Tea, Truffles, and Terrors from Beyond the Void

“Too late. It’s delic-... You must think it’s delicious as well. Good taste.”

Ced grinned, nodding to his half-eaten cupcake. “Of course it’s delicious. I allow this place some autonomy, but I insist that I must taste test all of the goodies before they’re served to our customers.” He smirks smugly. “Simply quality assurance, obviously.” Not at all because he just wants to eat all of the sugary confections his master bakers can possibly create.

“Much better than Theodore. Is being a doppel not tedious? And I suppose the hair does make you stand out in a crowd, so I suppose it is good to hide away.”

“It’s not the doppel part that’s tedious, it’s keeping all my aliases running.” Ced shrugged, obviously not too bothered. “And I do enjoy my hair and the personal customization options open to me.” To demonstrate, he held out his hands, fingers splayed, palms down. Slowly, the upper level of keratin on his nails shifted to imitate the iridescent wings of the blue morpho.

There was a snort of laughter from behind the counter, and without looking, Ced lifted one perfectly shimmering middle finger to Amy. “Priorities, Amy,” he pronounces. It sounds like an admonish, but Amy’s giggling doesn’t cease. With a sigh, Cedric shook his head at Isarquin. “She’s hopeless. She somehow thinks that me using my hard-gotten doppel abilities to do my own nails is frivolous.”

“Well, then.”

Ced put down his middle finger, becoming serious.

“Where should we even begin with all of this? What do we know? A wolf bigger than anything I’ve ever seen before. A rock that grants visions of said wolf. We need to find out what this is, and posthaste.”

Leaning in, Ced propped one elbow on the table and leant his cheek against his fist. “We need more knowledge. I’ve had my butler prepare all my catalogues of artifacts back at my estate. I was planning to head there later tonight, after tea. But we need to warn the rest of the Board--even if we can’t say exactly what’s going on, they need to know in case we are taken out before we can ascertain anything further.”

Taken out by what or who, Ced had no idea. But paranoia had gotten him through seven hundred years, so he wasn’t about to stop now.

“I don’t suppose you’ve got a cloaking cloth anywhere? The chest and stone are back at my flat, so they’re hidden for now, but my cloaking blanket is…” It was at Ravensdale, cloaking some artifacts he definitely wasn’t allowed to have by the Headmistress’ standards but he wanted anyway. “...at one of my offices. If you don’t, we’ll have to take Rosalie.”

Rosalie would work to get them there, but she wasn’t nearly as stylish as Evelyn. She wasn’t a convertible, either.

“As for clues, I think we should focus on the wolf and those runes. Did you see them? They were everywhere. And we’ve got non-moving versions on the stone to double check, too. I didn’t recognize them, but we should be able to figure out at least some idea of what they are.” He took a bite of the cupcake, chewing thoughtfully. “We should hopefully be able to translate them and get some idea of what we’re up against. I can’t say I’m eager to visit that wolf again to find out. Being… mortal is worse than I remembered, somehow.”

“That’s the biggest lie I’ve ever heard. You just want to eat all of the sweet you can. Quality assurance, my left ear.”

Ced rolled his eyes at the gentle teasing. “If that’s the biggest lie you’ve ever heard, you obviously haven’t hung around me long enough.” Following Isarquin’s lead, he pulled off part of the cupcake and popped it into his mouth. “And I may be a liar, but I certainly do get my sugar fix.”

At Isarquin’s response to his appearance-altering capabilities, Cedric couldn’t withhold a smug smirk. It was flattering to have others fawn over his abilities, and he rarely got to display them in front of one who was even close to as stylish and fashionable as he.

“I believe you have your priorities in order, if it means anything.”

“It does, in fact.” Ced gave a curt nod. “Given your obviously quite acute sense of fashion, I’m flattered.”

But even Ced had to admit that discussions of fashion were not quite as important as discussions of the possibly world-ending giant wolf that they’d just encountered. Barely. He nodded to Isarquin’s words again. “I’ve got an aetheric transmitter in the basement. We can send out messages to all the other Board members. Encoded, of course. After that, we can head to my estate--unless you want to stop by your house and grab what texts you need. Then we can go through them all in one fell swoop.”

