Out of the Clear Blue Sky
Chapter Nine - Change of Plans
A/N: New characters are introduced, but their roles in this fic are rather small.
"Tracey?" Sandra Andrews padded down the hallway to her daughter's room. She could see the light shining from under the doorway and knew her daughter was up. She knocked. "Tracey? Are you awake?" Receiving no answer, Sandra opened the door and peeked in the room. It was empty, save for several cats, and the computer was on, glowing innocently. Moving cautiously towards the computer, Sandra stared at the screen. There was nothing on it. Nothing at all. Beginning to panic, Sandra flew through the house, looking everywhere for her daughter. She was nowhere to be found. She was gone.
That had been almost four months ago. Sandra had reported Tracey missing when a day passed without any trace of her daughter. No clues were found to indicate what had happened to her. Sandra's husband, Ryan, tried to comfort her, but a mother's grief over a lost child runs deep. It was with great reluctance that they declared Tracey Cooper dead. Sandra wrestled long and hard with the decision and stalled for as long as she could, but finally bowed to the inevitable. Though her daughter was declared dead, she would always hope that, one day, Tracey would come back to her.
* * *
Tracey pulled her glasses off and rubbed her burning eyes with the tips of her fingers. It had been a long day and she was having trouble focusing on the words printed on the page in front of her. A touch on her shoulder startled the young witch and she jumped, bumping the table she was sitting at, sending a stack of books to the floor with a series of dull thuds that echoed in the library. "I'm sorry, Miss Cooper."
Tracey stared up at the professor standing beside her uncomprehendingly. "Professor? What are you doing here?"
"Looking for you," Minerva replied as Tracey waved her wand at the books that had fallen. They flew back onto the table and arranged themselves into a somewhat neat stack. "What are you doing in here at this time of night?"
"Research," Tracey replied, showing the elder witch the book she'd been reading.
Minerva took the book and stared at the cover. "These spells aren't taught here, Miss Cooper."
She shrugged. "I know, but it sounded interesting and, besides, one of those spells actually made it into the other universe."
Minerva handed the book back to Tracey. "What do you mean?"
"I've told you about the fact that fans wrote stories based on the books, of course," Tracey began. Minerva nodded. "Well, since we didn't know about all the spells, we made some up. One author made up a spell called _Amora Primus_."
"First Love," Minerva translated.
Tracey nodded. "Exactly. The way the author explained it, it only works one time. Once you've said the words with magic behind them, that's it."
"What is the purpose of the spell?" Minerva asked curiously. "And how does it work?"
Tracey eyes twinkled with some inner amusement. "It can save the love of your life, even if he is inches from death. If he is _not_ the love of your life, well..."
"What?" Minerva asked when Tracey's voice trailed off. "If he isn't the love of your life, what happens?"
"The spell has the opposite effect," Tracey explained quietly. "It will kill him. That's why it's not used very often. It only works once and few people want to risk the lives of their sweethearts."
Minerva nodded thoughtfully. "Makes sense. How does the spell work?"
Tracey thought for a moment. "You place your wand hand over his heart, say _Amora Primus_, and then kiss him."
Minerva looked thoughtful for a moment, but shook herself and looked at Tracey. "This came from a story, you say? That someone had written?"
Tracey nodded. "Yep, but, it was such a good spell that I decided to try to find it here."
"_Did_ you find it?" Minerva asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.
Tracey smiled, and opened the book to a page she'd marked already. "Yep, and it's the same as the author described it."
Minerva took the book and studied the page carefully. "Indeed. This is an interesting spell, Miss Cooper, but I think it's time you went to bed."
"Yes, Professor," Tracey gathered up the books she'd brought down to the library with her and headed to her rooms. Minerva remained where she was, studying the spell thoughtfully. It would be nice to know, but she didn't want to risk losing him, either.
* * *
"Good morning, Professor," Tracey greeted her father at breakfast several days later.
"Good morning, Tracey," Albus replied, his voice sober.
Tracey sank into her seat beside his. She'd slept late and had missed the morning post. "Anything interesting in this morning's post?"
Albus wordlessly handed the _The Daily Prophet_ to her. Tracey saw the headline and her jaw dropped. _MASS BREAKOUT OF AZKABAN ONCE MORE_. With growing horror, she read through the entire article. By the time she finished, she was feeling decidedly sick to her stomach. Dropping the paper back onto the table, she pushed her barely-touched breakfast away from her. "Are you alright, Tracey?"
