Dinner of Herbs

Note: For the first time in this chapter you'll actually meet the American Ambassador. I think it deserves mention that I imagine him sounding just like Garrison Keillor, and perhaps looking like him, too – but don't let that confine your imaginations.

This chapter contains the second scene directly inspired by "Catch Me I'm Falling/Make Up Your Mind," from Next to Normal. Just throwing that out there. Not that I own Next to Normal or Harry Potter.

ooooo

In the car, en route to the Agnes Stidolph School, Mark stared out the window. "Andrew, can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"What do wizards think about dreams?"

"… You mean, dreams in general, or the dreams where you're naked and about to take a final exam, or…"

"I mean, do they think dreams can show the future?"

"Ah. Well – the only ones who can consistently see the future are Seers, who are pretty rare. But even without Seer blood, sometimes you'll just dream of an event, and feel that it's important. Then you ought to write down your dream, seal it in an envelope, date it, give it to someone you trust, and see what happens. If it's bad, tell other people, maybe try to prevent it. Pretty much like Muggles who take it seriously. Why?"

"I had a really disturbing dream last night. I don't remember much of it, but it involved Januarius Fell, and blood – lots of it. He was angry and I got the feeling he was angry at me, mad enough to rip my lungs out – "

"That's a pretty specific level of mad."

"That's what I thought in the dream, anyway. He may have been going all Lady Macbeth on me, or something, I don't know. But it was wicked disturbing."

"Sounds like it."

That afternoon, Mark was wrapping up his lessons and Andrew was getting the equipment for the football games – or, more specifically, the "I'm telling you, it's soccer, real football is so much cooler, (sigh) fine, it's football, but only because I'm outnumbered" games – when Ms. Brynach ran into the room.

"Class is cancelled," she said, out of breath. "An emergency Floo has come for you two. You're wanted at the Embassy at once. Take the Floo, go!"

As soon as they arrived at the Embassy, Mark saw hordes of reporters and cameramen. "What is going on?"

No one answered. They were led up to Ambassador's office and left there. The Ambassador himself called them in. "I've been expecting you. Please sit down." They sat opposite him at the desk. The Ambassador was a heavyset man with a deep, breathy voice, who wore a white and red stole across his chest. He adjusted his glasses as the men sat down. "Care for something to drink?" He said it as if he thought the two men would need it.

"Sure," Mark said. "What's going on? Has something happened?"

The Ambassador rang a small bell. "The owl came to me just a half-hour ago. It's bad news. Januarius Fell, a minister with whom I believe you have some communication, was found this morning in his bathtub with his wrist sliced open, bleeding profusely."

"What?"

"Is he dead?" Mark asked.

"He has been taken to St. Mungo's; last I heard he was alive but in critical condition. His sister insists that he did not attempt suicide; how she can maintain that I don't know. He has, however, left a note behind blaming you by name, Mr. Printzen, for driving him too… that action."

"That is the most unjust, cowardly thing…" Andrew started.

"Mr. Dupont." The Ambassador held up a hand. "Now, before I do anything else, before I hear the story from anyone else, I want you to tell me: what was he talking about?"

Mark sat, stunned, his face drained of color. The door opened and the bartender came in, carrying three glasses and a decanter of some amber liquid. "Hello, Mr. Printzen, Mr. Dupont – Dad," he nodded to the Ambassador.

"Dad?" Andrew started.

"My son Geoffrey," the Ambassador indicated, "has his own school for diplomacy."

"Dad, that California intern who keeps challenging everyone to shot competitions is at it again."

The older man sighed. "Who is it this time?"

"Someone from the Israeli Embassy, and a junior Healer."

"That girl is going to start a world war if she's not careful. Give her some filing or something to do."

"Yes, sir."

"Now," he said as his son left, "Tell me."

Mark did so, and when he was done the Ambassador leaned back with a sigh. "Have you ever read Dracula?"

"Yes, of course… Have you?"

The Ambassador shrugged. "I'm part of a book club for Muggle books."

"… okay."

The Ambassador went on, "In that book, blood transfusions are experimental and radical, and thought dangerous, not for contamination across blood types, but social classes. A noblewoman could not possibly receive a transfusion from her servant, even when she was at death's door. A ridiculous, antiquated notion – yet it persists in the Wizarding kin such as Januarius Fell. Poor man."