It’d be better to have Isarquin along for the ride, anyway. An exorcist would come in handy against demons, and plus, the elf wasn’t bad company. Wasn’t bad cannonfodder, either, but given how rare good company was, Ced supposed he’d try and keep things from coming to that.

His gut curled into a tighter knot, and Ced had to suppress a smile. He hadn’t felt this young--this fearful--in centuries. Apparently wolf-fighting was an admirable adrenaline kick. Just when he’d thought the world was getting boring, it shook things up a little. Good to keep him on his toes. He was getting as dull as the going-ons surrounding him.

For the first time in a long time, he felt like doing something stupid. It was a good feeling to have.

“Is ‘take Rosalie’ Cedric code for something questionable? I feel as though I need to be mildly concerned.”

So he didn’t get to play with Evelyn today. That was a shame, but it was alright. Rosalie was still a very nice ride, she just wasn’t… flashy. “No, no. She’s just one of my cars. Not my fun car, though. The car I take when I need to blend in.”

Nodding along to Isarquin’s assessment of the stone and their ability to study the runes, Ced tapped the pointer finger of his other hand on the table. “Keeping it asleep seems to be the trick, yes. Unfortunately, I’m not one to let sleeping dogs lie, no matter how oversized or wolfish they may seem. We’ll see--it may not even be necessary, if the stone’s runes have enough information in them to get us the answers we need.”

Ced grimaced a little, tracing the grain of the table’s wood with one blue fingernail. “Eugh. You naturals are lucky. Being mortal is the singular most despicable thing.” Mortals were weak. Nothing more than prey. He had gone to great lengths to assure his hide was tougher than the average human’s.

Sighing, he pulled off another piece of cupcake and chewed it as he thought. “I was really hoping to be able to sit for tea. Perhaps it’d be better to simply have tea later, at my estate. I’ve got a considerable selection there as well. Send a message to the rest of the Board, pick up your tomes, then get the stone in Rosalie and head to Ashgrove. Then we can read through everything, if we’ve got spare time perhaps go for a nice trot. And see what we can’t do about this wolf business. I’ve got possession-proof summoning circles, if we need to pull out a demon for interrogation. Sound alright?”

“Explain your ‘fun’ car to me, then, and why can’t you show off this evening? We’re just, you know, dealing with possibly world altering visions. It seemed real enough to warrant that assumption. WHy not draw attention while we’re busy researching into this?”

Ced’s pout only grows at this. “But Evelyn’s convertible,” he sighs. “And she’s beautiful. You haven’t lived until you’ve spun donuts in the CAFE front parking lot in a car more expensive than most of those agents’ net worth while blaring Avril Lavigne’s ‘What the Hell’ while wearing designer sunglasses and licking a lollipop as the executives shake their wrinkled fists at you. Not that I’ve done that, but.” He coughs lightly. “She’s fun, that’s what I’m saying.”

And that day had been fun, too. “It’s my birthday, I’m seven hundred and eleven years old now” somehow worked as an excuse. (No, it hadn’t. But it had been worth it.)

“It may be a long night. I’ve been in need of something like this.”

“Same,” Ced replied, quietly. It was less of a colleagues thing and more of a personal admission. “World’s gotten damned boring. About time I had something to fear. That wolf’s a great adrenaline kick.”

It was strange. He’d spent most of his life working to avoid ever being afraid again. But now that was over. He had his fingers in every pie, ears in every conspiracy and secret society, and a network of informants stretching across the world. Financial security, magical security, and job security, he had it all. Instead, now he was just… bored. He supposed he should’ve expected it, with immortality, but he had no desire to stop existing simply because the world wasn’t giving him anything to do. He’d make trouble if he had to. Stir the pot a little.

But that had been avoided with this imminent wolf issue.

“How long have you been around? I’m going to gather you’ve seen plenty, but I won’t dare a guess.”

At that, Ced chuckled. “Just over seven centuries,” he replied quietly. After all, Amy had no idea of his age. He knew she figured he was old, but he doubted she realized how old he was by her standards, and he wanted to keep her guessing. “And I’ve spent that time climbing my way to the top.” Ced had not been given immortality at birth. He’d had it rudely forced upon him--but he seized that opportunity by the throat.