She shook her head. "Excuse me." She hurried from the Great Hall to a nearby bathroom. When she was done emptying her stomach of the little food that remained from last night, she rinsed her mouth out and washed her face. Looking up, she was surprised by the witch standing in the doorway of the bathroom. "Professor McGonagall."
"I thought you'd like some water," Minerva commented quietly, holding up the glass in her hand. "It will get rid of the taste."
"I'm not sure if it'll help, but I'll give it a try." Tracey took the glass and drank the water. It was cold and, indeed, the lingering taste of vomit disappeared down her throat with the water. She smiled up at Minerva. "Thanks, Professor."
"You're welcome, Miss Cooper." Minerva watched silently as Tracey banished the glass to the kitchens. "I gather you saw today's headline?"
Tracey made a face and joined Minerva in the bathroom doorway. "Why now, though? Why not sooner, or later?"
Minerva shrugged as the bathroom door closed behind them. "I really don't know, Miss Cooper. No one truly understands how a mind like Tom Riddle's works."
Tracey nodded as they made their way back to the Great Hall. _Looks like I'm right in the middle of things. Great._ She took her seat beside her father once more. "Feeling better, Tracey?"
"Yes, Professor," Tracey replied, giving him a strained smile. "A little, at least."
"Good." He patted her hand and turned back to his breakfast.
Tracey looked at the barely-touched plate of food. "I don't seem to have much of an appetite anymore."
* * *
Tracey blinked when she saw, and heard, Alastor Moody pass her in the corridor early that afternoon. Last she'd heard, he'd still been in London. He'd probably come up to see Poppy, though she couldn't imagine what it would be about. When she found out later, she was ready to smack herself for not thinking of it...
* * *
"Oh, Alastor!" Poppy threw herself at him almost the minute she let him into her rooms.
Wrapping his free arm around her, he gently eased both of them into her sitting room and nudged the door shut behind him with his walking stick. "Sh, Poppy, sh. It's alright. I'm here."
As she continued to sob into his shoulder, he guided her over to the sofa and sat down, stretching his wooden leg out in front of him. She practically climbed into his lap once they were seated, her face still buried in his shoulder, her body shaking with the force of her sobs. She managed to force out a coherent sentence between her sobs, "I'm so frightened, Alastor!"
He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "Crying isn't going to help, Poppy. Please try to calm down."
She nodded and gulped back one last sob, sitting up. "You're right. We need to stay calm and talk about this rationally."
He kissed her forehead. "That's my Poppy."
She favored him with a watery smile. "Thank you, Alastor. You always know what I need."
"You're welcome, Poppy." He tilted her chin up and kissed her tenderly, gently. She moaned and melted into the kiss, her arms sliding around his neck. Before it could go too far, he pulled back. Both were breathing raggedly and looking a bit flushed. "Now, what was it you wished to talk about?"
She sighed and cuddled against him. "Our wedding."
"Our wedding?" he repeated, surprised. "What about it?"
She picked up his left hand between both of hers and began playing with the fingers. "I don't want to wait until November. Not since all those Death Eaters managed to escape Azkaban." She sat up and her brown eyes sought his anxiously. "I don't want to risk losing you before we have a chance to be married."
He nodded slowly. "I see your point."
"So, did you want to move the wedding date up?" she asked anxiously, biting her lip.
"Yes, I think it'd be best if we did," he agreed, sliding his free arm around her waist. "I don't want to lose you, either." She sighed and settled into his embrace. "What date did we want to change it to?"
"How does this Saturday sound to you?" she asked, her head tucked under his chin.
"That's the seventh, isn't it?" She nodded. "I don't have any problems with it."
She sighed again. "Well, we'll have to let the others know."
He nodded. "Yes, but we don't have to inform them right this second, do we?"
She sat up and studied him for a moment before smiling and kissing him. It was a long time before either of them felt like going anywhere.
* * *
Tracey had Friday afternoon free from teaching classes, marking homework, or observing classes, so she decided to head down to the Quidditch pitch and see if Xiomara could help her with her flying. As she approached the pitch, she noticed an unfamiliar man talking with the flight instructor. He was a few inches taller than Xiomara, with tousled sandy brown hair. A charcoal gray cloak fluttered in the slight breeze. Xiomara was gesturing broadly with her hands and the faint sound of laughter reached Tracey's ears. As she drew closer to the pair, Tracey called out, "Hello, Xiomara!"