Andrew interrupted, "I'm a bit surprised – if I may say so – that you're not repulsed just by the idea of blood transfusions. Most of the wizards I know – the pure-blood ones, at least – are."

The Ambassador shrugged. "I don't know much about Muggle medicine, but my brother tells me it's perfectly sound practice. It's astounding, the ingenuity they use without magic… I used to be repulsed, but now I know better."

"I'm telling you," Mark insisted stubbornly, "he would have died if I hadn't done anything."

"I believe you. I am on your side, Mr. Printzen… But do you realize that that creates another obligation? The more old-fashioned ones among us believe that, when one witch or wizard saves another's life, it creates a bond between them. A debt is created, passed down even to their children. And it's awful, I hear, to know that you owe a debt to someone you despise."

"No, I didn't realize," Mark said in a low voice. He drained the rest of his drink.

The Ambassador looked at him long and hard. "As Mr. Fell is Dolores Umbridge's cousin, I'm sure she'll want to fiddle with you as much as she can. I'll try to involve you in these talks as much as possible. For the moment –" he drew out his wand, "I give you leave, and in fact encouragement, to go out and take a long, long walk. You look like you need it."

"But the press – " Andrew started.

"As the formal Ambassador, the spells I cast on this ground have a certain – potency. I think a good Disillusionment Charm on the both of you should do to get you off of the grounds. Mr. Dupont, you know your duty."

"Yes, Sir."

Charmed and dismissed, the two men left the Embassy. They passed by paparazzi and angry protesters, quite unnoticed. "At least they're not holding signs," Andrew pointed out.

"Not yet," Mark sighed.

"What does this mean for us? What does this mean for the School?"

"I don't know." A light drizzle began to fall; the ground was still wet from last night's storm. They crossed to Hyde Park. After a while Andrew called out to Mark to slow down; he was walking too fast. Past a blown rosebush Mark began to jog, then run in earnest. Andrew had to run after – the fifty-feet limit always bound them when off of the Embassy grounds or the Stidolph School.

Mark ran and ran, almost out of Andrew's sight; he didn't know why he was running, but he had to, the dread and the fear and the cold joy of being outside was all that made–

Crash!

He collided with a tall woman and both sprawled on the ground. As they got to their feet, the man walking with her asked "Who's there? What was that?"

The woman gripped his arm and said clearly, "Revelio Veritatem!"

The Disillusionment Charm fell off of Mark at the same time that he recognized Calliope. Her eyes widened. "Mark? What are you doing outside the Embassy? It's not safe!"

"Something happened – he tried to kill himself, because of me – oh, Calliope!" And he hugged her tightly. And for the brief moment when everything was right, she hugged him back, saying, "Calm down, it'll be okay."

Then Linus' magic intervened, forcing them apart like a metal bar.

"Linus, what on earth –"

"Printzen, didn't I warn you? Was what I said last time not clear enough?"

"Linus –"

"How did you know we were out here? How did you get here without me seeing you?"

"I didn't know you were out here! The Ambassador let me leave because –"

"Shut up!" Linus pointed his wand at Mark but Calliope grabbed it before he could perform a spell. At once he turned to her, alarmed. "Calliope, you know the first rule is never grab a wand when someone is trying to cast a spell, it's practically the most dangerous thing you can do!"

"Linus," she said in a low voice, "Hurting Mark in front of me is practically the most dangerous thing you can do. I don't care if you're my brother, you do not attack anyone unprovoked, least of all a Muggle who is my friend, what is wrong with you?"

"Have you forgotten what he did to you?" he cried. "What he tried to do?"

Andrew caught up with Mark. "Calliope! Linus! What a coincidence. What are you doing here?"

Linus, not tearing his eyes from his sister's face, answered, "We were on our way to talk to you, Andrew. Not my idea."

"Whose idea, then?" Andrew asked.

He didn't get an answer. Mark stepped forward. "Linus, whatever you're thinking of, I have never tried to – I don't know – hurt Calliope in any way, and I never –"

"Forget it, Mark," Calliope said bitterly. "He's not going to listen to you. Look, we need to talk, all four of us, but can you give Linus and I a moment apart? Sit on that bench over there and we'll meet you in a minute."

Calliope led her brother aside, until he stopped shooting daggers at Mark with his eyes. She tugged his goatee to make him look at her. "What on earth are you talking about?"

"Do you really not remember?" he asked.