“I dabble,” Ced responded to Isarquin’s query about Ritualism. “Honestly, I’m more of a Warlock, but only a fool would summon demons without some way to get rid of them. You don’t open a door without being able to close it.”

He stood. “Oh, yes. You’re always welcome here at the Catfé, now. I’ve had Amy put you in the books.” Chuckling, he downed the rest of his cupcake. “Arvenois? A cat, I presume?”

As much as he adored the creatures, Ced only had one cat. And she was… interesting. He kept her at his estate, where it was her duty to watch over his things.

Making his way to the counter, he pushed open the little swinging door and gestured for Isarquin to come through. “Amy, we’ll be in the basement. Business. Don’t come down.”

Amy grinned. “Right,” she replied. “Business.”

He frowned at her tone. “Pardon?” he asked.

She leaned in conspiratorially. “I saw you two talking,” she whispered, then leaned back and winked at him. “Go ahead and attend to your business. I’ll make sure no one follows you down, yeah?”

Ced regarded her for a moment. “You’re incorrigible.” He sighed and continued through the door to the back, gesturing for Isarquin to follow him down a set of stairs.



It wasn’t much later when they exited the Catfé. Amy looked equal parts mischievous and smug as they left together and headed towards the Underground, waving them goodbye with her fingers. Ced didn’t deign to reply.

The Tube was, as usual, crowded and gross. At least some of it was better than previous years. Grumbling a little, Ced swiped his card and stepped through, waiting for Isarquin before heading for the stairs. “Ilford, you said? Which line?” He didn’t know where Isarquin’s house was, so he had no idea which line they’d be taking.

Once they’d boarded the car, Ced opted to stand, simply holding onto one of the bars. The car was crowded, but not too--

Oh no. Ced’s pupils constricted and he sighed, turning to Isarquin.

“How is it that at my age, seeing teenagers I teach still makes me want to hide?” he asked. It was rhetorical, but he’d take an answer, honestly. “You see those two over there? Ravensdale scamps. I’m not even sure they’re supposed to be in London tonight. And I’m supposed to be out sick.” He smiled. There was a strange sort of affection to it, as if he might actually have gotten attached just a little to the miserable little humans.

Even a doppel could only be so many places at once.

“We’re going to be plenty busy.”

Oh, dear. Isarquin had decided it’d be a good plan to play along with Amy’s fun, had he? The poor elf. He didn’t know what he was getting into. He really had no idea.

“I haven’t any doubt of that!” Amy replied with a grin, watching them both go. Sticking her head in after them, she whisper-shouted from the doorway “Can I be a bridesmaid?!” before disappearing to return to tending the counter.

He decided he was not justifying that with an answer. He hadn’t been married in a century, and seeing as how there was no notable political, economic, or social gain from marrying this particular elf, Ced had no desire to enter into any sort of marriage with him. The only thing that marrying Isarquin would net Cedric was an exorcist on hand--and that was hardly worth a marriage, especially seeing as how they were working together already.

“Incorrigible is an understatement. Does she do this often?”

“It appears to be a lifestyle choice for her,” Cedric replied with a distasteful grimace.



Nodding, Ced followed Isarquin’s directions to take the Central line, coughing once to hide a laugh as the elf nearly bumps his head against one of the bars. “Another great thing: I can change my height,” he quips quietly.

However, Isarquin soon got him back, staring openly at the teenagers. “Oh, I see. So you’re playing hooky… And they’re sneaking out. How interesting. You are also a professor? Is there anything you don’t do?”

“I’ve got fingers in as many pies as I can find. Hardly a professor, though. I just teach high school students English nowadays. Can’t touch history, I’d rant too much.” And not about the things they’d want him to rant about, either.

“Hey! Hey, yes. Yes, you two. Come here.”

Cedric covered his face with his hand that wasn’t holding onto the bar, slumping forward. Now he’d have to act. Or, honestly, ‘act.’ He enjoyed being goofy and carefree around the students, but they had no idea that he was currently dealing with a possibly world-endangering wolf and therefore not in the mood for playing with children. And they thought he was batty. Which he was. But not in the way that he was batty around his CAFE students. They got a far more harmless Cedric.

