The afternoon went about as well as she had expected: when you have two professional spies trying to outmaneuver each other, it's not a legitimate therapy session. It's more akin to a holiday dinner with judgmental in-laws.
James Karnack, PhD, was a psychiatrist in name only. Jessamine knew for a fact that he was an operative of MI5 assigned to assess beyond a reasonable doubt whether or not she was the Domino Witch; a common theme of her interactions with people these days, and one with which Jessamine was become rather exhausted. He had completed his doctorate—why falsify something when it could be legitimate?—but had done little work in the field outside his clandestine operations with MI5. He was known as a skilled interrogator, the kind of man who could elicit confidential information from a subject through the power of strategic conversation alone.
MI5 had many such men to be sure, but few of them had made as many unwise decisions when interacting with coworkers as Karnack. His proclivity towards harassing members of the gentler sex had blacklisted him from field work, and he now found himself struggling to remain in the directorate's good graces.
Maybe they assigned him to this task because he's too afraid of me to try anything, wondered Jessamine. It's a shame I have to convince him that my magic is impotent… I could have a lot of fun with him.
But instead I have to endure these hours of inane deception and child's-play subterfuge.
No rest for the wicked, huh?
…
Am I truly wicked? What is wickedness without humanity as its arbiters and agents?
Guilt, shame, regret…
Depending on who you ask, the wicked either have no escape or are called soulless when they do.
No rest for the wicked?
No sympathy for the victor.
"So, Ms. di Cadenza," said Karnack as he sat opposite her, "I've heard you were a little under the weather this weekend. Feeling better, I presume?"
Jessamine smiled graciously.
"Yes, very. I think I was working myself too hard… sometimes the body just needs a little rest."
"Quite true, quite true. You had a nice, relaxing weekend at the Manor, then?"
MI5 might be aware that I left… so I can't risk lying, but if I acknowledge that I left, I could invite suspicion.
"I don't know if I'd call it relaxing," she said. "I'm sure you're aware that you-know-who was invited to join the Society."
"Mm-hmm," he hummed, making a quick note on his legal pad. A quick glance with Farsight revealed "Rome—unknown." It had been the right call to avoid the question entirely, as he now moved on to the topic of Elisabeth: "Do you want to talk about it?"
"I'm not opposed, but I wouldn't say I have any desire to share."
"Do you ever, Jessamine?"
"I believe I've been rather forthcoming, Dr. Karnack. I can't think of any reason why my magic hasn't returned, I've done everything you've asked me to."
"Let's talk about Elisabeth Moriarty then, shall we? What are your feelings about her joining the Royal Society?"
"Well, I'm confused, to start," said Jessamine, and this much was honest. "Even though the ten—nine—Blessed Houses pretend that the Moriarty name is among the most respectable in the country, their reputation was built for a reason. I understand MI5 has been investigating them for some time but hasn't been able to make any accusations stick."
She narrowed her eyes, making her own accusation: Karnack's section was either inept or corrupt. Thankfully, Karnack was too busy reviewing his notes from the previous session to notice her slight.
"…so why did the Crown authorize this?" she continued. "And, for that matter, why did Duke Cahill go along with it?"
The Royal Society of Magic was not a 'Royal Society' in name only: it answered directly to the Throne, but a chairman was instituted to manage the organization due to the many demands on the King's attention. King Uther not only had the final say on all applicants, but he also had to approve invitations—the Chairman wasn't allowed to act on his own.
And yet:
"The Crown didn't authorize it," Karnack replied nonchalantly. "It was the Duke's idea, and he only informed the King this morning during an unrelated meeting."
The report from the Ministry of War.
"And the King approved it?"
"From what I heard, Duke Cahill made quite the impassioned argument for her inclusion. Though, I must say, I'm surprised he didn't consult you beforehand."
Fortunately, Jessamine had been able to plan her excuse in advance this time.
I really should thank Elisabeth for taunting me about being gone last night… otherwise, Karnack would've ambushed me.
"I was in need of some fresh air and went for a stroll."
"Is that so?" Karnack looked up from his notes, his expression a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. "Not that it's any of my business, but young women really shouldn't go out alone at night. You should have at least told someone where you were going."
"I did—I met Dr. Lyons of the research department near the northern gate. We talked for a little bit, but she had to get home. Her son was sick; I think whatever I had is going around."
Another note: "Confirm—Lyons alibi. Rome unlikely if so."
Dr. Christine Lyons had been a deliberate choice, for she was the professor with the greatest reputation of overbearing cautiousness but was also nearing retirement age; a couple medical scares in the past years had cemented her need to enjoy old age in peace and tranquility.
Her fear will make her mind easy to manipulate. And should anything happen… well, it's natural for a mind to give up.
The loose end will tie itself.