The man turned at the sound of her voice and blue-gray eyes met her blue ones. She swallowed against the sudden dryness of her throat. Xiomara looked around the man and smiled at Tracey. "Ah, Tracey, hello! I'd like you to meet my brother, Griffith." She indicated the man. "Griffith, this lovely lady is the assistant Transfiguration professor, Tracey Cooper."
"Hello, Mr. Hooch," Tracey greeted him, cursing the breathy sound of her voice. "I've heard a great deal about you from Xiomara."
"Hello, Miss Cooper," he returned the greeting, taking her hand and, instead of shaking it, kissed the back of it. "Nothing bad, I hope?"
Tracey smiled, trying to ignore the way her arm tingled from the where his lips had barely brushed her skin. "Well, I seem to recall something about not contacting her once in the last five years."
He glanced at his sister as he released Tracey's hand. "I'm sorry about that, Mara, but I already explained why I didn't contact you."
Xiomara nodded, making a face at the nickname. "Yes, you did, but _something_ to indicate you hadn't died would have been nice."
Griffith sighed and shook his head. "I did the best I could, Ro, and I have no other excuse."
"Ro?" Tracey asked, raising an eyebrow. "Am I missing something?"
Griffith smiled down at her. "Xiomara's middle name is Rolanda, so I call her Ro for short because she doesn't like it when I call her Xio or 'Mara."
"Oh." Tracey nodded. "That makes sense."
"So, what brings you down here, Tracey?" Xiomara asked.
"Oh, I was, um, hoping to practice flying," Tracey explained, feeling her cheeks grow warm, acutely aware of Griffith's keen gaze.
"How old are you, Miss Cooper?" Griffith asked curiously.
"It's not polite to ask a lady for her age," Tracey retorted tartly, avoiding the question.
"I'll explain later, Griffith," Xiomara added before turning back to the younger witch. "Well, let's see if we can get you up to twenty-five feet. How does that sound?"
Tracey fought the urge to begin playing with a lock of hair, as was her wont when she was nervous. "That sounds fine."
"Alright, you know where the brooms are kept," Xiomara nodded in the direction of the broomshed. Tracey nodded and headed in that direction.
After a flying lesson that went better than usual, Xiomara and Tracey walked back up to the castle together. "Why did your brother show up all of a sudden, Xiomara?"
Xiomara sighed. "Well, you know that Poppy and Alastor are engaged, of course."
Tracey nodded. "Yeah, Poppy told me last Saturday."
"Well, due to the Death Eaters breaking out of Azkaban earlier this week, they decided not to wait any longer and changed their wedding date from November to tomorrow," Xiomara explained. "Alastor wrote to Griffith to ask him to be at the wedding and, well, you can guess the rest."
Tracey nodded again as they began climbing the front steps. "He agreed and arrived here earlier today?"
Xiomara nodded in confirmation. "I was so surprised when I turned around and there he was." She sighed. "Not a word for five bloody years, and then he shows up without a warning."
"Well, why did he disappear in the first place?" Tracey asked as they climbed the marble stairs. "Not that that's my business or anything, but I'm just curious."
"No, it's alright," Xiomara told the smaller witch. "Our mom died about five years ago and I'm afraid he took her death pretty hard. To deal with it, he packed up and left for America. About three days after he disappeared, I got a note from him assuring me that he was alright, but that he had to work some things out on his own."
"Oh." Tracey looked down. "Um, am I invited to the wedding?"
Xiomara shrugged. "I don't see why not. All of the staff is invited and you're part of the staff."
"Oh, right." Tracey blushed. "Hadn't thought of that."
Xiomara grinned. "Happens to the best of us."
Tracey glared at her. "If you'll excuse me, I need to go tidy up for dinner."
"Need to primp for Griffith, right?" Xiomara asked with a wink.
"Oh shut up." Tracey's blush deepened as she started for her rooms.
* * *
"The fool," he hissed. "He'ss jusst made thingss eassier for uss."
"You don't make any more moves without consulting me first, you got it?" his partner demanded, fury evident in face and voice. "You could be getting in _my_ way if you do."
"As you wish," he replied, bowing his head in mock-submission, "but, I warn you, my patience is already thin."
His partner nodded. "You make do what you wish tomorrow. Nothing would affect my plans."
"Good." His lips twitched into an evil smirk. "Goo-ood. Wormtail!"