"Tell me and I'll tell you if I remember or not!" she answered, her voice barely under control.

He raked his hand through his hair. "At Hollywyck – Mark tried to force himself on you. He had you on the couch, he was almost on top of you," he spat out the words with difficulty. "He was saying it was – because he was a Muggle and you looked down on him? And he would show you what that meant – he said that, I saw him! Didn't he?"

Calliope's face had gone white. She looked down at the ground. Linus had a feeling that that did not mean he was right. "What is it?"

"You're wrong, Linus," she said in a choked voice. And he waited a long time, until she had gotten herself under control. Then she said, her eyes clenched shut, "Yes, that happened to me. But it was not Mark. That was something that happened while I was imprisoned. Turpentine did it to me. Some spell that made – illusions – an illusion of you, that was the first time he cast the spell – but when it made Mark, it was the strongest. The worst. It threatened me, but the spell stopped before – Linus, Turpentine did that to me, if anyone did. Not Mark. You're insane to think Mark would do it."

"But – but I was certain – "

"How long have you had this idea?"

"Since – since – since the Black Otter," he said with a note of shock. "Wait. A whole memory transplant done on me – I had almost forgotten, in the shock of seeing that –"

"It wasn't real, Linus. It was not real."

For a minute Linus' eyes glazed over, then cleared. He shook his head. "I – I'm sorry. I honestly thought I was – oh, god, Shrimp, believe me, I thought I was acting for the best." He hugged her; she stood there stiffly. He asked, "Does anyone else know?"

"I told Amity. I haven't told anyone else yet." She added, "Don't tell anyone. Please."

"I won't – I promise. I'm sorry, Calliope."

"Let's go back to them." She mechanically tightened her braid. "We need to tell them why we're here."

ooo

They were in Hyde Park, it turned out, because they were walking to the American Embassy to try and find Hector and Andrew – and Mark, if he was absolutely unavoidable (that, at least, had been Linus' view until five minutes ago.) That morning an incident had taken place, which Linus didn't talk about, but which had changed his mind quite drastically.

It had happened like this.

That morning, the last day of September, Linus and Calliope set out for another visit to Amity Tweak.

For this particular instance, Linus suggested that they would use the Muggle underground, and walk. "A passing familiarity with Muggle transportation is very important in my line of work. I should take advantage of my time off to study a bit," he said.

If Calliope disagreed she gave no sign. And if she was impatient with how her brother took five minutes to study every map and every list of stops, she only said, "I think it's the Richmond line."

Linus felt decidedly better when they got off the underground and started walking It was a very cold fall day, with a dark grey sky and sharp winds, but he was with his baby sister, and he didn't have to take care of anyone else. He'd slept rather well. And it seemed that Calliope was doing well, too.

Together they commented on and critiqued the houses and front gardens that they passed. One had a garden of herbs – still green – overflowing the walls.

"How nice! Let's stop a moment," Calliope asked.

Linus calculated. They were almost there. "Sure. You know, scent is the strongest trigger of memory that there is."

"Mmm. Oh, look, mint." Her back was to him as she bent, crushed a leaf in her fingers, and smelled it. "Lovely."

"Yeah."

She paused before saying, "Once, right before Christmas, Uncle and Grandfather sat us all down to teach us about herbs. What they can do, magically speaking. Do you remember?"

"Er… jog my memory?"

"Do you remember what chamomile means?"

"No."

"It's 'strength in adversity.' How about thyme?"

"Other than that it makes for a bad pun?"

"That's 'activity.' Also, 'courage.' And what of mint?"

"Serve it with lamb?"

She laughed, still facing away from him. "You're cute. It's 'warmth of feeling' and 'virtue,' but also 'suspicion,' and 'protection.' Herbs can be very complicated. But it's useful to know, all the same."

"I'm sorry. I still don't recall."

"Well, that's not too surprising. You were only a child. Still, though… it's a crying shame," she said with a studied casualness. "That you should forget all about me."

He smiled, reaching out to her. "I haven't forgotten you, Shrimp."

"I'm not Shrimp." She turned around and the look on her face – Linus stepped back. "It's just sad because my death shaped you so much, and now you don't have that memory. It's been taken from you – and you never even really got over it." It was Calliope's face and voice but not her speech or expression – "Deep inside of you there's always just been a crying, scared little boy –" and she touched Linus' face with a sympathetic hand, her right hand –"doing all he can to make sure that disaster never happens again."

