He watches me. I know he does. I wonder what he does up there in that office all day. Does he just watch us? Peter Lukas saw me the other day. I cannot help but wonder if he recognized me. A part of me is terrified that he will tell her, but I know that is irrational. They dislike each other.
As evil and scary as he ought to be to me, I know that I am also not without flaw. I also know that he wants me to become stronger within the Beholding, and I feel like he understands. In our strange partnership of sorts, he balances guidance and autonomy. At least, that is what it feels like. I also like when he makes me tea. He always makes it the way I like.
It sounds to me that Jon is quite rude to Martin. Despite the verbal abuse, Martin is still clearly infatuated with him. Martin will tell me all these stories about his work day. It is my second favorite cup of tea. He will come by storage or message me asking me if I want tea. Sometimes I meet him halfway, and sometimes he feels braver than usual, venturing into storage with my cup of tea.
Any nerves he has are always quelled as he tells me some story of an interaction between him and Jon. Jon is a contradiction. I see myself in him. I think he does care for Martin, he just is not quite aware of it yet. Perhaps, I am wrong.
"You look so far away right now," he observed, pulling a chair with a screech that resonated through the dimly lit storage.
"Martin, you're here!" He looks so cozy today with a striped sweater, a collared shirt peeking over the top.
"Work is rough today, huh?" He sets down a mug on my desk. His love language was evident in the steaming mug on my desk. Tea — a simple yet profound connection that had become our shared sanctuary. "Wanna talk about it?"
"I was thinking about Elias," I confessed, my words punctuating the quiet air of the storage.
"OH!" Martin pulls the chair closer with a screech, the fabric of his collared shirt peeking over his striped sweater. He is ready for a good gossip session. The camaraderie that develops between us makes the workplace quirks and the peculiar behavior of our colleagues more bearable.
With Martin spending nights at the institute, it seems like he comes here more often. The subtle shift in his routine does not go unnoticed. I assume it has something to do with the fact that he needs someone to talk to, someone to share the peculiarities of the Magnus Institute with, especially in the wake of the unsettling situation with Jane Prentiss. The mysteries of the Institute seem to pull him in, anchoring him in the labyrinth of stories and secrets.
"What do you think he does when he's alone up there?"
He almost looks disappointed, but it does not last for long. "Probably thinking about whose day he can ruin."
"Martin!"
"Isn't that what heads of institutions do though?"
"Would you do that if you were the head?"
Martin's contemplative expression hints at a more empathetic approach: "He's probably stalking us like Jon does, but more."
"Yeah. He knows my favorite tea, and I never told him."
"Jon does?"
"No, Elias, stupid!"
"Ah, that makes more sense."
The banter is momentarily interrupted by an unexpected voice. Tim, leaning casually against a shelf, injects his own irreverent perspective into the conversation.
"He probably picks his nose and eats it," Tim chimes in, his voice a distinct departure from Martin's.
"When did you get here," Martin asked him.
"I came by to look for something, but Helen looked properly busy, so I thought I would hang out until she wasn't. Then you showed up."
"He does that."
"Back to the matter of Elias though." Martin prompts, seamlessly steering the conversation back to the enigmatic figure that looms over the Institute like a shadow.
"You spend quite a bit of time with him it sounds like," Tim has his elbows pressed into his knees as he leans forward. How did this turn into an interrogation of me? "What do you do when it's just you two?"
"Well, to be honest," I begin, the words making their way out at snail's pace, "there's quite a bit of talking on his part. Usually, I just listen. It's a lot of his critiques of my work, and it's kind of horrible to sit through actually." The admission hangs in the air, a candid acknowledgment of the peculiar mentorship that Elias seems to extend to me.
Tim's expression shifts, a mix of curiosity and skepticism. "Just critiques? Nothing else?"
"It's really just work," I clarify, though the hesitation in my voice draws a curiosity upon their faces. "Well, I suppose he is nice about it. He always makes me tea as he delivers the criticism. It's not really supposed to be horrible." Elias and his motives are like a puzzle, and I am still fumbling with the pieces, trying to make sense of the enigma.
"Ok," Tim continues, "given what you know of him, what do you think he does?"
"Probably irritate the Lukas's. It seems like him and Peter have some on-again off-again thing." I responded, the words carrying a hint of speculation. Elias's interactions with others are often cryptic–a play with hidden motives–and trying to decipher the roles of the players is like navigating a maze.
Martin raises an eyebrow. "An on-again, off-again thing with Peter Lukas? Now that's a plot twist."
Tim chuckles. "Wouldn't be the weirdest thing around here."
The storage room, with its relics and shadows, seems to absorb our conversations, each word echoing in the quiet space. Elias, a central figure in our peculiar drama, continues to be an enigma. The puzzle pieces elude clear arrangement, leaving an air of mystery.
"Uhm," one of my colleagues peeks into the area we have taken over, "so sorry to interrupt, Helen, but Rosie sent word that you have an appointment with Elias."
"Oh, gosh, okay. Tim, just message me what you need answers for! It was really lovely chatting with you both." I grab my feeble start to one of my papers, crinkling it as I do. Fuck.
