Ben sat far too close to the head of the table for his liking. And it was a very long table, seating representatives from far too many Orders for his liking. On either side of him, Knights Ignis-Sacer, of course. They occupied the right side of the head of the table. Ben was especially thankful for Olivia sitting next to him, her intense green eyes taking in the whole situation with more political wit than he knew himself to possess.

One group down from them were two representatives of the Guardians of Carcosa, wearing their usual three-piece suits and sunglasses. A man and a woman, as always. Young. As always.

Down from the Guardians sat the Order of Set, three Arabic magicians, two female, and one transplant male of vaguely German features. They dressed in no particular fashion between them, but were all very presentable.

Unlike the Bloodknight to their right, a particularly talented abjurer by the name of Tristan De La Riva, whose sense of fashion matched that of the rest of his brotherhood, and that meant armor at all times. Not even ceremonial armor, either. No, Ben was ninety-percent certain he spotted dried vampire blood on the breastplate.

Across from them, on the left of the table’s end, sat the two Sisters of the Enclave, high ranking members of the Enclave of Saint Brigid. Both were, of course, redheads. Both looked like they could mug Ben in a dark alley, but at least they were dressed like normal business people and not like medieval knights.

Up the table from them were four Rosicrucian Temple members, or in the modern times, members of the Crowleyan Circle. They wore the traditional golden robes that Ben knew damn well none of them wore anything else under. Enochian runes glowed upon their clothing and Ben always wondered who in their right mind would use Enochian rune magic when Futhark existed and was less likely to burst you like a grape if you made the conduit wrong.

The Crowleyan Circle offered him occasional glares. Not many people could claim both the rank of Magister and the rejection of that rank. Ben really hated angel magic, and as such, its practitioners seemed to hate him.

Next to the Crowleyan Circle, sat the Paladins of Terra, the militant, not-quite-rejected former arm of Ignis-Sacer. Like the Bloodknights, they loved their armor, but theirs gleamed with military pride. Golden breastplates, enchanted to the bloody gills, plumed helmets sitting in a perfect row on the table in front of them. It made Ben sick, and he found himself wishing to just be back out there doing field research on storm elementals and their connection to Void magic.

Damn you, Nicole, he thought.

And finally, across from the Knights Ignis-Sacer, sat the Order of the Maligned Faith. The Disciples of Rasputin. All of them wore matching ushankas. They were the entire reason this meeting had been called.

“No,” said Olivia, her eyes ablaze. “We deserve answers. All of us do.”

The Archbishop of Saint Grigori’s Dominion, the effective president of the OMF, leaned forward, steepling his fingers. “My darling,” he said, his accent thick. Steel-grey eyes beamed out from under busy gray eyebrows that matched the fur of his ushanka. “Is not so simple. A great deal of care has been placed into our operations and we would not disrupt them for simple misgivings like this.”

“Well,” said Olivia. “It’s an actual failure of your Order that has resulted in us even knowing that you were watching Seth Blackwell with a sleeper--”

“Ah, ah, this word… We do not use. Is imbedded asset.”

“Sleeper agent,” said Olivia, a slight growl to her voice.

“Eh, no matter,” said the Archbishop. “The point is, we, how do American’s say, fuck the dog.” He shrugged. “Our asset was authorized leave, and we had no way to know so many thing would happen on said leave. Is not like we were monitoring Mr. Blackwell’s every waking moment. Don’t worry. Asset will not leave Mr. Blackwell… Any more.”

“That’s not the issue,” said Olivia. “The issue is that you didn’t tell all of us you were monitoring some random US citizen, and it resulted in multiple civilian and government casualties.”

“We have saying,” said the Archbishop. “Not my monkeys, not my circus. You all might do well to listen.”

“No,” said Tristan from down the table, speaking with an Australian accent. “I think you lot need to listen. You’re damn right, you screwed the pooch. Now, ‘fess up and tell us why you’re watching Seth Blackwell. There’s too much going on with the Negative Plane right now for any of us to be giving a damn about secret projects. Especially…” He jabbed a finger at them. “With all that Positive Necromancy bollocks you lot are always on about.”

The Archbishop rolled his eyes. “Of course the Bloodknight is afraid of a little corpse-raising.”

“I’m sorry, mate,” said Tristan. “I don’t believe it was any of you cunts that killed Dracula, so why don’t you think about that before you throw some shade around, yeah?”