Linus just stared, his heart racing, but feeling in all other respects frozen.

"Not a word to say?" she gave a lopsided smile, her eyes very wide. "I'm just that dead to you, I guess. But what you don't realize – is just how alive I –"

Linus grabbed her hand and ran, sprinting down the sidewalk.

He ran and ran, and only barely noticed the drag on his hand as they ran, ran, ran, to drown out that voice with footsteps and panting and "Linus! Stop!"

He stopped, panting, and readjusted his glasses. "What?" he bent over, hands on his knees.

Calliope was in a similar state. "Have you gone mental?"

"No," he answered at once.

"Why were we running?"

"You don't remember?"

"No! I'm just looking at a herb garden and the next you're sprinting like a madman! Were we being chased?" she looked around. "And Amity's house is that way."

"I knew that," he said stiffly.

He reversed and led the way to Amity's house, still holding his sister's hand.

Amity met them at the door, asking "Is there a reason that you ran past me like bats out of hell?" she asked in a slightly improved rasp.

"Amity, I need to talk to you. Now. Calliope, wait in the parlor. Please." He cut off Amity's protests about giving orders in her own home to say, "Amity, please listen to what has happened just now because it has disturbed me profoundly."

He explained and when he had finished, Amity had paused a long time before answering. Finally she said, "This is slightly worrisome. You're sure that was Benedicte speaking, not Calliope?"

"She knew things Calliope couldn't know. Things Benedicte couldn't know, unless – unless – do you have coffee?"

She stared, but directed him to the coffeepot in the kitchen. As he waited anxiously for his coffee to be ready, she finished his idea. "—unless there was an actual connection with Benedicte's departed spirit."

"How would that happen?"

"How do I know?"

"You're supposed to know!"

"What? I don't have all the answers. No one of us does. But I do believe I warned you that something like this might happen."

"I don't remember a warning…"

"Because you get about two hours of sleep a night. Hold on…" she put down her tea and got out the notebook in which she'd been recording all the details of Calliope's case up to that point. "Hold on," she said again in her tiny voice as she started to read. Meanwhile, Linus checked on his little sister. "Heh. She's dozing on the couch."

"No surprise," Amity muttered. "She's winnowing away to skin and bone."

"Winnowing?" he repeated.

"Has she been skipping meals?"

"That word… It does not mean what you think it does." Linus poured out more coffee into a cup that had a little dancing Stonehenge painted on it.

"Stop changing the subject. Has she been skipping meals?"

"No. She always eats with me."

"Uh-huh. Oh!" she had found the passage and pointed it out with a finger. He read it: it was Calliope's retelling of her escape from Turpentine, particularly the description of her makeshift wands.

Linus frowned. "So she used blood in the spell. That's just, that's basic. A part of a magical creature's body is needed as a channel for magic. That's basic wandlore."

"But blood isn't typical."

"No, it's not."

"And human blood especially, because this is close to the realm of—"

"Stop it. I know what you're going to say."

"And what is that?"

He frowned, and let out a breath through his teeth. "… Necromancy."

"Yeah. I'd say it's pretty close. You said it yourself, she had to have communicated with Benedicte's departed spirit."

Instead of answering, Linus took another gulp of coffee.

"And since when did you become addicted to coffee?"

"I'm not addicted. I can stop any time I want."

"Uh-huh."

"What's this about you warning me?"

"About the coffee?"

"No, about my sister."

"I know, I know. I warned you a while ago. Calliope still hasn't gotten a new wand?"

"No…"

"Why not? You told me Hector's got some kind of thing going on in the Embassy, why can't he fix her something?"

"We're not living in the Embassy any more."

"Oh. Right. But why haven't you gotten her a wand?"

"She's, I don't know. I've been hinting, but she doesn't want to settle down and get one. I think she's still too attached to the wand that…" another sip of coffee, "that Uncle gave her."

"And she's practicing with wandless magic. She's been telling me about that."

"Yes, I'm very proud of her."

Amity nodded. "Yes. But I don't think pride is all that she needs."

"What?" Linus looked over the rim of the coffee cup at Amity.

"Who all does she see every day? Does she meet with other people?"

"Calliope has never made friends especially easily," Linus said, rather affronted. "Of course she writes plenty of letters. She chats easily with the Mendelsons, my next door neighbors. And she and I can talk about anything."

