they're alone and isolated.
He had, on a few occasions, looked his bullies in the eye. It was a form of rebellion, a show of pride, a way for him to maintain some self-confidence despite having lost miserably. Whenever he did, he had seen that their true selves were just as broken as he was.
Something about that would make him feel a little better, despite the bruised ribs and broken nose.
But now…
The eyes of Elisabeth Blackstone didn't convey brokenness. They didn't convey a desire to lash out at others to self-medicate. They didn't convey hatred, jealousy, or even contempt.
Her eyes spoke of the seriousness that leads to death. Her eyes spoke of murders, past and future, in the name of a cause she believed in.
But most importantly:
Her eyes were excited, and were begging him to do something stupid.
He was too afraid to be stupid.
"I-I'm sorry, you can have the seat," he said, quickly grabbing his tray and rising.
Elisabeth sat down in the spy's place as he began walking away.
"Sit down," she said.
He turned around.
"W-what?"
"Did I give you permission to leave? Sit down."
His ordeal was not yet over.
"Do you know who I am?"
He shook his head, no.
"My name is Elisabeth Blackstone."
The spy's eyes widened in fear.
"I know who you are, Callum. I know what you've been up to. And I'm going to reveal every one of your secrets to the headmaster if you don't take a bloody seat."
He did as he was told.
I have him now.
"Good dog. Now, listen, and pay attention. I will not repeat myself. I know of you and your comrades. I know what your mission is. I am here to offer them a deal, and you're going to broker an introduction."
***
"You see that over there, Henry?"
"No, Jess, what is it?"
"A raven."
"A raven? Why is it important?"
Jessamine shivered as she looked at the raven across the street, staring at the two of them with its emotionless face.
"I swear, it's been watching me."
"Whoa, Jess, have you been getting enough sleep?"
"No, no, really," she said, turning to face the Societie chairman in the seat opposite her. "Everywhere I go, I keep seeing ravens. They just… sit there. And watch. And it creeps me out."
Jessamine and Henry were having dinner in a tavern, a quaint venue located off a back street of the Academy town. It was one of the usual places for the Societie leadership whenever they wanted to talk business after-hours, since the architecture made it difficult for patrons to overhear each other and it was never very full to begin with.
Plus, the fish and chips were to die for.
"A raven. Watching you."
"Or multiple ravens. I can't say for sure."
"You realize how insane that sounds, Jess?"
"I do! That's what I keep telling myself! And yet—it keeps happening."
Henry sipped at his mead.
"It's probably a coincidence."
"In my family's line of work, there is no such thing as coincidence."
"Fair enough," he replied. "So, what is the raven's motivation? What's the raven's goal? Did someone order it to watch you, and if so, who?"
Jessamine took a swig of her ginger ale.
"Do you think that's something the Blackstones are capable of?"
Henry shook his head.
"I highly doubt it. Animal control magic is tenuous at best, and usually wears off after a period. But, speaking of Blackstones—"
Jessamine glared at him.
"Jess, we've got to work with her."
"You know how much that's asking of me."
"Still, you are the Vice Chairwoman of the Societie Royale. You're bound by oath to try."
Jessamine finished her ginger ale.
"I have a preliminary report on Caspian Dawson, you know," she said. "Apparently, he's pretty normal. Stand-up guy. Did well in his standardized tests, borderline exceptional. Certainly smarter than 85% of the population, but no Einstein. He vanished for a couple years after university, possibly did a stint in the military, but couldn't find any records of it."
"What about his family?"
"Not much on them, either," Jessamine replied. "Mother Rosalie and father Jonathan Dawson, both passed around twenty years ago. The timing makes me wonder if it was related to the Incident, but I couldn't find anything confirming it. Jonathan Dawson was a tradesman, worked in runic technology repair. His mother was a psychic from the CSSA. As for Rosalie—no concrete records, not even a wedding certificate."
"Hmmm," Henry muttered. "Strange."
"Yes, but not unheard of in the far North."
"Is there anything else?"
"We've been able to confirm from multiple sources that he can't use chants," said Jessamine. "He's explained it twice, though his stories don't quite match with each other. He told me that the magic structures would collapse before they could be activated, but he told his friend that his brain couldn't build magic structures to begin with."
"Is it even possible for chants to fail like that?"
"Not within our current understanding of magic, no."
There was silence for a space of half a minute.
