Chapter 12
"Welcome to Iran, Ms. Darnell," the customs attendant with hair that was far too greasy to be palatable, far too much cologne, and eyes that seemed to want nothing more than to undress her said as he stamped the booklet before him. His English was flawless, without a single trace of an accent. Iphigenia Darnell nodded as she fidgeted with the head covering, finding the garment to be senseless and annoying.
She snatched her passport back from the man without a word. He held onto it for longer than necessary, at least until Iphigenia tugged it from his grip with a strength that seemed to surprise the older man. She stalked her way through customs, her eyes flashing around the non-descript sameness of the airport.
Muggle travel had changed since the last time she'd bothered with it. It felt more efficient, although she wasn't positive that was the correct term for it. It was far less luxurious than her only other experience with airplanes.
The last time she'd boarded one there had been a bar, for example, with stools, and a nice lounge. And it had taken two stops to get from Heathrow to O'Hare.
But it had at least been entertaining. They'd served food that was annoyingly better than anything she could cook and she'd been the life of the party in the downstairs lounge and bar area. Which was expected as she'd been the prettiest thing on the plane that wasn't wearing a uniform. Granted, there had been, at best, minimal competition.
Her husband hadn't joined her, preferring the comfortable seat with ample room to stretch his leg to doing any more walking that day. When the novelty of it all wore off she'd brought him back a drink and they'd spent the rest of the night cuddled up in their double sleeping berth. In her inebriated state she'd gotten rather handsy with him but he'd stopped her before anything entertaining happened.
All-in-all it had been an enjoyable experience. This time, though, they took away her alcohol well before the plane landed. Which almost made her take the entire plane down.
She'd been intrigued when she'd been dragged by Portkey to Zurich, under the guise of attending a medical conference with her traveling companion. The pair of them drew some stares that she didn't quite understand. She had found herself rather excited to see how the Muggles had improved upon their forms of travel. She'd only barely paid attention to the introductions of her new traveling companions and her new paperwork while she'd let her imagination run wild.
The result had been less than impressive. Surely they should have come up with something better than smaller seats and more people. But it seemed like the most, well, Muggle, solution. Many of the Muggles put some devices in their ears and zoned out. Most of them didn't even have the courtesy to look at a book or a magazine before they turned into zombies. It made her wonder about them.
Not that she was much better. She spent the start of the flight annoyed at the ringing in her ears as she reviewed the new documents before her.
Iphigenia Darnell. Born June 1st to Tom, she twitched, Darnell, and Phoebe Darnell, nee Katopodis. Their only child due to complications during her birth. Raised in Lichfield. Attended Hogwarts where she was a nondescript Hufflepuff of no notice or merit. She twitched again.
Tom Darnell died during her final examinations at Hogwarts. Heart attack, undoubtedly brought on by his distaste for Healers, and his corpulent frame. Phoebe Darnell joined him two years later presumably of a broken heart. Mundane deaths for mundane magicals. The loss of her parents pushed Iphigenia out of the country.
She found her way to Japan and developed an interest in journalism. An internship at The Japan Times turned into a similar position, albeit paid, at the English paper in Nagasaki and she transformed into another expatriate. But it was good work and it let her spend more time with her quill than anything.
She spent her free time jotting down stories of foreigners in strange lands, hoping to make a comedy out of it, but somehow, oddly important things like, say, plot, never seemed to develop in the little works. And, at twenty-three, she thought she'd settled into the routine of her life.
But she'd been given a break. She'd been allowed to travel with one of the senior journalists at the paper to Iran. They were part of the first magical contingent let into the country following the mysterious, clearly magical, death of an alleged terrorist cell that had plagued them for years.
She was skeptical of the makeup of their little group. But it wasn't her place to judge. And given that it could be a massive career opportunity she wasn't about to say no.
She rolled her Muggle suitcase through customs. It wasn't quite as easy as shrinking it but for what it was worth the Muggles seemed to have done a decent job when it came to traveling luggage. Then again, as she peered around the airport she couldn't help but notice how much nicer her luggage was than most others and she had to wonder if it was an entirely Muggle item.