"Really?"

"Yes, really," Linus snapped.

"Because you are as much of a brother to Benedicte as you are to Calliope."

Linus bristled. "So what? I don't remember Benedicte, thanks for the reminder, so what does it matter?"

"But if there's a shadow of Benedicte lurking around in Calliope, then you, my dear Linus, are the very last thing that Calliope needs. You're a reminder – you stir up the shadow of Benedicte, give it more to feed on."

"Feed on? This is not a case of possession! She just changed in the garden."

"But why did she – what was the word you used? Menace you like that? And not remember?"

Linus thought. "Split personality. Muggles sometimes get it from trauma after their memories have been –"

"I know, Linus."

"Follow me here. Trauma caused her to form a dissociate, distinct identity to shield Calliope, forming a personality called Benedicte, that has as much to do with the real Benedicte as that salt shaker over there."

"Hey, for all you know, that's a salt shaker that's been to the other side of the veil and back. But why is that explanation better than my explanation of blood magic?"

"Because necromancy," he hissed the word in a whisper, "is black and foul magic and incredibly complex, it can't be done by accident."

"I've been working closely with her, Linus. You or I would have seen before now if this was a real, clean break of split personality. It was so much more likely a shade."

"Why do you say 'shade'? It's so imprecise. The term is debated all the time."

'Well, then, look, is it at all possible – at all – that Benedicte became a ghost?"

"No. Ghosts manifest forty-nine days after death at the latest, not twenty years."

"What if she haunted the spot where she died?"

"The Regulation and Control of Spirits would have recorded the manifestation, found it, and told us, her family, about it."

"Ah, but would you remember that?"

"No, but Benedicte would."

"You mean Calliope."

"What did I say?"

"You said 'Benedicte.'"

Linus fell silent. He sat back against the counter, staring. After a while Amity said, "I didn't realize it would take that little to short-circuit you."

"To short-what me?"

"To shock you. Linus, do you realize that you are vulnerable? You are as vulnerable as Calliope, maybe even more so. You get so little sleep, and your memory has been tampered with – probably on a worse level than hers." She reached out to brush a lock of black hair out of his face. "Just because your modification wasn't invasive –"

"I'm fine." He shook his head away from her hand.

"You're not. Calliope needs more than your company alone."

"I can take care of her!"

"Linus, there's a certain point past which Calliope can't be taken care of."

"What do you mean?"

Amity coughed. "Talking too much…" she took out a notepad and wrote quickly. Linus read, "Calliope's magic has no proper outlet, since she lost her job and her wand. Magic is mutable by nature, and it can act on the mind without an outlet. Her mind is already unstable."

"You use that word unstable, like she's dangerous."

"This is uncharted territory. No one can tell where Calliope is going. Not even herself. What I'm saying is," and this next bit was underlined twice, "Stop thinking you can control her."

"Who said that I want to control her? I just want to protect her."

"From what?"

Linus looked away. "Don't ask."

"You don't know, or you don't want to tell me?" When Linus didn't answer, she wrote further, "Controlling =/= protecting."

ooo

Mark and Andrew heard only a heavily abridged version of this incident. Linus didn't meet Mark's eyes as they returned to the Embassy to talk more.

Mark, though he listened to the conversation, withdrew into himself. There was something bothering him unduly about his impromptu hug with Calliope – not the way that even thinking of it made his heart race, not the way that she'd held him, or said that hurting him in front of her was very dangerous – eventually he simply drew Linus aside, because he had to tell someone.

"Look," he said to the wizard when they were properly out of earshot, "stop glaring at me like that, can we at least talk civilly for five minutes?"

Linus took a deep breath. "Of course we can talk civilly."

"I should hope so," After a pause, "I'm worried about her."

"So am I."

"You say that like you're the only one who has a right to be worried! I mean –" he dropped his voice, "we both love Calliope. Let me look out for her, too – at least let me do that."

"You haven't seen her in weeks."

"Yeah, thanks. She's lost weight."

Linus blinked. "Sorry?"

"I noticed it earlier, when – when – she's lost a lot of weight."

He drew himself up. "Well, my family tends to be lean, anyway – both sides."

"Lean is one thing, but she's shrinking away to skin and bone! Haven't you noticed?"

Linus did not want to say that he hadn't noticed, but nor did he want to admit Mark had a point, so he hemmed and made noncommittal noises until Mark demanded, "What are you doing, starving her?"

