Every Monstrous Thing

“Why didn’t you tell me about Brian?” asked Sirius as they walked towards Fifth Harbor.

“I didn’t need to,” Mary said.

Sirius scoffed, then whispered more to himself than anything, “You should’ve told me.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, Sirius,” Mary muttered.

“Do you think I’m dirty too?”

“Do you have a bullet in your gut?”

“No.”

“There you go.”

They were reaching Fifth Harbor now, where Mary had another job to do. There was a cool chill in the air, which seemed to echo Sirius’s still bitter mood and was turning the dull throb in her leg into a sharper sting. Despite this, however, she was somehow feeling…positive. The Black Tips had been bothering them for weeks, and now she’d finally made her move and come out victorious, hopefully forcing them back into the shadows for a while.

Speaking of the shadows, Lily was hiding in them above her and Sirius. Mary looked up, her eyes meeting Lily’s instantaneously. Sirius glared at her then followed her gaze. Lily dropped down soundlessly and stared at Mary.

Normally Mary didn’t mind the silence, but Lily’s had a way of making you feel like you were being ripped apart from the inside out.

Mary raised her eyebrows.

“You didn’t send anyone to Rue du Parc.”

“I didn’t,” said Mary.

“What if Dolohov doesn’t get there–”

“What does it matter? There’s no fire.”

Lily gaped, then shut her mouth promptly. “But the sirens…”

“Improv.”

“Ah,” Lily said, nodding, probably mentally kicking herself.

“So you were bluffing,” Sirius said.

“When everyone knows you’re a monster, you needn’t waste time doing every monstrous thing.”

“So why did you even agree to meet tonight, if you knew it was a setup?” Sirius asked.

“I’d say it was a success, actually. Don’t you agree?”

“Well, we were almost killed.”

“Look, the Black Tips emptied their coffers for nothing, we’ve reestablished our control over Fifth Harbor, and we’re all fine. I’d say that’s a lovely evening.”

“You need to look at a dictionary,” muttered Sirius.

“How long have you known about Brian,” asked Lily.

“Just a few weeks,” said Mary, “I suppose we’re going to be short staffed now. We should let Rojakke go too, while we’re at it.”

“Why? There’s no one as good as him at the tables.”

“Anybody can find their way around a deck of cards. Rojakke is getting too quick, he’s skimming.”

“But he’s a good dealer,” Sirius said, “and he’s got a family to provide for. Why don’t you just give him a warning, take a finger.”

“But then he wouldn’t be a good dealer anymore, would he?”

Whenever a dealer was caught skimming money from a gambling hall, their boss would take their pinkie finger. It threw off their balance, forced them to relearn how to shuffle, and let future employers know to watch them. But it also made them clumsy at the tables, too focused on the mechanics of shuffling instead of watching the players. In other words, it made them bad at the only two parts of their job.

Lily’s disapproval was ebbing off of her in waves. Mary took a deep breath, that was her problem.

“Greed is your God, Mary.”

“No, Lily, Greed is my servant.”

“Then what God do you serve?”

“Whoever is inclined to give me good fortune.”

Sirius snapped his fingers in agreement. Mary shot him a glare.

Sirius lowered his hands.

“You know the Gods don’t work that way,” Lily pressed.

“You know I don’t really care,” Mary retorted.

Lily did the same, mini scoff she always did when she was annoyed. Even though she was mostly cloaked in shadows, Mary could picture her expression as perfectly as if sunlight was radiating from her. Despite everything that had happened to Lily, she still believed in her Ravkan Saints. Mary almost respected her for it, but she’d never resist the opportunity to rile her up about it.

“How did you know I’d get to Diggle in time?” Lily asked.

Ah. Changing the subject.

“Why wouldn’t you have?”

“You could’ve given me more warning.”

“I think she speaks for all of us when she says that,” added Sirius.

Mary ignored Sirius’s remark, his bad mood would go away after a few drinks and an open tab for gambling.

“I thought your saints would appreciate the challenge,” she said to Lily.

Lily was silent for a moment, then from somewhere above them Mary heard her say, “Men mock the Gods until they need them, Mary.”

Then she was gone.

“Go back to the Phoenix Club, Sirius,” Mary said, turning to him, “There’s a line of credit waiting for you. Play till morning or until your luck runs out, whichever comes first.”