Chapter Nine - Change of Plans
A/N: New characters are introduced, but their roles in this fic are rather small.
"Tracey?" Sandra Andrews padded down the hallway to her daughter's room. She could see the light shining from under the doorway and knew her daughter was up. She knocked. "Tracey? Are you awake?" Receiving no answer, Sandra opened the door and peeked in the room. It was empty, save for several cats, and the computer was on, glowing innocently. Moving cautiously towards the computer, Sandra stared at the screen. There was nothing on it. Nothing at all. Beginning to panic, Sandra flew through the house, looking everywhere for her daughter. She was nowhere to be found. She was gone.
That had been almost four months ago. Sandra had reported Tracey missing when a day passed without any trace of her daughter. No clues were found to indicate what had happened to her. Sandra's husband, Ryan, tried to comfort her, but a mother's grief over a lost child runs deep. It was with great reluctance that they declared Tracey Cooper dead. Sandra wrestled long and hard with the decision and stalled for as long as she could, but finally bowed to the inevitable. Though her daughter was declared dead, she would always hope that, one day, Tracey would come back to her.
* * *
Tracey pulled her glasses off and rubbed her burning eyes with the tips of her fingers. It had been a long day and she was having trouble focusing on the words printed on the page in front of her. A touch on her shoulder startled the young witch and she jumped, bumping the table she was sitting at, sending a stack of books to the floor with a series of dull thuds that echoed in the library. "I'm sorry, Miss Cooper."
Tracey stared up at the professor standing beside her uncomprehendingly. "Professor? What are you doing here?"
"Looking for you," Minerva replied as Tracey waved her wand at the books that had fallen. They flew back onto the table and arranged themselves into a somewhat neat stack. "What are you doing in here at this time of night?"
"Research," Tracey replied, showing the elder witch the book she'd been reading.
Minerva took the book and stared at the cover. "These spells aren't taught here, Miss Cooper."
She shrugged. "I know, but it sounded interesting and, besides, one of those spells actually made it into the other universe."
Minerva handed the book back to Tracey. "What do you mean?"
"I've told you about the fact that fans wrote stories based on the books, of course," Tracey began. Minerva nodded. "Well, since we didn't know about all the spells, we made some up. One author made up a spell called _Amora Primus_."
"First Love," Minerva translated.
Tracey nodded. "Exactly. The way the author explained it, it only works one time. Once you've said the words with magic behind them, that's it."
"What is the purpose of the spell?" Minerva asked curiously. "And how does it work?"
Tracey eyes twinkled with some inner amusement. "It can save the love of your life, even if he is inches from death. If he is _not_ the love of your life, well..."
"What?" Minerva asked when Tracey's voice trailed off. "If he isn't the love of your life, what happens?"
"The spell has the opposite effect," Tracey explained quietly. "It will kill him. That's why it's not used very often. It only works once and few people want to risk the lives of their sweethearts."
Minerva nodded thoughtfully. "Makes sense. How does the spell work?"
Tracey thought for a moment. "You place your wand hand over his heart, say _Amora Primus_, and then kiss him."
Minerva looked thoughtful for a moment, but shook herself and looked at Tracey. "This came from a story, you say? That someone had written?"
Tracey nodded. "Yep, but, it was such a good spell that I decided to try to find it here."
"_Did_ you find it?" Minerva asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.
Tracey smiled, and opened the book to a page she'd marked already. "Yep, and it's the same as the author described it."
Minerva took the book and studied the page carefully. "Indeed. This is an interesting spell, Miss Cooper, but I think it's time you went to bed."
"Yes, Professor," Tracey gathered up the books she'd brought down to the library with her and headed to her rooms. Minerva remained where she was, studying the spell thoughtfully. It would be nice to know, but she didn't want to risk losing him, either.
* * *
"Good morning, Professor," Tracey greeted her father at breakfast several days later.
"Good morning, Tracey," Albus replied, his voice sober.
Tracey sank into her seat beside his. She'd slept late and had missed the morning post. "Anything interesting in this morning's post?"
Albus wordlessly handed the _The Daily Prophet_ to her. Tracey saw the headline and her jaw dropped. _MASS BREAKOUT OF AZKABAN ONCE MORE_. With growing horror, she read through the entire article. By the time she finished, she was feeling decidedly sick to her stomach. Dropping the paper back onto the table, she pushed her barely-touched breakfast away from her. "Are you alright, Tracey?"