"Maybe she's just adjusting to British diets again, as opposed to what an American might typically eat." And to drive the point home, he jabbed his thumb into Mark's stomach.

Mark, who was considerably less "lean" than Linus, colored scarlet. "Fine. Be that way – be an arrogant jackass with blinders on, I'll be fat and stupid and a Muggle but I'm trying to actually help her!"

"You talk like you have a better right to help her than I do."

"I do, if you're not even noticing when something's wrong!"

"Do you think I don't notice? Do you think I don't try to get her to eat more? I don't want to force her – but there's only so much I, even I, can do." He looked out the window, folding his arms. "Listen. According to Amity – every day Calliope grows a little weaker, and feeding off her magic, the shade of Benedicte grows stronger. If it's even a shade – I don't even know what to call it. I would do anything to save my little sister, but I can't. According to Amity, I help Benedicte's shade as much as I help Calliope. She needs people she already knows and trusts – people like you. "

Mark gave a start. "I'm sorry, did you just admit that Calliope needs me? Could you say that again please?"

"Calliope needs people like you," Linus admitted, grinding his teeth. "People who have nothing to do with Benedicte. What she doesn't need is a complication who could only make her more upset and more disoriented."

"I wouldn't do that!"

"Could you really be subtle, Mark? Subtle in love?"

"I do so every minute I'm with her."

"Yes. Happening to run into her in the park and then grabbing her like you've been parted for years. Very subtle."

"Do you – she's the third friend that I have in the entire country! And you wouldn't let me see her at all, have you forgotten how taut my situation is?"

"Have you forgotten that you put Calliope in danger?"

Mark fell silent.

"In the last war, one out of every seven wizards or witches with Muggle spouses or – or lovers were subject to attacks on property, or nonlethal bodily attacks. One out of twenty…"

"Do you think I don't know that? Do you think I don't read the newspapers every day?"

"Well, I don't know whether you do or not –"

"You and I lived together for how long and you don't remember?"

"Gentlemen, please," Calliope sounded annoyed as she poked her head in the door, "We're trying to make a decision, and I need you both."

The two men shared an equally distrusting glare. When they were all back in the parlor, Calliope told them, "Basically, as I understand it, I'm best off if I avoid places that Benedicte spent a lot of time. So that leaves out Hogsmeade (even though I'd really like to visit Dora). But Benedicte, I realized, never visited the Agnes Stidolph School. I need some work to do, I'm going stir crazy – sorry, Linus – and maybe helping at the School would –"

"That's perfect!" Mark exclaimed.

"Subtle," Linus muttered.

"You can give music lessons, I've been thinking music in the curriculum would be –"

"Music lessons? I was thinking filing or, or addressing envelopes…" she said.

"Oh, Calliope, you would be wasted on secretarial work."

"Hey!" Andrew exclaimed.

"I didn't mean it like that – his parents are secretaries," Mark explained to the wizards. "I've been in touch with the various people from this one's birthday party—" indicating Linus –"and I'm planning demonstrations for later October, mostly stuff for both magical and Muggle kids to benefit from. Bill Weasley will be coming in, talking about curse-breaking and ancient Egypt. Miss Delacour will be hosting a French food tasting – not wine – you can attend those, and then –"

"Your friend Miss Delacour, why don't you go hang out with her instead?" Linus blurted.

Calliope was looking down at her hands. "I'll have to think about a music demonstration."

"Well, don't think too long. The last time slot I'll have available is October 30th."

"So that's – right before your trial."

"Yeah. Please, Calliope?" He reached over and took her hand. She glanced up at him and in his face it was written clear: he believed she could do anything. A queasy feeling knotted her stomach. She had forgotten something, but what, but what?

"Oh, all right. I'll try."

"Well!" Linus said, a bit too loudly. "Teaching little werewolf teens about the violin and cello. I think it's safe to say Benedicte never did that."

ooo

Very soon after that, the Ollivander siblings went home, to resume their usual routine, enforced by the big brother. Linus had, since leaving the Embassy, become more regimented and organized. His life had little in it, but what tasks he had he performed like clockwork.

One of these tasks was that at nine o'clock at night, he insisted that Calliope sit on the couch opposite him, and they would try and talk her out, talk out her thoughts for the day, her feelings, and so forth. The mirror above the mantelpiece reflected their actions like automatons. Tonight, the brother seemed particularly anxious.