She stopped at a beige wall and waited for her companions. She saw one of them still in line, arguing with the customs attendant about something, but couldn't find the rest. Not that the faces were that familiar to her at any rate. A few others joined her near the wall, obviously waiting as well, and she let her eyes scan through the incoming people.
"Iphigenia!" A female voice called from her right, notably the wrong direction for someone to still be in line. It took her a moment to remember that was her name.
"Gina, please," she said. "Iphigenia is a mouthful."
"It is," the woman agreed in a staccato but otherwise perfect English. Gina moved from her spot on the wall to join Akane Tetsuo as they waited for the rest of their part.
"How did you get roped into this?" she asked. Akane chewed on her bottom lip for a moment. She was a middle-aged Japanese woman with over twenty years of experience as a journalist. Although her area of expertise was typically gossip and lifestyle. Gina knew next to nothing about her, they'd only had ten minutes of introduction before they'd boarded the plane. And, since she'd been a last minute addition to their group, they hadn't been seated near each other.
"I was asked," she shrugged. Her eyes focused on the photographer of their group as he continued to struggle through customs.
"Uh huh," Gina laughed. "Me too. How'd they get you?"
"I wrote what I thought was an innocuous article about Mrs. Potter's engagement. They were not happy it was public information," Akane said.
"They're not married," Gina said.
"Huh? Really?"
"Really."
"Well, anyway, I thought I had the story of my career. Britain's most eligible everything is tying the knot. Yet not a single other newspaper in the world ran it. A few weeks later I'd found out why," Akane frowned as she spoke.
"They suppressed it?" Gina asked, already knowing the correct answer.
"They did. She found me at a dinner with some friends," Akane said.
"She?" Gina raised her brows.
"Priya," Akane said.
"Not Harry?"
"He was there. She did all the talking. I think it amused him more than anything," Akane said, frowning at the photographer who was still struggling with the customs agent. He was going through the camera bag with an exasperated expression on his face.
"What did she want?"
"It was pretty straight forward. They were unhappy with the article. They didn't want it plastered about. I tried to be defensive, commenting on the ring and the like and said if they had a problem, or if any of it was false, they could take it up with my editor. Standard things, you know," she said.
"But the wrong thing to say to Harry Potter," Gina said.
"Quite. He just smiled. It was annoying. And then she pointed out what would happen if they actually did feel like taking it to my editor," Akane said.
"And then they had you," Gina sighed through her teeth.
"More or less. I was furious about it for a long time," the Japanese woman sighed as well. Judging from her expression Gina figured she was debating trying to help their photographer, who's name was Takashi, she recalled.
"What did they want?" Gina asked, although she thought she already knew. Still, if confirmation cost her nothing, what was the point of not getting it?
"I wrote one article, they wanted one favor," Gina shrugged. "From their perspective it seemed fair. She'd even joked they might never call it in. But if they did, I should do it without question," Akane said. "The implication was clear enough. It was the first time I'd actually felt nervous about a threat like that."
"And they called it in to get you to go to Iran to investigate for them?" Gina asked, seeing the logical conclusion to the story. Akane snorted her reply in a rather unladylike manner. Before she could comment, their photographer made his way through customs.
He stalked over and started chatting in rapid Japanese with Akane. Gina frowned at the words. She could make out most of it, but his anger at the situation was making it harder for her to catch all of his words. From the jist of it she figured that the agent was accusing him of using the camera to smuggle something into the country. Which seemed absurd to Gina so she assumed he must have done something to anger the official. She thought it best not to comment.
There was a car waiting for them once they made it out of the airport. The photographer, by virtue of having a penis and being overprotective of his camera, earned the task of helping the driver with their luggage. He sat in the front while Akane and Gina took the back.
It took the better part of an hour to make it to the hotel. There was only a smattering of conversation during that time. Gina said little and instead opted for pressing her forehead into the cool glass window. She dozed toward the end of the journey, waking when the car came to a stop.
She stifled a yawn and let herself out of the vehicle. Akane at least had the sense to wait for the valet to open up her door but Gina was already unloading her suitcase from the trunk by that point. She ignored the bellhop and moved into the lobby.
She took a seat on one of the couches while Akane and Takashi moved to the counter and started the check-in process. Akane spoke some Farsi but the conversation quickly devolved into English as a common medium.