“Another bribe?” he asked skeptically.

“Maybe. What can I say, I’m a creature of habit.”

“Yeah, well luckily for you, I am too.” Then he hesitated, “Are you sure you want to be alone? Dolohov’s boys are bound to be pretty angry after tonight.”

“I’m pretty sure I can handle it,” Mary said, waving him off. Then she turned her back on him just as she had to Dolohov and limped into the night.

She walked for a minute or two before realizing she wasn’t alone. It wasn’t Lily, which meant it wasn’t anyone good. She had decided to cut through a small alley that was solely lit by the moon’s reflection off of the murky canal splitting through the alley.

A man’s silhouette appeared at the head of the alley.

Mary paused, listening, then called out, “What do you want?”

The silhouette didn’t answer, it simply lunged at her. She swung her cane at it, but it soared through nothing but air. She stumbled with the force of her miscalculated swing. The man was now in front of her, and his fist collided with her jaw. Mary’s head exploded with pain, but she swung her cane again towards the man. Again, it hit nothing until it reached the wall.

Then it was ripped out of her hands by someone on her right. Were there multiple of them?

And then someone stepped through the wall. Between the pain and the impossibility of what she just witnessed, Mary’s brain felt like it had been rebooted and/or split in half.

Shameful fear was rising in her gut. Ghosts, she thought furiously, her childhood fears coming back to her. Perhaps Jordie had come back for her after all. It was better than the alternative.

The figures encroached upon her before jabbing a needle into her neck.