"I really don't feel a talk will be necessary tonight, Linus."

"No. No, it'll be twice as necessary as usual. I don't want him back in your life."

"Linus…"

"I know, I know, just… give me a minute." He stood in front of the mantelpiece, looking into the pale grey eyes, rimmed with red, that he knew so well.

"I know that you're anxious," he said in a low voice, "I know you're doing things lately even you don't understand. And I know you hate to see him again. I know… you're afraid. But people rely on you. You have to face your fears, sort out what you know, and force things to make sense, if they don't. If they make sense, you can't be afraid of them. This fear, this anxiety… you're only trying to defend yourself. Make up your mind to – to—"

"Linus?" Calliope's voice broke through his monologue. "Who are you talking to?"

Linus turned away from the mirror. "No one. Just a… just a pep talk."

Calliope, her knees folded up in front of her, was giving him a funny look. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"Absolutely sure."

But his actions belied his words. Their "talking it out" was much briefer that night than it had been before. Linus, pleading exhaustion (no matter how much sleep he seemed to get, he was always tired) went to be early, with a draught of White King's Rheum, to stop the nightmares.

Calliope stayed awake later, looking over her sheet music and trying to choose which would be the best to present to a class. She was just getting ready to go to bed when she heard a knock at the door.

She opened it and Tess almost fell in.

"Good god! Look at you!" Calliope started to help her cousin straighten up. Tess clung to her dressing gown, almost tearing it.

"Please – cous – you have to help me – is Linus awake?" Her face was flushed and her eyes were puffy.

"No, only me." She sniffed. "You're drunk."

"No, no, not drunk, only tipsy. Calliope, do you know what he did?"

"What who did?"

"Jan! He tried to kill himself. I think it was because of me…"

Calliope thought of Mark and the layers of trouble he was sinking into on that priest's account. She muttered "Oh, wouldn't that be nice."

That made Tess get up off the floor and glare at Calliope as though she'd slapped her. "What?"

"I didn't mean anything by it – I'm sure you had nothing to do with it –" 'I've done it now,' she thought.

"Then why did you say it?"

"I don't know, it's late and I'm tired and you just barged in here drunk and sobbing –"

"Is that all I am to you? A basket case?"

"For God's sake! Calm down!"

Tess, still standing, moved into a defensive position, shoulders hunched up, hugging herself, mouth closed.

"Now. What's this about? Why don't you sit down?"

"Don't want to."

"Well, fine. Suit yourself. Is there anything you need?"

Tess shook her head. Calliope felt more irritated by the minute. "Well, why did you come at all?"

"I had – a bad idea – someone gave me a bad idea – I really don't want to take it – use it – follow it – Shrimp, please, don't let me take it. I don't want to take it!"

"What is this idea?"

Tess muttered that she didn't want to say.

Calliope folded her arms. "And you don't want to take it."

"No."

"Then don't!"

"I – I don't feel as if I've got any other choice!"

"You must have choices."

"Why do you think this is easy for me?"

"I didn't say that –"

Tess was angry again. "You're not taking me seriously, you little Shrimp."

Calliope straightened up, leaning just slightly over Tess. "You barge in here drunk, and you won't tell me what's going on, what am I supposed to do?"

Tess started on a ramble about how no one gave her respect, just because she hadn't been ever as smart as the rest of them, Calliope tuned her out (she'd heard it before) and analyzed the situation. It was late. She was tired. Tess was being too cagey and panicky, so Calliope had no idea at all what the problem was. Energy was being misspent, neither of them was getting anywhere.

"Tisiphone," she said, "I think it would be best if you just went home."

"But I can't! I have to talk – to – to—"

"To me?"

"To anyone, don't let me do this!"

"Why are you foisting this onto me? I'm not responsible for what you do."

"I'm – but –"

"Just go and sober up before you come back here." Fresh out of her mouth, the words sounded unduly harsh. "I mean – you can sober up here, if you can't—"

"No. Sod off." Tess shoved off Calliope's hand. "I can tell you don't want me."

Calliope did not disagree.

"Just say it, why don't you? Don't just look at me like that."

"Fine, then. I don't think I can help you. Just – ugh, just sober up and come back when you're ready to talk sense!"

Tess left, slamming the door behind her. Calliope, who would not feel properly guilty about this until the morning, shook her head and went to sleep.