The receptionist handed Takashi two sets of keys and Gina followed the pair of Japanese journalists toward the elevators. He opened one of the little booklets and pulled a card out of it, handing it to Akane, before handing the other booklet to Gina.
"I still don't understand why we're bothering with the Muggles," Takashi said, in Japanese, as he pressed the button on the elevator. Akane was peering around the lobby as they waited.
"The magical community is miniscule and as secretive as we are. Not to mention they aren't acknowledging the problem," Akane responded. "It'll be easier to start with the Muggles and go from there."
"If you insist," Takashi said as the elevator opened for them. He held his arm in the doorway while Gina and Akane entered. He selected the floor and waited for the doors to close.
"According to Sato we're in the hotel most often used by the American and English press. I recognized a few of the people milling around in the lobby. I'm sure we'll be able to trade notes and see what we can come up with," Akane said.
"I doubt they'll be as charitable as you think," Takashi said.
"We'll see," Akane smirked as the lift opened on their floor. She led the way out. They turned left, peered at the room numbers as they descended, and spun around to the right in the correct direction. Akane and Takashi stopped about five doors down, Gina continued for another two.
The hotel room was rather basic. Two beds took up the majority of the room and Gina found herself wondering if she was supposed to be sharing with Akane. She didn't dwell on it for more than a minute. Instead she tossed her suitcase onto one of the beds and unzipped it with a flick of her wrist.
She tore the scarf off of her head as she started to levitate clothing out of the suitcase. Outfits sorted themselves out in the air, flying this way and that as she glared at them all. Very little of it appealed to her. But that wasn't an uncommon occurrence when it came to clothing. Still, all of the outfits that Priya had prepacked for her were, at best, uninspiring. Although from what she'd seen in the lobby she suspected that it was by design.
She magically tossed them all toward the other bed and stalked into the bathroom. She peered into the mirror for a few moments, running a hand through her hair. She still looked pale. Well, paler than she was used to. Which was saying something.
Her hand lingered in her hair. It felt greasy and she pulled a strand of it toward her nose. It didn't smell. But it felt wrong. Unclean. Really, if she'd bother to be honest with herself, she knew that she felt unclean in general.
She stripped off her clothing. Doing so slowly, piece by piece, in an attempt to keep her hands busy while she continued to stare at herself in the mirror. She focused on her face in the mirror. There weren't any blemishes there, and when she forced herself to smile her dimple still appeared on her cheek. But something else about it felt wrong. Something he couldn't place, no matter how hard she tried. And, she had to admit, there were many hours of trying already.
The bags under her eyes hadn't gone away. She didn't remember them ever being that prominent. In fact, she didn't remember them at all from her first life, no matter what she did. Hell, she didn't remember them from her second life, either. She wondered if the alcohol had something to do with it. Then she wondered if there was anything in the honor bar in the hotel room. Then she remembered she was in Iran and cursed aloud.
It was odd, she thought. She never thought she'd live very long. Ever since she was a young girl in the orphanage she'd assumed she'd have an early death. It was always just something she knew would come for her. But it didn't.
Granted, it wasn't for lack of trying. She'd thrown her life away more than a handful of times. But somehow, she'd always woken up again. And, annoyingly, even the deaths hadn't been permanent. She couldn't help but wonder what she'd been doing wrong.
She traced her hands up her arms, frowning at herself in the mirror as her right hand trailed over the new silver watch. She looked at it in the mirror. The healer had given it to her before they'd left, explaining just what it was and what it could do. Gina still wasn't sure what she thought of it. She unclasped it and set it on the counter.
She unhooked her bra and tossed it aside before shimming out of her pants and underwear. Again, she turned her attention back to her reflection and found it wanting. She'd always found it wanting.
She wasn't beautiful. She'd never been beautiful. On the first go around she'd been able to pass for pretty if she'd put in a great deal of effort. Even that didn't help as much as she'd like to say. She never felt right doing things to make herself look better in the eyes of others. It always made her feel dirty.
Of course, even with the effort, all she'd ever been able to manage to be was the second choice for a crippled Muggle. And she'd had to throw herself into his bed to even manage that. But that was what she'd experienced. Having a choice had made it slightly different, she supposed, but it had still been all she'd known.