Idiot, she thought to herself before losing consciousness.

~~~~~~

Ammonium. That was the first thing she smelt when she woke up. Her eyes snapped open and she saw a man in front of her waving salts under her nose. He was wearing a white lab coat.

“Get away from me,” she rasped.

The medik glared, returning the salts to his pocket. Mary was strapped to a chair with her arms behind her back. Even her legs were bound.

She was still groggy from whatever she was injected with, but she did notice she was not in the cheap barrel flash of a rival gang’s den that she was expecting to be in. No, she was in a room lined with mahogany panels, shelves lined with antique and special editions of books, leaded windows, and what was probably an authentic Ravenclaw. Other luxurious oil paintings lined the walls as well. There was a man sitting at an intricate mahogany desk in the black, fitted suits of merchers. The same suits that Mary wore. She had once told Lily she did it to mock them, because the only difference between a thief and a mercher is that they had found a way to make their theft legal. Also she couldn’t stand the typical barrel flash of bright colors and fake jewels.

There was one problem: if this was his house, why were there three armed aurors standing at the door?

Maybe she was under arrest, which wouldn’t be a problem. She had information on every judge, bailiff, and high councilman in Ketterdam thanks to Lily. Between that and her own escape skills, she’d be out of her cell by midnight.

That led her to another problem: she was in a chair, not in a cell.

She elected to stare down the man in front of her, things were slowly clearing up. The man looked to be in his forties, with slicked back brown hair in a concerted effort away from his forehead. His eyes were small and looked bored and yet stern as they stared directly at her.

“Ms MacDonald, I am glad to see you’re awake. I hope you’re not feeling too poorly.”

“I feel fine,” she ground out.

The mercher stood and walked towards her, his enormous and authentic ruby pin glinting in the moonlight. She made a mental note to steal that ruby pin and jab it through his eyes. He’d still get to wear something ruby. His golden watch also had carvings of wolves along it, and the buttons of his waistcoat were literal golden wolf heads. Mary knew all the merchant house symbols of Kerch, and the Lupin’s was ruby and wolves.

The man was standing above her now.

“Lupin,” she said as a cheery way of greeting.

The man nodded subtly, “So you know me.”

“Of course I do,” said Mary. “You’re one of the merchers always trying to clean up the barrel.”

“I simply try to give good men some honest work,” he replied.

“And the difference between wagering at the Phoenix Club and speculating at the Exchange is…?”

“One is theft and the other is commerce.”

“When men lose their money, it gets difficult to tell them apart.”

“The barrel is a den of filth, vice, violence–”

“Do you have any idea how many of your ships have gone out from Ketterdam, never to return?”

“Excuse me?”

“One in five, Lupin. One out of every five ships you send out of the Ketterdam harbor searching for coffee, felix, silks, and in other words more money are lost at sea. Lost to storms, pirates, icebergs, God knows what else. One out of every five crews die, their bodies sunken to the bottom of the sea for the fish to dine on. I don’t think you want to talk to me about violence.”

“I don’t think a piece of barrel trash such as yourself is in any position to battle ethics.”

She rolled her eyes, as if she’d expected any differently anyways. She was just making time to figure out or get him to reveal where the hell she was. Mary had memorized the layout of Lupin’s house, despite never officially meeting the man, so she knew that wherever she was was not in his mansion.

“So why am I here, if not to philosophize?” she asked, “Personally, I think we could write a charming philosophical book together. A true compare and contrast type of novel, if you know what I mean. People would love it.”

“Shut up, MacDonald,” Lupin spat, “I have a proposition for you. Or shall I say, the council does.”

“I had no idea that the council began all of its propositions with beatings. I am so glad I never became a mercher.”

“Aren’t we all, but no. You should consider that a warning, and a demonstration.”

A demonstration. She thought back to the ghosts in the alley. Jordie’s name shot to the forefront of her mind. She almost physically kicked herself. Not Jordie, she reminded herself. Just a reminder of what happens when one let themself get too positive, too victorious.

“And why is the merchant council making me a proposition?”

Lupin sat back on his desk and picked up a file then rifled through it. Reading from it, he said, “You were first arrested at ten.”

Mary nodded, “Ah yes, good times.”

“Then twice again that year, another two times at eleven, then the aurors grabbed you at a gambling hall when you were fourteen, and you haven’t served time since.”

She nodded again. Let the record show, Mary MacDonald learned from her mistakes. Nobody had been able to get anything on her in three years.

After it became evident that Lupin was waiting for her to reply, Mary said, “I cleaned up. I found honest work in a life of craftsmanship and prayer.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Lupin snapped, slamming the file shut.

So, he was more likely than not religious, if this abrupt flash of anger meant anything.