"Well, that's good to hear," said Karnack. "In other news: I'm sure you've already heard that the Domino Witch has made another appearance, once again antagonistic to the New Roman Union. Do you ever wonder why she left you behind?"
"I'm sorry, what?"
His question caught her off guard—Just what messed-up line of thinking is he following?
"Am I not being clear?"
"A bit, yeah—I don't understand what you meant by leaving me behind."
"Well, I assume you haven't had any contact with her in four years, correct?"
For a moment, Jessamine debated whether or not to allude to Domino's recent visit, but she decided against it. That interaction, combined with the timing of the Rome incident, would either make MI5 suspicious that she had been informed of the assault in advance or that she really was the Domino Witch. Neither option appealed to her, and thus she chose agreement.
"That's right."
"But you're a walking miracle: the amount of magical power it takes to restore an arm and a leg, as it were, is extraordinary. You're a work of art, Jessamine di Cadenza."
Careful, now.
A little tug on your fear response won't hurt…
Karnack tensed up, a memory of his court-marshal resurfacing unexpectedly.
"I mean—your body—no, not your body, your healing—it's impressive, I'll just put it that way. You said that she immediately went to work on the fleet, that she didn't say anything to you; how does that make you feel? Have you ever wondered about why she might choose to avoid you?"
Old habits are hard to break, aren't they?
"I-I've never felt that she's avoiding me," she replied, feigning timidity. "She has her reasons, I'm sure. But back then—I was just thankful to be alive, and it surprises me how I continue to feel gratitude for something that happened so long ago."
"Yes, yes, I understand," he said, returning his focus to the papers before him. "That's perfectly reasonable, you know. I'm just looking out for you."
Jessamine took another peek at his notes via Farsight: "Either maliciously elusive, or genuine response. Hard to tell."
Well, she thought, that may be the best outcome I could hope for. The Union still hasn't given up, and neither has the Peoples' Empire, so why would Britannia?
Still, I hope the Union spreads my false identity around. I'd be able to relax, if only slightly.
Just… don't reveal it on live television. That's all I'm asking.
It may also be time to find an excuse for my magic to return.
I'm tired of dealing with Dr. Obvious.
The rest of the appointment was boring, which was perhaps worse than the game of cat-and-mouse with which it had begun. It was like a graduate student being forced to take an hour's worth of middle-school exams: it was beneath her, and she despised it.
Maybe, once I'm done with therapy, good old Jim will vanish under mysterious circumstances, she thought as she made her way back to the Manor—until a latent spell effect alerted her brain that it was time for action.
As she was leaving, she had activated the auditory component of Farsight alone (which, despite its name, did actually convey sound in addition to visuals) and listened in to the sound of Karnack's ineptitude. But now she heard the sound of a telephone being picked up; it was one of the old-fashioned kind, a wireless handheld receiver with a desk port, and now Karnack was dialing a number.
Ten pounds says it's Lyons.
"Hello, Dr. Lyons?"
Hah. Time for some practice.
Jessamine didn't bother with finding a spot to hide; she teleported back to her room and immediately fell into bed.
It didn't take long for her to locate Lyons. After a year studying on Avalonne-du-Prix, Jessamine knew the island by heart and was able to project herself directly in front of the Lyons' den. Within a half a minute, she was hovering directly behind Christine Lyons in the stale air of their living room, and the game was afoot.
Alright.
Let's see if this works.
She focused her mind on animating a human body and overriding its will—it was the second time in two days that she had used this technique, though the first was considerably less-risky because the subject was already dead. She was curious to see how it would affect a living human.
"We haven't formally been introduced," Jessamine heard, and was thankful that Karnack had not yet had the opportunity to question her alibi. "My name is James Karnack, and I'm the psychiatrist on call here at the Academy."
"I've heard of you," said Jessamine, though she was slightly unsettled to hear the words spoken by a different voice. "May I ask the reason behind this call? It's getting rather late, and I'd like to prepare dinner for my family."
Even when she impersonated the late commander's wife, Jessamine had not taken any extraordinary effort to alter her vocal signature. This was a novel and unusual experience, and one to which she might have to become acclimated depending on how this experiment turned out.
"Down to business, then. I'm working with a student—I can't give any names, you understand—who has suffered intense trauma in the past, and I'd like to give her the best shot of recovery, though I'm worried that she might unintentionally trigger a repeat of her previous… incident."
"Continue, please."
"Well, she said that she went for a late-night walk this weekend, and I don't know if she told anyone where she was going or not. I want her to be safe, you understand. She mentioned that you had seen her; does that ring a bell?"
"Oh, you must be talking about Jessamine," she said, eliminating any discernable trace of falsehood from her voice. "Yeah, I saw her just last night—poor thing's had a tough weekend, I understand. How is she doing?"
"She's doing well," said Karnack, and Jessamine could hear the disappointment in his voice. "I'm glad you saw her, but I'm still going to harp on her to be more cautious. Thank you for your help, Dr. Lyons."