That was, perhaps, why the two of them came over with little trepidation. He waved at them. Miranda Vale, daughter of the incredibly wealthy businessman Bartholomew Vale, and Aaron Jacobs, son of… well, nobody, really. Miranda’s blonde hair hung in thick curls, and when she smiled her cheeks formed perfect rosy circles. She was dressed in what was best described as business casual, a messenger bag over one shoulder. Aaron was… hmm. He was actually put together today. His hair had actually been combed. That was new.

Cedric grinned wickedly. Oh, he knew the reason for Aaron’s sudden turnabout. He’d known for a while now.

“Hi, Mr. Blacksilver!” Miranda greeted him with a big grin. Her happiness was authentic, but she swallowed nervously. Honestly, she was a bit of a goody two-shoes--not one of the ones who were annoyingly good to lord it over others or purposefully good to brown-nose authorities, but one that didn’t break rules simply because they were rules.

“Hello, Miranda,” Ced replied with a fond smile. “And Aaron.”

Aaron looked up for the ground and nodded at him.

“What are you doing here, Mr. Blacksilver?” Miranda asked. “We heard you were sick.”

“I could ask you the same, you know,” Ced retorted with a teasing grin. “Ravensdale has very strict travel rules for a reason. And I’m sure you’ve got homework to do. In Aaron’s case, I know for a fact.”

“Hey!” Aaron protested. “I’m--”

“Your essay on Hamlet is three months overdue. Might be four.” Ced quirked an eyebrow. Aaron’s mouth popped open to retort, but Ced cut him off. “And don’t give me that. I’m not in teacher mode, I don’t have to play nice. I’m well aware you’ve read the book and enjoyed it enough to buy your own copy.”

Aaron stared at him, frowning, mouth agape. “You creep,” he said at last. “How did you know that?”

Ced gave a bemused chuckle. “Please. I’m an English teacher. I frequent the bookstores. I saw you buying a very, very nice leather-bound copy of Hamlet when the class was only halfway through. After you sat in the cafe reading from it for an hour.” His smirk grew incredibly smug. “First Folio version, too. Full thing, hmm?”

The kid grumbled something, crossing his arms and looking away.

“As for why I’m here, I’m dealing with this fellow.” Ced used a thumb to point to Isarquin. “Old friend of mine.” It was true. Isarquin was old and might have been roughly considered his friend.

“Miranda Vale, Aaron Jacobs.” Ced gestured to the two kids in turn. “Meet..." Hmm, how to make Isarquin pay for calling over the teenagers? "Froggy McArseface. Froggy McArseface, meet Miranda Vale and Aaron Jacobs. Now, children, tell me why exactly I shouldn’t report you to Brigsby for travel violations?”

The train went around a turn, and Ced took the opportunity to gently lean towards Isarquin, hand outstretched and aiming for the elf's face to smoosh and interrupt him. "Oh I am so sorry I lost my balance," he said, completely authentically.

“Plus…”

Cedric raised an unimpressed eyebrow, as Isarquin leaned in closer.

“...men and women love it.”

At that, he simply chuckled. “Please. Don’t try to compete in attractiveness with a doppel. I can change my form to suit any person’s type--hair color, eye color, skin color, height, body size and shape, and, being stage four, I can play to practically all particular preferences. And as for charm...” Leaning in, Ced curled two fingers around Isa’s necktie, a smug smirk playing on his lips. “If you think I cannot get what I want, my dear, I may have to take it upon myself to demonstrate to you just how very wrong you are. Silver-tongued?” Giving a single bark of laughter, Ced pulled away, still grinning. He stuck his tongue out playfully, already having shifted the top layer of it into miniscule silvery scales. “Literally.”

Of course, then children showed up, and that meant he had to go back to being PG and not doing something that would be interpreted as flirting (as opposed to what it actually was, which was asserting his superiority) when he was supposed to be sick.

Ahhh… hmm. On second thought, maybe his pride had made him make some bad decisions today.

Oh well. It was obvious to anyone with eyes, or a brain, or any sense ever, actually, that he was exceptionally gay, and his students were very keen little buggers. Fortunately, they would put any silver-tongued nonsense they’d viewed down to illusions instead of its actual origin. Teenagers were not quite keen enough to break through his expertly crafted facade.

Fortunately, as he soon found out from their reactions, the students had been too busy hiding from him to view any compromising circumstances. Rumors would start anyway, of course, but he could handle that with his usual snark and awe tactics.