Martin Price appeared in the mirror frowning at her. His arms crossed over his chest as he stood with the proud precision of a military man. Her memory didn't favor his injured leg at all. His expression was hard, his glare telling her she was being unfair to herself. And, well, he was entitled to his incorrect opinion.
He vanished as quickly as he appeared. Well, if it was possible to vanish when he was never there. Decades old words rang through her head. Every bit of praise he'd ever lavished upon her.
He'd told her she was beautiful, sexy, charming, adorable, cute, loved, strong, intelligent, witty, and so many others. He'd complimented her every day. But it had always been false to her. She'd never commented on it, but she'd never believed him. And she assumed he was smart enough to know how she felt.
It hadn't helped that he'd complimented her more and more as her ankles swelled, her stomach protruded and her breasts inflated. Nor did it help that she never trusted compliments so having them lavished upon her as she was busying herself by making sure her clothing fit always rang false. She couldn't believe that he actually thought she was a beautiful glowing goddess when she felt oily, leaky, and fat.
She forced the thoughts from her head and turned away from the mirror. She needed to shower, so she could scrub herself until she felt something akin to normalcy. She turned on the water, twisting the tab until it was at the hottest temperature. Almost instantly steam started to fill the small bathroom.
She flipped on the bathroom fan and looked for soap. She found a small bar next to a small bottle of shampoo in a dish near the sink. She ripped the soap from the cardboard box and stalked her way over to the shower, summoning the shampoo after her as she remembered she hadn't grabbed it.
The water burned against her skin but she didn't care. She let it burn her, letting it assault her, wishing it was the lava it felt like. After a few minutes she started the assault on her body, wishing the washcloth was something closer to steel wool as she spread the soap over every inch of her.
When she was finished she moved onto her hair. It was a familiar routine. One that she'd long since learned didn't fix the issue, or even make her feel better. It had been a routine since the orphanage, one that had persisted through her toughest times at Hogwarts and even after. Wash, rinse, wash, rinse, wash, rinse and finally give up. Today was no different.
Once she'd given up she stepped from the shower and summoned a towel to angrily assault her hair. She glared at herself in the mirror as she did. Her skin finally had some color in it, even if she knew it wouldn't last. She was almost completely an angry pink color. But there were darker red patches throughout her body.
They'd been there since she came back, looking almost like stitching where they appeared. It brought forth memories of Elsa Lanchester but somehow she doubted that even Shelley's creature would want her.
She thought the scars might have been fading. But she knew that was a delusion. She'd have to think of an excuse for them. Not that she thought she'd let anyone see them. Iphigenia Darnell had not been flayed while living a ghostly existence. It was better to be prepared than not.
Cursed burns, she thought. That could be a passable excuse. The remnants of a silly schoolyard prank gone terribly wrong. She'd have to think of who to blame for it. Perhaps Miss Patel could serve more than one purpose.
She dried herself with the towel, wondering if it was wise to put the blame on someone she may be seen as working with. But she'd cross that bridge when it came. Or at least hope it never came.
The shower hadn't helped. She wasn't sure why she thought it would. Or, honestly, if she even thought it would. It hadn't ever helped. She always felt as unclean as when she'd been desperate to avoid any more outings from the orphanage.
She stalked back into the hotel room proper and rifled through the clothing once more. She found that the more she did with her hands the less she thought about anything else. She settled on a long skirt and a baggy tunic top. She added short black boots and the silver watch to the ensemble and finished it by tying the damnable scarf around her head. She didn't care that she left more than half of her hair exposed. If someone had a problem with that, well, she'd welcome it. Maybe a good maiming would get her mind back in order.
She conjured a purse, tucked the hotel room key into it and left the room. She walked down toward Akane and Takashi's room and closed her eyes. She couldn't sense any magic behind the door. Either they were so weak they weren't worth noticing, or they weren't in the room. She assumed the former but wasn't quite ready enough to rule out the latter.
Either way she decided her best bet would be to move back to the lobby. So that was exactly what she did, fidgeting with the scarf the entire way. She thought the stairs seemed like a good option, but after five flights she opted for the lift instead.