She shook her head. "Excuse me." She hurried from the Great Hall to a nearby bathroom. When she was done emptying her stomach of the little food that remained from last night, she rinsed her mouth out and washed her face. Looking up, she was surprised by the witch standing in the doorway of the bathroom. "Professor McGonagall."
"I thought you'd like some water," Minerva commented quietly, holding up the glass in her hand. "It will get rid of the taste."
"I'm not sure if it'll help, but I'll give it a try." Tracey took the glass and drank the water. It was cold and, indeed, the lingering taste of vomit disappeared down her throat with the water. She smiled up at Minerva. "Thanks, Professor."
"You're welcome, Miss Cooper." Minerva watched silently as Tracey banished the glass to the kitchens. "I gather you saw today's headline?"
Tracey made a face and joined Minerva in the bathroom doorway. "Why now, though? Why not sooner, or later?"
Minerva shrugged as the bathroom door closed behind them. "I really don't know, Miss Cooper. No one truly understands how a mind like Tom Riddle's works."
Tracey nodded as they made their way back to the Great Hall. _Looks like I'm right in the middle of things. Great._ She took her seat beside her father once more. "Feeling better, Tracey?"
"Yes, Professor," Tracey replied, giving him a strained smile. "A little, at least."
"Good." He patted her hand and turned back to his breakfast.
Tracey looked at the barely-touched plate of food. "I don't seem to have much of an appetite anymore."
* * *
Tracey blinked when she saw, and heard, Alastor Moody pass her in the corridor early that afternoon. Last she'd heard, he'd still been in London. He'd probably come up to see Poppy, though she couldn't imagine what it would be about. When she found out later, she was ready to smack herself for not thinking of it...
* * *
"Oh, Alastor!" Poppy threw herself at him almost the minute she let him into her rooms.
Wrapping his free arm around her, he gently eased both of them into her sitting room and nudged the door shut behind him with his walking stick. "Sh, Poppy, sh. It's alright. I'm here."
As she continued to sob into his shoulder, he guided her over to the sofa and sat down, stretching his wooden leg out in front of him. She practically climbed into his lap once they were seated, her face still buried in his shoulder, her body shaking with the force of her sobs. She managed to force out a coherent sentence between her sobs, "I'm so frightened, Alastor!"
He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "Crying isn't going to help, Poppy. Please try to calm down."
She nodded and gulped back one last sob, sitting up. "You're right. We need to stay calm and talk about this rationally."
He kissed her forehead. "That's my Poppy."
She favored him with a watery smile. "Thank you, Alastor. You always know what I need."
"You're welcome, Poppy." He tilted her chin up and kissed her tenderly, gently. She moaned and melted into the kiss, her arms sliding around his neck. Before it could go too far, he pulled back. Both were breathing raggedly and looking a bit flushed. "Now, what was it you wished to talk about?"
She sighed and cuddled against him. "Our wedding."
"Our wedding?" he repeated, surprised. "What about it?"
She picked up his left hand between both of hers and began playing with the fingers. "I don't want to wait until November. Not since all those Death Eaters managed to escape Azkaban." She sat up and her brown eyes sought his anxiously. "I don't want to risk losing you before we have a chance to be married."
He nodded slowly. "I see your point."
"So, did you want to move the wedding date up?" she asked anxiously, biting her lip.
"Yes, I think it'd be best if we did," he agreed, sliding his free arm around her waist. "I don't want to lose you, either." She sighed and settled into his embrace. "What date did we want to change it to?"
"How does this Saturday sound to you?" she asked, her head tucked under his chin.
"That's the seventh, isn't it?" She nodded. "I don't have any problems with it."
She sighed again. "Well, we'll have to let the others know."
He nodded. "Yes, but we don't have to inform them right this second, do we?"
She sat up and studied him for a moment before smiling and kissing him. It was a long time before either of them felt like going anywhere.
* * *
Tracey had Friday afternoon free from teaching classes, marking homework, or observing classes, so she decided to head down to the Quidditch pitch and see if Xiomara could help her with her flying. As she approached the pitch, she noticed an unfamiliar man talking with the flight instructor. He was a few inches taller than Xiomara, with tousled sandy brown hair. A charcoal gray cloak fluttered in the slight breeze. Xiomara was gesturing broadly with her hands and the faint sound of laughter reached Tracey's ears. As she drew closer to the pair, Tracey called out, "Hello, Xiomara!"