She added that to the list of everything she knew about Lyall Lupin - he was a prosperous mercher and widower, but he recently remarried to a young woman not much older than Mary herself, and he was religious. She wondered how Ghezen felt about his and his wife’s age gap. Oh, and how could she forget about the mystery surrounding Lupin’s son.

He picked the file back up, “Let’s see, you run the books for prize fights, horses, your own games of chance…basically anything a person could gamble on in your club, which you’ve been floor boss at for over two years. You’re the youngest person to ever run a betting shop, and you’ve doubled its profits in that time. You are a blackmailer –”

“I broker information.”

“A con artist –”

“I prefer ‘a creator of opportunity'.’”

“A pimp and a murderer –”

“I don’t use women like that, and I only kill with a cause.”

“And what cause would that be?”

“Profit, same as you.”

Lupin sighed, “How do you get your information, MacDonald?”

“I’m something of a lockpick.”

“You must be a very talented lockpick.”

“Oh, I am. You see, every person is a safe, with their secrets and desires locked inside. Some might prefer using brute force to open it, but I’ve always preferred a gentler approach – figuring out the combination, the right pressures at the right times. It’s like a puzzle, and it’s a delicate thing.”

“Do you frequently speak in metaphors, Miss MacDonald?”

“What metaphors?”

She jumped out of her chair at that moment, on top of Lupin before the chains finished clattering to the floor. She bunched his shirt in her left hand and put a letter opener to his throat with her right. Her leg was screaming with the sudden movement, especially after being chained to the chair but her senses seemed to have awakened with a weapon in her hand (and the victory of getting out of the chains).

All of Lupin’s aurors were facing her now with their weapons ready, but they couldn’t do anything with a blade at their boss’s throat.

“Tell me,” she whispered into his ear, “how to get out of here or I am taking you out of this window with me.”

“I think I can change your mind,” Lupin said back.

Mary pressed the letter opener into his throat, just enough to draw a steady but inconsequential flow of blood.

“I don’t care who you are or how big your rubies are, you don’t take me from my own streets, and you don’t try and make deals with me while I’m in chains.”

“Hestia,” Lupin called.

And then the phantom, the ghost, Jordie, whatever it was, came back. A girl walked through the library wall, pale as death and in a blue tidemakers’ kefta that was too big for her and had a red and gold pin that signified her ties to Lupin.

This had to be an effect of the drugs, not even grisha could walk through walls. Or maybe it was some sort of illusion, like the teapots and doves or the girls cut in half over at East Stave.

“I know you’re curious, MacDonald,” Lupin whispered to her, “Let me go and I’ll explain.”

She refocused on the situation at hand, “I think you are perfectly capable of explaining right where you are.”

“If you say so,” Lupin said, then he explained, “You are witnessing the effects of felix felicis. It is a variant of its harmless counterpart, felix. Felix felicis, however, is most definitely not harmless.”

“So you did drug me?” Mary asked.

“No, Miss MacDonald, not you,” he clarified, gesturing to Hestia.

Mary took a deeper look at poor Hestia, who was in fact trembling uncontrollably with dark circles beneath his darting eyes.

“We can talk about this in more depth and in a more civilized fashion, if you’d like. I’ll even give you a pistol.”

“Fine,” Mary said, “A pistol and my cane.”

Lupin nodded to his guards, one of whom walked out the door (thankfully) and then returned with Mary’s cane and a gun.

“The gun first, and slowly,” Mary ordered.

The guard did so. Mary weighed and cocked it in her hand before tossing the letter opener back on to the desk and taking her cane, which brought her infinitely more security than the pistol ever could.

Lupin took a few steps back from Mary’s loaded gun. They both seemed inclined to continue standing, so he started with his story.

“Felix felicis was first created by Bartemius Crouch. He sent some of it to the Merchant Council from Shu Han, seeking to defect. He sent us a sample in order to prove the drug’s effects, so we fed it to three grisha, one from each order.”

“Happy volunteers?”

“Indentures. The first two were a fabrikator and a healer belonging to Councilman Weasley. Hestia is a tidemaker, she’s mine, of course.”

Of course. The name Weasley, though, it sounded familiar.

“You see, an ordinary tidemaker could control currents and summon water from the air or a nearby source, but with amortentia, they could alter their own state – or the state of something else – between solid, liquid, gas, and back again.”

“Such as a wall?” Mary inferred.

“Such as a wall,” Lupin confirmed.

“How?”

“It’s hard to know. You know the amplifiers that grisha wear?”

“Yeah.”

“They only amplify a grisha’s power –”

“Obviously, it’s in the name.”

Lupin chuckled, “But felix felicis will alter a grisha’s perception.”

“Ok…”

“Grisha manipulate matter on a fundamental level. They call it the Small Science. With felix felicis, their small science becomes even more precise and powerful. In theory, felicis is a stimulant just like its ordinary cousin, but with the special ability to sharpen and hone a grisha’s senses, which in turn sharpen and hone their powers, which in turn makes things possible that simply shouldn’t be.”

“And what would it do for the regular bastards like you and me?”