She walked through the lobby and toward the hotel bar. Except, she thought, was it really a bar when there was no alcohol served? What would you call it? Restaurant, she guessed, or lounge perhaps? It didn't matter, but it gave her something to think about.
Tea seemed to be the drink of choice in the lounge. She ordered some and tapped her foot while she waited for it. Once she had it she peered around the lounge.
Akane and Takashi were sitting with a small group on one of the large couches in the corner. Akane met her eye and smiled at her. Like Gina, she'd washed and changed before coming down to mingle.
She walked over to the couch, largely because she couldn't think of anything better to do, and took a seat next to Akane. The other woman introduced her as her intern. Two other men in the small group took a moment to leer at her as she took her seat. Both were, at least in body, twenty years her senior. Gina didn't like it, but didn't have the heart to comment.
For the most part they left her out of the conversation. She shouldn't have expected anything less, given that she was far and away the lowest one on the proverbial totem pole. But it still irritated her. Moreso when she realized just how utterly stupid they were.
Their vapid conversations amounted to nothing at all. She followed it for as long as she could tolerate it. Which was probably even less than one would expect. She did learn some very basic tidbits of information.
Neither the Magical or Muggle governments of Iran were commenting much on the alleged disappearance of some of their countrymen. Well, the Muggle version of the events was that they didn't exist.
The Iranians were quite offended that anyone would think they bore any responsibility for the tragic events in France. They'd had absolutely no part of it. If, and it was a big if, anyone in their country had been responsible, they would handle it without any interference from people who didn't understand their culture.
And that was all they said about it. They'd allowed quite a few reporters with Al Jazeera to the supposed sites where the group had disappeared from. And the reporters, for their part, had found nothing.
Another journalist in their bunch had copies of the published articles of their findings. Which showed absolutely nothing. Gina slid one of the English versions across the table. None of the journalists seemed to mind as she peered through the article.
Her first instinct had been, like the other journalists gathered in the hotel, that it was pure rubbish. But the more she read it, the more doubt crept into her mind. From what she could tell, it was good work.
There were a great many details worked into the work that made it seem like there was more effort than one would have expected if the article wasn't serious. She read through it four or five times, then looked at the other examples around her.
"They're all garbage," a man said from her side. She hadn't noticed when he'd sat next to her. He was a handsome man with a five o'clock shadow and dark eyes. Mid-thirties, she would have guessed. Her instincts told her to hex him for coming into her bubble, but she refrained.
"I don't know," she frowned. She resisted the urge to summon a pen to her and instead dug around in her purse. There wasn't a pen there, but she conjured one without much effort, her hand hidden behind the leather walls. She brought it to the text and circled a few passages.
"They found nothing. In the end it just parroted the government's story. It seems obviously paid for," the man said. He stretched his arm out along the back of the couch and leaned forward, gesturing to a few of the paragraphs that did exactly what he's said.
"It's too detailed," Gina commented. She circled a few more sentences, sometimes even just a single word. Just the things that stuck out in her head as she read through.
"Fiction can be," the man said.
"But there's no reason for it to be if it's nothing more than paid propaganda. They clearly did the legwork, found nothing, and were just as confused as the rest of us," Gina said. She peered through her highlighted sections once more.
"Noble of you to think so but the fact remains that they could have easily been taken to the wrong sites, or shown the incorrect things. There's a million ways they can hide it while still appearing to do their job," the man said. "Can I get you another drink?"
"No that's alright," Gina responded. It came out more curt than she'd intended but she didn't care all that much about him or his feelings at the moment.
"I didn't mean that to be an insult," the man said.
"It's fine," Gina said. "I don't need another drink."
"Let me take you to dinner then," the man said. Gina raised her brows and slowly turned to look at him with as incredulous of an expression as she could muster.
"Excuse me?" she asked. The color drained out of his face. She saw Akane's expression darken as she suddenly lost interest in her conversation.
"You could tell me all about why you think it isn't propaganda. Perhaps a different perspective will do us all some good," the man smiled at her. He had a good smile, but one that she could tell got too much use.
"Interesting," Gina said. She turned her attention back to the papers as if his offer made no impact on her.
"And perhaps I smuggled in a bottle of bourbon we could split after," the man added.