Each fold is a tangible mark of my unease as I make my way through the Institute's corridors, thoughts swirling in my mind matching the disarray of my paper. Making my way to Elias's office is far too long, giving me far too much time with my own thoughts. I hope I am not getting us all in trouble. I have just been trying to get along better with the others. I don't like being alone. I thought maybe we could be friends. I really hope it is not about the conversation we were having. I am not near finished with my examinations and recording of my current focus.
Rosie looks like she wants to say something to me, but I am sure it would just be to usher me in, it usually is. I scramble into his office, shutting the door with as little noise as possible behind me.
It is not just Elias, but also Peter. Maybe, I should not have ignored Rosie.
Elias is engaged in conversation with Peter, but he acknowledges me with a glimpse, his conversation with Peter never stilling. Peter, however, watches me with a curious sparkle in his eyes. He seems to be ignoring Elias at this point. Who is to say he has not been ignoring him for sometime? "Asteria, what are you doing here?"
"I work here?"
"No, what are you doing here?"
"I have an appointment."
"Asteria."
"It's Helen, and my mom hates you both, so yeah."
"She is a difficult woman," he mused.
The room is cold with Peter's loneliness today. It's as if the air itself is drenched in the cool hues of solitude, a stark contrast to the warmth of the company I left behind. My fingers tingle, a premonition of the icy chill that might seep into my customary cup of tea.
"I suppose I understand. Well, there's always room for you with me. You are fairly good-"
"Peter, she's mine."
"I see."
"I know what the stakes are for our next bet I think."
The atmosphere tightens with the weight of unspoken challenges, but Elias interjects, "And I assure you, that you will lose."
"So, Asteria," Peter says, an edge of fascination in his voice, "coming here started as an act of rebellion, but do you not find the Beholding to be a bit overbearing."
"No, I feel quite independent, thank you." Elias's gaze, a penetrating force, bores into me. I can sense his scrutiny. Peter Lukas, do not get me into any trouble, you stupid whore. Elias's lips twitch at my unspoken thoughts. I knew he was watching me.
"I think I shall head out now. Three is a crowd after all."
Before he can vanish himself away, I engage him, "Peter, you won't tell her I'm here." It is far closer to a question than a statement.
He scoffs, a sound that reverberates through the room, "Now, why would I do that?"
The cold seeps away with his exit. "Sit," he motions with a short wave. There is something serious in his voice. "Are you worried about her coming to get you?"
I ease into the chair, the creaking protest of its worn upholstery matching the unease within. "I am scared, yes."
"She will certainly try at some point, but your place is here. You know that."
"I know, it's just. If she comes and tries to force me back, I don't know that I will be able to stay. My mother is–
"She is foolish, and should not be something that plagues you. Focus on your work. I will deal with her."
"Elias, you don't have to."
His gaze is unyielding as always. "You are irreplaceable. Neither her nor Peter may have you. I require you here. Do you understand?"
The air in Elias's office shifts. He extends my lifeline—a cup of tea. "I see that you and the archivists have been getting along."
"Something like that?"
Elias's attempt at lightness pierces through the heavy atmosphere. "I am not trying to ruin your day, Helen, and I am also not picking my nose and eating it"
"It strikes me that you watch me quite a bit."
"I watch a lot of things." What an understatement! However, I sense a hint of acknowledgement there. Maybe I am divining cheese on pizza into strange shapes, but I do not think I am wrong about this.
"You will tell me I'm special and tell me that I'm nothing special in the same breath. You're impossibly horrid, you know."
"Yet here you are."
"Bad company is still company." This familiar banter that we have cuts through the impending sense of doom that has been on my shoulders.
He reaches for me, and I move to part with my crumpled but unfinished report. Instead, he grabs my arm, pushing my sleeve up to my elbow. He inspects my bandages from that incident the other day. I am not able to stop him because of the tea I wield in one hand. Bastard.
"I do not mind you taking some slower days. Find your confidence again, and do not let anxiety regarding your mother interfere with your work." He is correct. I have been more sloppy with her in my mind. I just have a bad feeling after my duel with the Dark and the Lonely that day. She must know by now at least a little. I know she will come for me. The anticipation of her arrival looms over me, a specter haunting my every thought.
"Is this why you called me here? To reassure me?"
Elias, in a moment of uncharacteristic vulnerability, peels back a fraction of the bandages, his movements deliberate, contemplative. He emits a thoughtful hum."No, I am giving you a few days of paid leave."
"You what? Elias, no, I can work," panic rises into my voice, exposing me, " I promise I'll do better." The words hang in there. If I am not mistaken, he seems almost satisfied with me.
"You misunderstand. You are aware of the situation with Jane Prentiss, correct?"
"Of course. Martin's kept me very much in the loop. I've killed a few bugs for him."
The reassurance brings a subtle tightening of the bandages he had lifted. Elias, with a physician's precision, tends to the physical and emotional wounds alike. "Things are going to be a little more dangerous the next few days. It would be better for you to stay home."
The question slips out, a loose thread escaping between my fingers: "Are you worried about me?"
"This is merely one situation that does not suit you. I will expect you back at work after it is over."
"Understood. Am I leaving early today too?"
"You can stay the rest of today, and before you get a chance to whine, I will drive you home again." He has to be worried, or at least faking it. I will never know, I suppose. There is an edge in Elias's voice, a glimpse of concern maybe. The unspoken complexities linger in the office, woven into the shadows that have become the silent witnesses to our peculiar dynamic. I am treading into territory deeply unknown to me.