“Mr. Blacksilver said he recognized you and I just had to meet some of his students.”

Ced gave Isarquin a very unconvinced face. “Really,” he deadpanned.

Miranda, of course, just giggled. “I’m sorry for Mr. Blacksilver. He’s nice to us, sometimes.”

Aaron snorted at that. “Not really.”

“Sick? You didn’t tell me you were sick.”

“Of course, I’m absolutely--” Ced reached into a pocket and pulled out a pair of dollar sign bling sunglasses and slid them on. “--sick. Positively ill.”

Aaron covered his face with both his hands. “I utterly detest you.”

Ced simply smiled like an angel.

“Now, now. Obviously the boy enjoys the literature, yet you’re going to force him to write something about it? I say be glad that he has taken enough interest in it to go and hunt down such a nice copy. So few appreciate the classics anyway.”

Aaron gave Isarquin a nod of respect for those words, recovering a bit of a grin at the man’s wink.

“Please. I can’t play favorites like that and exempt him from an assignment.” Ced held up his hand and checked his nails. “Besides, I’m fairly certain he already has it done.”

“You got your nails done, too?” Aaron asked, perplexedly staring at him. “My god, you are so gay.”

Miranda shushed him and swatted at him. “You can’t just say that!”

“Wha-at?” Aaron protested, turning to face her. “He is!”

“I am,” Ced admitted.

“See?”

Miranda rolled her eyes. “You’re horrible, both of you.” Just then, Ced’s hand smooshed Isarquin’s face. “Yes. Exhibit Five Hundred and Seventy Two.”

Ced’s hand was finally removed from Isarquin’s face, to his disappointment. Pissing off this elf was fun, he decided. It’d be happening more often from now on.

“What is that? It smells heavenly?”

At that, Ced chuckled again, leaning in to whisper in Isarquin’s ear. “I’ve replaced my natural body odor with the scent of vanilla and cherry blossoms. Took me nearly a decade to perfect.” Pulling away again, he smiled at his students.

“I’m only McArseface during the day; your ‘intelligent’ teacher must have forgotten the time. Jocelyn Battier, a pleasure. At least he was correct about being an old friend. We go way back.”

Jocelyn Battier. How very French.

Miranda giggled and extended a hand to Isarquin. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Battier. I’m glad you actually know Mr. Blacksilver, knowing him, he’d introduce someone he met only instants ago as Froggy McArseface.”

Ced pouted. “You have so little faith in me, Miranda.”

She shrugged. “Sorry, Mr. Blacksilver. You’re, um… kind of an arse yourself.”

Aaron chuckled and turned to Isarquin, nodding at him. “And why do you deal with him? I mean, we have to. Admin’s fault. But you’ve… like… got a choice in the matter.”

“Okay, I’ll give you that, but that’s about all I’m going to allow. Though, do you not feel just a touch guilty for playing up to people all while knowing this is you? Or, is this even the real you? Do you even know what you look like? I may never truly know who you are.”

Ced simply chuckled at that. No, he didn’t feel guilty. Why would he? Sex, marriage, ‘love,’ they were all simply tools. If he had to alter his body, play a different person, in order to get what he wanted, why should he care? And even those that protested against it for moral reasons quickly succumbed to the idea of having every one of their criteria met. It had been a hundred years since he’d last taken a lover, three hundred since he’d actually loved. And once that love had died, he’d told himself he was not going to go through that again. He’d sworn he’d only engage in a relationship for personal gain. It was so much less painful that way.

The other comment struck considerably closer to home--and so he brushed it off with even less care. As a matter of fact, he did know what he looked like. Locked up in the heart of his house, in a little room behind a multitude of traps and wards, was an ancient artifact he’d picked up in the 1800s. A coffin with a mirrored bottom, enchanted to show what someone’s first form looked like. It was intended to trap Doppelgangers before burying them alive, but he’d removed that function. Now it sat beside a diary, where he wrote down all he remembered of Sarva.

The room gave him nightmares.

But Cedric had no intention of ever, ever letting Isarquin even see what he’d originally looked like, much less know who he actually was. Isarquin was another Board member, and that meant he was a considerable threat, especially if he truly knew Ced.