"Which would involve me coming to your hotel room," Gina commented.
"It might," the man shrugged.
"No thank you," Gina said. The man frowned at her, his own expression darkening. His cheek twitched. She could tell that he bit back whatever comment he'd have liked to make.
"Fair enough," he said, his own tone matching hers. "For what it's worth I am interested in why you think it isn't fake. New perspectives are worth hearing."
"And when you find it dumb and uninformed you'll tell me, I'm sure," Gina said.
"Perhaps," the man shrugged. "But we're journalists. Our job is to ask questions. I'd be very poor at it if I discounted opinions before I heard them."
"Perhaps you're very poor at your job," Gina said.
"I've a Pulitzer that suggests otherwise," he quipped.
"Congratulations," Gina responded, her tone indicating just what she thought of the award.
"You are not like most interns," he laughed.
"I'm going to assume that's a compliment."
"That remains to be seen. Are you going to tell me your theories now?"
"Are you going to get me that drink?"
"If that's what it takes," the man said. Gina nodded toward the corner where other people were waiting to be served as well. The man peered at her for a moment before rising from the couch and joining the queue for drinks.
Gina turned her attention back to the papers, again letting her eyes trace over the words before her. She figured she had at least ten minutes to come up with a passable plan for how to rid herself of the journalist.
While the Muggles sources had found nothing, they'd at least presented some sort of commentary on the issue. The Magical governance had merely said it was investigating and would present its findings in due course. And to stop asking questions about it.
At the very least Gina admired their determination to go that route. She was pondering the end of the article, where the writer started to speculate on what they hadn't found. If the article had been bought, well, it seemed odd to include the speculation at the end.
Somehow it only took the reporter three minutes to return with two cups of tea. Gina glared at him for a moment as he set the cup down in front of her. She almost never took a drink from someone. She'd learned the hard way that some people preferred her more docile and would do anything they could to keep her that way.
A flick of her wrist, disguised and fiddling with the silver watch, swapped the contents of their cups.
"So are you going to tell me now?" the man asked as he sat next to her once more. She waited for him to take a sip of his drink before she did the same.
"I don't think I caught your name," she said.
"Rick," he responded.
"Rick…?" she asked, letting her question trail off.
"George," he said, smiling like that should have meant something to her. She paused for a moment and then made a decision that surprised her. Rather than quipping about how little his name meant to her she decided to be a proper lady.
"A pleasure to meet you Rick George," she said.
"You too, Gina," he said, still with that annoying smirk on his face. Obviously he'd been paying more attention when Akane made her introductions. "Now are you going to share your insights or do I have to feed you as well?"
"Is that an option?"
"I've already offered to take you out of here, Gina," Rick responded with a smirk. She frowned, figuring she'd walked right into that one.
"I suspect you're putting more credit ino my opinion on the matter than I deserve," she said.
"There's only one way to find out," he responded. She knew he was right. What she didn't know was why she was so nervous to share an opinion with someone who was of absolutely no consequence to her.
"It's too detailed to be fake," she said. Rick George frowned for a moment and looked almost disappointed in her.
"It's not detailed at all," he said.
"On the surface, sure," Gina said. She took a sip of her tea before she added. "But if you read between the lines there's a great deal of it."
"Continue," Rick said, sipping his own tea.
"There's notes that, well, I wouldn't have put into an article if I was paid to keep something quiet," Gina said. She shifted the paper over toward him and pointed at a few of her notations. "Why would you speculate that the areas you were shown were incredibly well kept. Why would you point out that the entire situation felt wrong, without the ability to actually pin anything. Why would you write four or five follow-up stories? They clearly know something isn't right."
"But aren't writing about it in more detail," Rick said.
"I think they're writing the details they know. They even speculate in one article that they aren't even sure they made it into the right areas. There's conflicted reports as to where the group in question was even based," Gina said. The reporter nodded at her.
"True. The best intelligence I could get my hands on had them penned into those mountains though. It did seem to be the most logical place for it," Rick said.
"I think that they thought there was far more to the story but they simply couldn't find it. To me, it feels like they knew there was something there but they couldn't actually prove it. There's just far more effort in these words than I would have thought if it was all made up," Gina finished. Rick George picked up the paper and peered more closely at her notations.