"That's the key, I feel," said Henry, stroking his chin. "That one fact—it is a fact, yet it cannot be a fact. I feel if we decipher that mystery, we'll know a lot more about Caspian Dawson."
"I agree, but I don't know where to start."
"Me neither, Jess."
A waiter brought another ginger ale for Jessamine, to whom she expressed her thanks.
"There's also the matter of that unscheduled helicopter visit," she said, having taken a few sips. "We have few witnesses, and it was gone by the time I arrived at the airstrip, but it was definitely there."
She sighed, narrowing her eyes.
"What's more, I recognize the M.O. of the organization behind it."
Duke Henry looked at Jessamine quizzically.
"Does that mean… it was a military intelligence helicopter?"
"I can't say for sure."
They both sighed, almost in unison, and then laughed.
"I hear that far too often these days," said Henry, taking another drink of his mead. "I'm supposed to be a Duke, you know. The entire Cahill family is at my beck and call. Yet I feel my power drifting away with the tide…"
He turned his head, his eyes recognizing a new patron of the tavern.
"Ah, speak of the devil…"
"…and she shall appear," said Elisabeth Blackstone, finishing Henry's thought. "I don't know what you could be saying about me, though. All good things, I hope?"
Jessamine didn't make eye contact with the newcomer, and Henry only gave a wry chuckle.
"I hope you're not foolish enough to expect an answer to that."
Elisabeth only smiled as she sat next to Jessamine in the pair's booth.
"Well?" asked Jessamine, not bothering to conceal her frustration. "Have you made any progress? It's been a week already."
"I've secured a meeting with the main officers of the operatives on this campus," Elisabeth replied, choosing to ignore Jessamine's attitude.
She's been like that every time I've seen her this week.
"It seems that they are using genuine Academy students as their lackeys, while the higher-ups forged test results in order to access the school grounds," Elisabeth continued. "The lackeys are easy enough to break, it's how they were compromised in the first place. The leaders… Well, I'll save my report on them for after I've met them."
"Thank you, Ms. Blackstone," said Henry. "I suppose that's good enough for now. Do you have anything else for us?"
"Well…" began Elisabeth, "I'm not sure if this is something the Societie would be interested in…"
Something about Elisabeth's tone drew Jessamine's attention.
"Go on."
"Remember that commoner you had me duel? I had almost forgotten him, but I heard the most peculiar gossip today."
Liar, thought Jessamine. I don't know what you said to him, but I guarantee you hadn't forgotten him.
"Apparently, he and his little cronies have formed a Student Research Group," Elisabeth finished. "I have no idea what they're going to do, but I understand it's rare for first-year students to be allowed that privilege."
"Hmm, that is interesting," said Henry. "While you're correct about Research Groups generally being formed by more advanced students, we've heard that Mr. Dawson is quite the knowledgeable one when it comes to runes and magic theory. I'm sure the Academy just wants to encourage his curiosity."
Henry met Jessamine's eyes, and the thought was clear:
We should put one of our people in that research group.
"Well, then," said Elisabeth, "as I don't have anything other than that, I guess I should be on my way."
She smiled; even after a week, Jessamine was still struggling to decipher the meaning behind Elisabeth's smiles.
"Hey, you," said Jessamine, her voice icy. "What level of magician are you?"
Elisabeth hesitated.
"Would you believe me if I said I was a Master-level magician?"
"Yes."
"Really, now, you've got to be more careful with who you believe, Ms. di Cadenza," said Elisabeth. "I'm surprised that you'd be so naive; I expected more from your family."
Jessamine scowled, but Elisabeth didn't seem to mind.
"Take care, you two," she continued. "Oh, and watch your backs. I hear there are spies everywhere."
With a laugh that could be described as being closer to a cackle, Elisabeth left the tavern.
Henry and Jessamine waited until they were certain that Elisabeth was quite a distance away.
"So, who are you thinking for Dawson's group?" Jessamine asked. "Hope?"
"You can't change the subject that easily, Jess..."
"I believe she dated a son of the Rivierra family once, but I don't think it ended well."
Henry sighed.
"We each have our cross to bear."
"You're heartless, Henry."
"No, Jess, I'm not," he replied. "I just do what needs to be done."
Henry turned his gaze outside again, and noticed a raven sitting on the far side of the street. It seemed to be watching them.
"Okay, yes, that is creepy."