And it was beginning to piss him off, just a little, that of all the fae in the world, Isarquin was the one who was closest to truly knowing him. The terror he’d shown earlier today had been authentic. But not just authentic--it had bitten him to his bones. And Isa had been there to see that. It wasn’t much, but it was a way into Cedric’s mind, and that was considerably more than anyone had gotten for a long time. He’d shown weakness, and someone just happened to be there to see it. Unfortunately, that someone was also in the perfect position to continue to learn more and more about him during their continued investigation into the wolfish threat to the world.

While Isa wasn’t the last person Ced wanted to learn how to read him, he was low enough on the list that the doppel was considering assassination if the elf tried to get closer.

Not a flicker of any of those thoughts, however, passed onto Cedric’s face. Instead, he simply turned to the children.

At Isarquin’s protests to his bad puns don’t fall on deaf ears, but instead on highly mischievous ones. Ced kept up his shit-eating grin at the chorus of pained groans.

“It would be so easy to backhand you right now.”

His grin grew at that. “You ought to know that will only encourage me.”

At the mention of Marian Newman, Ced chuckled even though he was twitching just a little on the inside from the gratuitous French accent, which had definitely not been there before. He was an expert at faking accents, and while this one was real, before it had been considerably less pronounced, all puns intended. So Isarquin was trying to piss him off! Well, this would be an interesting game.

“If you’ve done the work, just turn it in so this blue haired fairy doesn’t breathe down your neck the next time he catches you out past curfew.”

Aaron stared at Isa. “Wow,” he whispered. “I didn’t think it was possible to find someone as gay as Mr. Blacksilver--but wow, here you are.”

“Aaron thinks he’s very good at changing the subject,” Ced broke in. “He’s not, really. A for effort, F for result, dear. Try again later, once you turn in your paper.”

“Wait, how’d… Okay, that’s another thing I need to pick your brain over. Discuss that over actual tea? Could you imagine if I could smell like buttercream frosting and not have to bathe and lotion in it?”

Ced nodded, and was about to reply when Isarquin added via telepathy, “You know, after we sort through those tomes?”

“Oh, of course. Incidentally, it’s more of a doppelganger trick, but I’ve been wondering if there’s a way to do it with some clever research into the olfactory nerve and telepathy. Have you ever sent a human a hallucination? I--”

Miranda spoke then, and Ced jolted back out of his little nerd attack. “Ah. Yes. Conversation going on, right. We’ll definitely discuss over tea.”

“Strangely enough, I can almost certainly see him calling a very new acquaintance that as well. I suppose that is all I am to you, hm?”

Smiling sweetly, Ced nodded. “Indeed, that’s all you are,” he replied, with the angelic cheek appropriate for the conversation covering a much deeper stab at whatever meager friendship had been developing between the two of them. He hid his wince at the small spike of pain in the back of his stomach. He had to remember that Isarquin was a distraction--a very pretty, well-mannered, nicely-dressed distraction with tastes similar to his own, but a distraction nonetheless.

“It’s like a game. I enjoy seeing how long I can last before I want to stab my eardrums out. It’s a true test of wills, it is. I’m not certain how you students do such. For now I’m a bit stuck with him.”

Aaron stared at Isa. “You must really love hurting yourself,” he said incredulously. “Gotta get me a freak like that--except not at all. Have you ever considered therapy?”

That was a fair point. Ced raised an eyebrow at Isarquin. “You probably do need therapy,” he seconded the teen.

“Aaron! You can’t just tell people you’ve just met that they need therapy!” Miranda swatted him again. “You--”

She stopped talking as the automated voice broke in, stating the station. At the name, she started. “Oh! Terribly sorry, this is our stop. Come on, Aaron. It was nice to meet you, Mr. Battier, and see you tomorrow, Mr. Blacksilver!” She hopped out of the car.

Aaron followed her. “Bye,” was all he said.

Ced gave them a lazy wave. “Sure,” he called. “Tell me how the hearing goes, yeah?”

Both of them whirled around just as the doors to the car slid closed. Aaron lunged for them, but Miranda grabbed on his hand and held him back.

In response, Ced simply held up his hand, showing that his fingers were crossed before the train slid away. He turned to Isarquin. “Next stop, if I’m not mistaken?”