"Fiction exists," he repeated. She rolled her eyes at him.
"Fiction makes for bad journalism," she said.
"I have colleagues that would disagree with that," Rick said.
"Do they have Pulitzer prizes as well?" Gina quipped.
"Of course not," he responded, darkly. "We can't all be me."
"What a world it would be if we could be," Gina responded.
"It would be different. Almost certainty for the better," Rick shot back.
"I take it you don't find it a very interesting theory."
"Quite the contrary," Rick said. "I agreed with it when I came over here. Hell, it's one of the reasons that I fought so hard to get this assignment. I'm sure my editor still thinks I'm an idiot for leaving my cushy D.C posting."
"Would make two of us," Gina said.
"Still better than sending a would-be fashionista and her intern to Iran of all places," Rick scoffed. Gina raised her brows at the man but quelled her comment, which likely would have been a curse, by taking a sip of her tea.
Rick was still peering at her notations, seeming oblivions to his own comments as he did so. Gina narrowed his eyes and glared at him. He pressed his lips together and poked at one of her notations before raising his eyes to look at her.
His eyes immediately widened as he saw her expression. He attempted to slide the paper to her but fumbled it as he saw her glare.
"I'm sorry," he said, stuttering over the two words. Gina suspected her expression looked more severe than was truly warranted but found she didn't care to soften it. "I meant nothing by it."
"I'm sure," she said.
"I just meant that it's not the environment I'd send two female members of my staff if given the opportunity," Rick said.
"I can take care of myself," Gina said.
"I'm sure. But there's only so much anyone can do if a handful of morality police decide to take offense to your mere existence," Rick said. "I'm sure your bosses lectured you as much as they lectured us."
Gina's response was a snort. She raised her cup to her lips and sipped from the tea.
"I almost wish they would," she said as she placed the cup back down on the coffee table.
"What? You'd rather wind up a martyr?" Rick laughed at her. It wasn't malicious, she could tell that much. It was out of pure disbelief. Gina's lips curled upward at the thought of it. It wouldn't even be a difficult situation to arrange, she knew. And she'd feel much better after it was done.
"I can take care of myself," she reiterated.
"We all think that until someone decides they have a problem with us and decides to swat us like bugs. Journalist credentials will only protect you so far," Rick said.
"If they decide I'm a problem I will happily be the last problem they ever have," Gina said.
"I'm sure you think that," Rick said. "But I'd suggest you think long and hard about if the governments of Japan or England would bother doing anything if something happened to you."
"I'm sure they wouldn't," Gina said. "And I'm sure that would be the least of their problems."
"What? Are you trying to tell me you're a spy or something?" Rick teased.
"Maybe," Gina shrugged.
"Well now I have to take you to dinner. This is far more interesting than anything I've found so far in Iran. At least I could get one interesting story out of my time here," Rick smiled brightly at her, leaning back on the couch. She raised her brows at him.
"If I were a spy I wouldn't be giving you a story," Gina commented.
"Fiction exists," Rick repeated. Gina rolled her eyes and turned her gaze away from him.
"I'm not interested," Gina said.
"I've gathered that. It's made the chase more fun," Rick said.
"Less fun considering my cup is empty," Gina commented. Rick smiled at her but took the hint and rose to his feet to look for refills. Gina leaned back against the couch and stared at nothing.
"What are you doing?" Akane asked once the American was out of earshot.
"Same as you?" Gina retorted.
"I'm not flirting with an American journalist," Akane teased.
"I'm not sure being talked down to and treated as an incompetent is considered flirting," Gina commented. She stood, intending to walk away from the lounge before the man would return with more drinks. She was sick of talking to him anyway.
"You obviously haven't meant many Americans," Akane quipped.
"Handful," Gina said with a shrug of her shoulders. Most had seemed fine.
"But seriously, what are you doing?" Akane asked.
"The same thing you are," Gina repeated. "Digging and seeing where it takes me."
"You really are clueless about this, aren't you?" Akane asked. Her eyes were widening slowly like she had a grand epiphany.
"What do you mean?" Gina asked.
"I just put something together," Akane frowned. "At the airport you asked what my favor was to Mrs. Potter."