The man turned at the sound of her voice and blue-gray eyes met her blue ones. She swallowed against the sudden dryness of her throat. Xiomara looked around the man and smiled at Tracey. "Ah, Tracey, hello! I'd like you to meet my brother, Griffith." She indicated the man. "Griffith, this lovely lady is the assistant Transfiguration professor, Tracey Cooper."
"Hello, Mr. Hooch," Tracey greeted him, cursing the breathy sound of her voice. "I've heard a great deal about you from Xiomara."
"Hello, Miss Cooper," he returned the greeting, taking her hand and, instead of shaking it, kissed the back of it. "Nothing bad, I hope?"
Tracey smiled, trying to ignore the way her arm tingled from the where his lips had barely brushed her skin. "Well, I seem to recall something about not contacting her once in the last five years."
He glanced at his sister as he released Tracey's hand. "I'm sorry about that, Mara, but I already explained why I didn't contact you."
Xiomara nodded, making a face at the nickname. "Yes, you did, but _something_ to indicate you hadn't died would have been nice."
Griffith sighed and shook his head. "I did the best I could, Ro, and I have no other excuse."
"Ro?" Tracey asked, raising an eyebrow. "Am I missing something?"
Griffith smiled down at her. "Xiomara's middle name is Rolanda, so I call her Ro for short because she doesn't like it when I call her Xio or 'Mara."
"Oh." Tracey nodded. "That makes sense."
"So, what brings you down here, Tracey?" Xiomara asked.
"Oh, I was, um, hoping to practice flying," Tracey explained, feeling her cheeks grow warm, acutely aware of Griffith's keen gaze.
"How old are you, Miss Cooper?" Griffith asked curiously.
"It's not polite to ask a lady for her age," Tracey retorted tartly, avoiding the question.
"I'll explain later, Griffith," Xiomara added before turning back to the younger witch. "Well, let's see if we can get you up to twenty-five feet. How does that sound?"
Tracey fought the urge to begin playing with a lock of hair, as was her wont when she was nervous. "That sounds fine."
"Alright, you know where the brooms are kept," Xiomara nodded in the direction of the broomshed. Tracey nodded and headed in that direction.
After a flying lesson that went better than usual, Xiomara and Tracey walked back up to the castle together. "Why did your brother show up all of a sudden, Xiomara?"
Xiomara sighed. "Well, you know that Poppy and Alastor are engaged, of course."
Tracey nodded. "Yeah, Poppy told me last Saturday."
"Well, due to the Death Eaters breaking out of Azkaban earlier this week, they decided not to wait any longer and changed their wedding date from November to tomorrow," Xiomara explained. "Alastor wrote to Griffith to ask him to be at the wedding and, well, you can guess the rest."
Tracey nodded again as they began climbing the front steps. "He agreed and arrived here earlier today?"
Xiomara nodded in confirmation. "I was so surprised when I turned around and there he was." She sighed. "Not a word for five bloody years, and then he shows up without a warning."
"Well, why did he disappear in the first place?" Tracey asked as they climbed the marble stairs. "Not that that's my business or anything, but I'm just curious."
"No, it's alright," Xiomara told the smaller witch. "Our mom died about five years ago and I'm afraid he took her death pretty hard. To deal with it, he packed up and left for America. About three days after he disappeared, I got a note from him assuring me that he was alright, but that he had to work some things out on his own."
"Oh." Tracey looked down. "Um, am I invited to the wedding?"
Xiomara shrugged. "I don't see why not. All of the staff is invited and you're part of the staff."
"Oh, right." Tracey blushed. "Hadn't thought of that."
Xiomara grinned. "Happens to the best of us."
Tracey glared at her. "If you'll excuse me, I need to go tidy up for dinner."
"Need to primp for Griffith, right?" Xiomara asked with a wink.
"Oh shut up." Tracey's blush deepened as she started for her rooms.
* * *
"The fool," he hissed. "He'ss jusst made thingss eassier for uss."
"You don't make any more moves without consulting me first, you got it?" his partner demanded, fury evident in face and voice. "You could be getting in _my_ way if you do."
"As you wish," he replied, bowing his head in mock-submission, "but, I warn you, my patience is already thin."
His partner nodded. "You make do what you wish tomorrow. Nothing would affect my plans."
"Good." His lips twitched into an evil smirk. "Goo-ood. Wormtail!"