Lupin visibly flinched at being lumped in with Mary. My God. But he answered anyway, “It would be absolutely lethal. An ordinary nervous system couldn’t tolerate even the smallest dose of felicis.”

Stellar.

“And you said you gave it to three grisha, what can the others do?”

Lupin moved for a drawer, Mary lifted her gun, raising her eyebrows.

“Easy, now,” Lupin said, and with exaggerated slowness, he opened the drawer and pulled out a huge lump of gold. “This used to be lead,” he announced.

“You’re joking.”

“You don’t have to believe me, but I saw the fabrikator take a piece of lead in his hands and return this moments later.”

“Are you sure it’s real?”

“It has the same melting point, the same weight, density, and malleability as gold. If there is a difference, we couldn't find one. Feel free to test it yourself, of course.”

Mary took the gold, tucking her cane under her shoulder. It was a heavy lump, and she slipped it into her pocket. Real gold or not, she’d be a fool not to sell it for a small fortune.

“How do I know you didn’t just import that from Ravka, or make your own imitation?”

“I’d love to show you the fabrikator himself, but I’m afraid he isn’t doing too well.”

Mary’s attention was brought back to Hestia’s sickly, shaking frame.

“Ok, we’ll say that you’re not doing some cheap magic tricks. Why do you need me?”

“Have you heard about Shu Han suddenly being able to pay off its debts to Ravka with a sudden influx of gold? Or the assassination of a trade ambassador from Novyi Zem? What about documents being stolen from a military base in Ravka?”

Mary actually hadn’t heard about the last part, but she nodded nonetheless.

“We believe these events were all the work of grisha under the influence of felix felicis. Just, think for a moment about the gravity of this, Miss MacDonald. You think you’re good at getting in and out of fortresses, what about grisha who can walk through walls, materialize and dematerialize at will. No place would ever be safe again. People with the ability to make gold out of any other, worthless material…economies worldwide would collapse.”

“Yes, that’s…not great, but you still haven't told me what you want from me, Lupin. Do you want me to steal a shipment, the formula?”

“No, I need you to steal the man himself.”

“You want me to kidnap Bartemius Crouch?”

“I want you to save him. When we received his sample and message saying he wanted to defect about a month ago, he expressed concerns about his government’s plans for felix felicis. We agreed to help him, we even set up a rendezvous point, but there was trouble once we got there.”

“With the Shu?”

“No, with the Fjerdans.”

Mary’s eyebrows furrowed. “Why can’t you send your own agents after him?”

“Let’s just say the diplomatic situation with Fjerda is…delicate. It is essential for our government not to be tied to this in any way.”

“And what makes you think he’s still alive? With the fjerdan’s hatred of grisha, they’d never let knowledge of this drug get out.”

“We have sources saying that he is alive and being held captive,” Lupin paused before adding, “in Azkaban.”

Mary’s eyes widened. She gaped at him for half a second before laughing.

“Well, Lupin, I must say that this little chat, getting knocked out and chained to a chair, everything really, has been so lovely, I truly appreciate it. Now, if you could have one of your lackeys show me to the door, I’ll be sure to repay your generous hospitality in no time.”

“We’ll offer you five million galleons.”

She scoffed, “Oh, please. I know this must be shocking to you, but we barrel rats value our lives just as much as you do.”

“Ten million?”

“What is the point of a fortune I won’t be alive to spend?” She started to walk away undismissed, pissed that this asshole had wasted so much of her time and given her a headache with his idiocy and his drugs.

“Twenty,” Lupin countered.

Shit.

She paused, turning slightly, “Twenty million galleons?”

Lupin nodded solemnly.

“I’d need to convince a team to walk with me into this suicide mission. That won’t come cheap.” This wasn’t entirely true, there actually were many people in the barrel who’d be gleeful to walk into a suicide mission, but she did need competent people. And it was fun to bargain.

“In what world is twenty million galleons cheap?”

“Nobody has ever breached Azkaban before.”

“And that’s why we need you. There is a strong possibility that Bartemius Crouch is dead or already gave up his secrets to the Fjerdans, but even if that’s true, we think we have enough time to act before the felicis hits and devastates the market.”

“But if the Shu have the formula –”

“Crouch said he was able to mislead his superiors long enough to keep the exact formula secret. We think they’re operating with whatever he left behind.”

Crouch said. We think. Was this man sure about anything?

The answer was no, even if Lupin would tell her yes if she’d asked. But Mary wasn’t sure either. She didn’t know anything about espionage or governmental politics, but she did know how to pull off a heist. Even if it was the most well protected place on the planet, how different could it be from another elaborate safe? Nevertheless, she’d need a specialized team – one that was desperate enough not to walk away from the strong possibility of death but skilled enough to be as useful as possible to her. A team that she knew enough about to be sure (as sure as she ever could be) that they wouldn’t turn on her.