Oh, joy.
"You do that, Dr. Karnack, she replied. "If you'll excuse me—my son just got home, so I'll be leaving now. Have a good night."
This much was true: Jessamine had heard the door clang shut, accompanied by a generous cry of "I'm home!", and knew that she wouldn't be able to deceive Lyons' family. It was better to quit while she was ahead.
Jessamine carefully released the strings by which she had controlled Lyons, and she saw the professor's shoulders relax as if a massive burden had been removed. Dr. Lyons stood absolutely still for a few moments, until her body was overcome by a violent quiver which soon evolved into a concerning convulsion. The older woman tried to take a step forward but missed her footing; she twisted as she fell, contorting to partially face the invisible Jessamine as the back of her skull hit the corner of a brick fireplace.
"It's you, isn't it?" she said, her words beginning to slur together. "You could've asked for my help…"
And then the light vanished from the eyes of Dr. Christine Lyons.
"Mom!" came another voice, that of Hunter Lyons as he rushed into the room, but Jessamine didn't wait to see his reaction. She had already disengaged Farsight Projection and found herself alone in her room at Spear's Tip Manor.
Looks like the human body isn't built for remote control.
Interesting.
That's good to know—would've been difficult to manage if I had found that out when it actually mattered.
I wonder if it's unavoidable, or if I can negate that effect through practice?
Wouldn't hurt to test it. But I need to be careful about selecting my test subjects.
Come, Britannia… bring me your sick, your elderly. I have a use for them yet.
A knock on her door interrupted Jessamine's reflection.
"Jess, you there?"
Henry.
That's right—we've got to talk about Elisabeth.
"Just a moment," she replied, reluctantly rising from her bed and opening the door. "Here, let's talk on the balcony."
The pair of work-friends were content to lean against the stone chilled by the oncoming night, but they were not comfortable, and they embraced the unavoidable awkward silence. Neither of the two were entirely sure how the topic should be broached, and neither wanted to be the sacrificial lamb in that task.
But nature abhors a vacuum.
"The thing I don't understand," Jessamine began, "is why you would break protocol and risk the King's ire for a Moriarty."
Henry sighed.
"I should've known I can't keep any secrets from MI7."
"Even if I wasn't connected to Military Intelligence, I'd still know."
"You're scary, you know that?" Henry took a deep breath before continuing. "I met her a little over a week ago. I've encountered her a few times since then, and when you said you were sick, she offered to help the Society prepare for Guy Fawkes' Day in your stead."
Jessamine turned to look at her Chairman, narrowing her eyes.
"What's your point, Henry?"
"I guess you could say—I've been able to get a few glimpses at the girl that hides behind the Moriarty name. She's definitely a Moriarty, yes, but it seems like she's trapped by her family's reputation and has no hope for a different life. She's resolved to make the most of it, but she's leading a life of quiet desperation."
Jessamine looked down and rubbed her forehead, muttering, "You're such a romantic, you know."
She may be a product of her circumstances, but Henry's still a fool for using that as justification.
"Is there anything wrong with that?"
"Yes, there is," she answered defiantly. "It makes you easy to manipulate, especially for a Moriarty. Manipulation is second nature to them; it's woven into their DNA from birth, grooming them to take advantage of others at every opportunity. She's no different. I've seen her kill people without a moment's hesitation, wearing the same smile she's no doubt has given you."
"Well, isn't that a coincidence," he replied, shifting his focus away from Jessamine. "She said the same thing about you."
Of course she did.
"You have to choose who you're going to trust, Henry. One of us has known you since childhood and I'd like to think is a trusted confidante; the other is known for being a manipulative criminal."
"That may be true, but I see no reason not to give her a chance. Who knows? She may surprise you."
"Fine," Jessamine said, resigned, "but it'll be your funeral."
At least it'll be easier to monitor her if she's around.
I'll also be able to make her role as the Domino Witch more believable.
"Maybe," Henry agreed, "but I'd rather regret trusting her than regret doubting her."
Idealistic fool.
He's always been a romantic, but he's never been this reckless before…
I don't know what he sees in her.
Maybe he doesn't, either.
But there will be no convincing him; he has his principles, and I can't change those.
Oh—but I can.
At the cost of his life, yes, but I just need a better understanding of cranial magic.
Soon.
"I have no more to say on this matter, then. Goodnight, Henry."
He accepted the dismissal without protest, pausing only at the French doors to look over his shoulder: "Goodnight, Jess."
Jessamine remained at her post, gazing over the moonlit island in quiet contemplation. She was preoccupied with thoughts of murder, usurpation, subterfuge, and political strategy, and failed to notice the high-altitude low-orbit aircraft gliding noiselessly over Avalonne-du-Prix on a northwesterly heading.