"Patel," Gina corrected her. Akane waved her hand in the air as if that detail was utterly unimportant.
"You think I'm here investigating what happened for them. You think they sent me in to dig up dirt and solve some grand mystery. I should be flattered," the older woman laughed at the absurdity of it.
"Aren't you?" Gina asked.
"If I found something that I thought warranted sharing with them I would do so. But I doubt they expect it. But I'm glad to know that someone at least finds worth in a gossip columnist," Akane said.
"That's not why you're here?"
"Of course not," Akane scoffed as if Gina was being particularly dense. "I doubt they would have cared had I hopped right back on a plane to Tokyo."
"Then why stay?" Gina asked, immediately knowing it was the wrong question.
"I didn't become a journalist to be thought of as a rumor peddling waste-of-space. I love writing and I wanted to make a difference. I took my job thinking it was an opportunity to move up. But I grew complacent and now I'm stuck. I'm too good at what I do for them to get rid of me, and for them to move me. This presented me the first real opportunity in years to do something more," Akane explained.
"So you jumped at the chance," Gina finished.
"So I jumped at the chance," Akane agreed.
"Well then, tell me what the favor actually was since I assumed incorrectly," Gina ordered. Akane crossed her arms over her chest and seemed to ponder it for the moment before shaking her head.
"I have a hard time thinking Priya left you so in the dark," Akane said.
"I haven't known her for very long," Gina said. "I was always more of Harry's friend than hers."
"Mister Potter never struck me as the type to have many friends. I think the only people he ever spent time with in Japan were Priya and that Avery character," Akane said.
"Friendship comes in all shapes and sizes," Gina shrugged. "You're dancing around my question now."
"I don't know who you are. And I think if push came to shove I would rather not know. But surely you've figured it out by now," Akane said. Gina had, but wanted the confirmation anyway. Leaving things to the imagination never turned out for the best. Especially not when it was her imagination. Somehow, no matter how bad things had been or would be, she'd always managed to imagine worse.
"Enlighten me anyway."
"Our only job was to get you here," Akane said. "And to get you enough of a cover story to travel freely while you were here."
"I thought so," Gina said.
"So is this what she had in mind?" Akane asked.
"I doubt it but given that they more or less threw me to the wolves they can just deal with it," Gina scoffed.
"I think I'd like to see you say that to her face," Akane said. "I don't think either she or Harry Potter are used to not getting what they want. Although I wonder if you're that flippant with them."
"More, actually," Gina said. Akane shook her head.
"I don't believe you," she commented.
"That's fine," Gina shrugged. The older woman merely stared at her for a few long moments before shaking her head once more.
"You have the hotel room for ten days. If you need longer than that you'll have to ask Mrs. Pot…..Patel." the woman said. Gina nodded at her. She understood what it meant. The other woman didn't want her to tag along on whatever she got up to. And probably thought Emily would be more successful anyway. Or was at least motivated by things more than changing her career.
"Thank you," Gina said, figuring it would be the easiest way to end the conversation.
"And if I were you I think I'd be concerned at her choice of alias, assuming you didn't pick it yourself," Akane said.
"I thought about that for most of the flight," Iphigenia admitted. Akane nodded once more and pressed her lips together as if she wanted to comment further.
"Fair enough," She said. "Anyway, you seem like a decent person. Try not to do anything that will get you into trouble. And, well, good luck."
"Thanks again," Gina said. Akane turned and walked back toward the lounge. Gina stood in the lobby for a moment, wondering exactly what her next move should be. She peered toward the elevator. Another shower and a nap certainly was an appealing prospect.
But it was lazy. And she hated being lazy. It may have been comfortable, but it wasn't a position that would help her at the moment.
Instead she turned toward the door and peered outside. There wasn't much of note. She doubted that the answers she was looking for would be in Tehran at any rate. But she needed to find magic and figure out if Grindelwald was involved in it. And she wasn't going to do that from here. And she'd be damned if she did anything to make them think she didn't at least try.
She took a deep breath, braced herself for the inevitability of the heat, and stepped outside.
Author's Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. If you wish to support me further I am available on PAT RE ON at TE7Writes. The next two chapters of CtS are currently live over there!