And if they managed it…even once Lucius Malfoy got his cut, it’d be more than enough to set the dream that had been burning in her chest since crawling out of that freezing harbor a long time ago into motion. It was enough to change everything, to pay off her debts to Jordie.

And the benefits of having the Kerch council owe her were nothing to laugh at either. Plus everything that it would do for her reputation in the barrel – which wasn’t bad as is – but having infiltrated the world’s most impenetrable prison and snatched her target from right under the military and nobility’s noses would give her the edge she needed to get out from under Lucius Malfoy and start her own operation.

It was almost too good to be true.

“Why me, Lupin?”

“How old are you, Miss MacDonald?”

“Seventeen.”

“We both know you’re no more of an honest woman than you were an honest girl, but you haven’t been arrested since you were fourteen. You don’t get caught. There was also the matter of my Ravenclaw.”

“Come again?”

“Six months ago, an authentic Ravenclaw oil painting worth nearly a hundred thousand galleons disappeared from my home.”

“How awful,” Mary said sympathetically.

“It was, especially since I had been repeatedly assured that my gallery was impenetrable with foolproof locks.”

“I think I remember reading about that.”

“You do. You see, pride is quite the perilous thing. I was so eager to show off my acquisitions and how protected they were. But somehow, even with all my safeguards, despite alarm dogs and the most loyal guards in Ketterdam, my Ravenclaw is gone.”

“Condolences.”

“It has yet to surface on the market.”

“Maybe your thief already had a buyer lined up.”

“Perhaps, but I have a feeling the thief took it just to prove that they could.”

“Well that’s a rather stupid reason, don’t you think?”

“Well who can guess at the motives of thieves?”

“Definitely not me.”

“Well, what I do know about this Azkaban heist is that whoever stole my Ravenclaw is the perfect person for this job.”

“Sounds like you should hire her then – or him, them.”

“Indeed, but I suppose I have to settle for you.”

They stared into each other's eyes for a while, Lupin searching hers for an admission of guilt. He’d just have to search for an eternity.

“So do we have a deal?”

“What happened to the corporalnik?”

“Excuse me?”

“You said that you gave a drug to a grisha from each order. Hestia’s a tidemaker - the etherealnik, the fabrikator who made the gold was your materialnik, but who was your corporalnik? I won’t do this without all the information, Lupin.”

“Very well then. If you would follow me, Miss MacDonald.”

Cautiously, she followed Lupin out of the library, keeping an eye on the guards as she exited the room. The halls were dripping with mercher austereness: the paneled, dark wooden walls with intricate and yet bland carvings, the black and white tile floors. Everything the picture of restraint and craftsmanship, and yet all the rooms were empty. White sheets were draped over the furniture and the curtains were all drawn shut. It was like nobody lived there, and maybe nobody did.

She remembered where she had heard the name Weasley before. There had been some sort of incident at Councilman Weasley’s mansion this past week. There were rumors that it was a firepox outbreak or a gruesome murder, but not even Lily had been able to learn anything concrete. The whole place was cornered off and crawling with aurors inside and out. That must be where she was now.

“We’re at Councilman Weasley’s house,” she said to Lupin, “Wasn’t this place quarantined?”

“It was, but what happened here poses no danger to us, and if you do your job, it never will be.”

Something with the felix felicis, then. At least it wasn’t anything to do with the plague, which at least gave her a modicum of comfort.

At least it did, until they walked into the freshly manicured garden, the smells of fresh flowers and grass overpowering her. Before she could even wonder at the fact that the garden was still being treated after everyone in the house was dead, Mary found herself walking in the tall grasses in summer heat, calling after her big brother instead of walking through the canal-side garden of a rich merchant. Because this was her life now, not the one on her old farm.

She really needed some coffee, or another punch to the jaw, or both.

Instead, Mary focused on where Lupin was leading her: a boathouse facing the canal. One auror was guarding the door, but she let her and Lupin pass through without question.

As the door opened, Mary was hit with the acrid smells of human fluids and dirt. She covered her mouth and nose with a sleeve as her stomach churned. The room she was in now was lit by two glass lanterns. There was a group of guards standing in front of a large iron box - some of them wearing the black auror uniforms and others the maroon colors of the Weasley family. Glass was shattered around their feet. Inside the box, Mary could see another auror in front of an overturned table and chairs. Each and every one of the guards stood in the same position with the same blank expressions.

There was a young boy in a black uniform on the floor, drenched in his own fluids.

“We’ve lost another one,” Lupin remarked apathetically.

He gave orders for the guard outside and other members of his guard to come in and take the corpse. They did so, and none of the other guards gave any sort of reaction.

Mary decided to test her luck, she waved her hand in front of the nearest guard, a young girl with dark skin and long braids in a ponytail who couldn’t be older than 20. No reaction. She lifted her gun so it was right against the girl’s forehead, still no reaction.