The woman from the Guardians of Carcosa spoke. Her speech was clipped, she was clearly educated outside of her magical studies, and probably spent a lot of time in a lot of different countries. “This is foolish. Stop the dick-measuring. Please. Archbishop, you know our Orders have worked together in the past on a very specific issue. All we want to know… Is this that issue?”

The Archbishop paused for one moment, just long enough that everyone picked up on it, but short enough no one could accuse him of it. “No. Is not. We know there are baseless rumors about past failings of the Order of Saint Grigori Rasputin. Is quite simply not what is going on. Seth is of interest to us, yes, but not because of that. He is… research project.”

“Then you should have no issue divulging the details,” said the Guardian.

“Actually, is small issue.” The Archbishop smiled. “Consular Arcana ruled this morning that the matter is sealed.”

“Oh, you’re fucking kidding me,” said the woman, dropped all of her decorum. “Then why did you agree to have this meeting?”

“So,” said the Archbishop, standing up. “That you would know where we all stand.” He nodded as his comrades stood with him. “Ladies, gentlemen. Until next time.” The Russians exited the room, leaving the rest of the magicians aghast.

Ben looked over to Olivia, who was actively glaring after the OMF. “Mate,” he said. “That’s not good.”

“No,” she said. “It’s not. I’m just pissed off we flew in for this. Customs was a pain in the ass.”

Ben nodded. “Not right of them.”

“No,” she said. “Not at all.” She growled, pressing her fingertips to her temples. “Ugh, I just want to get a drink.”

Ben placed a hand on her shoulder. “Then come on. Hotel bar awaits.”

***

Ben and Olivia sat at the hotel bar. The area here was gilded, everything golden-themed. The hotel had to have been going for a Great Gatsby look. Ben looked over to Olivia as she stared glumly at her gin and tonic.

“I don’t even like gin,” she muttered.

“You really think this place has craft beer or cider?”

“No…”

“Come on, bottoms up, then.”

Olivia drained it. Ben motioned for the bartender to keep pouring. As a second drink was made, Ben spoke. “Not much can be done about it, is there?”

She shook her head. “We might have had a case if we’d been smarter about Nicole. Seth might even be here with us instead of stuck in California dealing with…” She waved her hand off to the side. “All that nonsense.”

“He’ll deal with it though. Bloke’s strong.”

“Very.” She took the new gin and tonic and drank about half of it before setting it down. “I just can’t believe the Russians.”

“No one ever can. Secretive bastards.”

She raised her glass to that and took another drink.

“Maybe there’s hope.”

“I don’t think so,” she said. “Russians are going to sit on him until something bad happens.”

“No,” said Ben. “See, I think that Seth is going to reach out to us again.”

“Why?”

“Power-gravity.”

“Oh. Right.” She blew air out her nose and the glass frosted just a little. “He’s got that in spades.”

“And it will keep getting him into trouble until he controls his power. And, he’s clearly shown that we are the first people he reaches out to.”

“But we screwed him at All Hallow’s.”

“Couldn’t be helped.” Ben finished his drink. Olivia did the same and the bartender came back over to pour the third round.

“So we just wait?”

“Never were good at that, were you?”

She shook her head. “Not a bit.”

“Well,” said Ben. “You’ve got your experiments until then. I want to get back to my research.”

“For someone who hates being courted for being a Voidmage, you sure like Void research.”

The bartender gave them a strange look. Oliva smiled. “It’s a video game.” The bartender gave a slow nod and moved away to tend to others.

“Sure,” said Ben. “I love Voidmagic. It’s the purest form, really.”

“It’s just fancy translocation.”

“You take that back!” Ben scrunched his face in mock anger at his friend.

“It is! You just take an alternate route.”

“Oh, but there’s so much more to it!” Ben looked around. “Don’t think the hotel bar wants to hear me rave about it, though.”

“Smart.” She took a sip. “So that’s it. We wait?”

Ben nodded. “Right. And Seth will come calling. I imagine he’s going to have a quiet month or two and then bam! He’s going to attract a vampire or Jinn or something right to his doorstep. You just wait and see. And then, then we use the opportunity to prove the OMF isn’t taking care of their wards.”

Olivia raised her glass. “To subterfuge?”

“Cheers,” said Ben. “To subterfuge.”

And the two friends drank the night away.