“She’s as good as dead,” said Lupin, “They all are. You could shoot, blow her brains out, do anything you wanted and she wouldn’t react. Neither would any of the others.”

Revulsion set into her gut and she lowered the gun.

“What is this?”

“The effects of felix felicis on a corporalnik, like you asked for. She was a healer, not a heartrender, so Councilman Weasley thought he was making the safer choice by testing it on her.”

“Clearly not,” Mary said, “So what happened, you just gave her the drug and she killed Weasley?”

“Not exactly,” Lupin said as he closed the door and they began their walk back to the house, “We know that within seconds of taking the drug, she was able to take control of the guards inside the chamber, and then somehow used them to control everyone else as well.”

“So you give a corporalnik felix felicis and it leads to mind control?”

“Why wouldn’t it? The brain is just another organ, and now with the extra stimulation from felix felicis, grisha have the power to control all the electrical impulses in it. Look at the guards here, they were told to wait, and that’s all they’ve been doing.”

Mary looked back at the guards, studying them under this new lens. Lupin was right, their stances were anticipatory, and what looked like blank expressions were actually watchful ones. They were waiting, ready.

“Where’s the corporalnik now?” she asked.

“She managed to escape and get a small watercraft that was presumably headed back for Ravka, but we found her body washed up on the shore near Third Harbor. We think she drowned trying to get back to the city.”

“Why would she come back?”

“For the felix felicis.”

“It’s that addictive?”

“Oh yes. It only takes one dose, and once the drug has run its course through the body, it leaves it incredibly weakened. But imagine if you were a grisha, Miss MacDonald, already possessing more power than ordinary people could dream of, and then your senses and connection with that power were turned up by an infinite percent. But then that high, that knowledge, that power and connectedness was all ripped away from you in a day. Wouldn’t you want it back?”

She supposed so, but she also wanted a lot of things back.

“What about Councilman Weasley? What happened to him?”

Lupin sighed, “After she commanded him to open the door, she ordered him to cut his thumb from his own hand. We only know about it because a kitchen boy had been there. She didn’t do anything to him, but he told us about how Weasley didn’t even flinch while he cut off his thumb.”

“Is he dead?” Mary asked. She felt pity for the guy having some grisha rummaging through his brain like that, but she couldn’t help feeling like he got what was coming to him. During the Ravkan Civil War, many grisha fled to Kerch by becoming indentures, not realizing the mistreatment they were about to face and that it was truly a fancy term for slavery.

“No. He’s in the same state as these men, so some might say he would’ve been better off dead, but he’s in the country with his family now.”

She nodded. They were at the front door now, which meant it was time to make their agreement.

“Thirty million galleons,” she proposed.

“We said twenty!” sputtered Lupin.

“You said twenty, and you’re desperate,” she gestured to the boathouse, “for good reason.”

“The council will kill me.”

“The council will sing your praises once Bartemius Crouch is safe…wherever you’re intending on putting him.”

“Novyi Zem.”

“Put him in a teapot for all I care.”

Lupin’s look of disgust was evident, but he just said, “You have seen what this drug is capable of, and I promise you that this is only the beginning. If felix felicis is unleashed on the world, there will be war, and this drug will be the main weapon of it. Our trade lines will be destroyed and our markets will collapse. Kerch won’t survive it, let alone the barrel. So this means our hopes lie with you, Miss MacDonald. If you fail, the rest of the world will suffer for it.”

“Oh I completely understand, Lupin. If I fail, I don’t get paid.”

Lupin’s disgust only deepened. “Don’t be disappointed, Lupin,” she told him, “Imagine if you’d found out this barrel rat had a patriotic streak. You might actually have had to uncurl your lip and treat me with something along the lines of respect.”

“You have my many thanks, in that case,” Lupin muttered disdainfully as he held open the door. “Although I must wonder what a girl with your intelligence could have done under different circumstances.”

Mary sighed. So did she, sometimes, but it wasn’t worth the time or the effort to imagine her life in different scenarios. Scenarios that almost always had Jordie in them, because she knew the one place where her life had gone wrong.

“I’d just be stealing from a higher class of people,” she shrugged, and then reminded him, “thirty million galleons.”

Lupin nodded, “Thirty million galleons. The deal is the deal.”

He held out his perfectly manicured hand, Mary took it with her gloved one.

“The deal is the deal.”

“Why do you wear the gloves, Miss MacDonald?”

“I’m sure you’ve heard the stories.”

“There are many of them, and each manages to be worse than the last.”

Mary had heard them too, how could she not have? Part of her found them amusing, if she was being honest. MacDonald’s hands are stained with blood. MacDonald’s hands are covered in scars. MacDonald had claws instead of fingers because she’s part demon. A single touch of MacDonald’s bare skin would cause you to wither and die.

“Pick your favorite,” Mary said as strode into the darkness, “They’ve all got some truth to them.”