Therese and Her Advisees

The library is not the usual place for these advisor meetings. But I found it comforting. A reminder of the past. And the classrooms my advisees would be most used to are already booked. Also, the library has a distinct advantage over the classrooms. I can keep an eye on who is coming and going without having to expend any effort. Settling in the front of the conference room at the library, I wait for the students to find their way here. They will be on time. They know better than to be late. I normally would not be this early, but my morning plans were cut short. Unfortunate result of the time differences.

The first to file in are a pair of my freshmen Misters Newton and Jones. They’re roommates and one of them is always on point, so to those unaware of circumstance, they both tend to seem relatively together. “You’re early,” Steven Newton remarks as he settles in. Kyle Jones just cocks his head in my general direction.

“Yes,” I reply. I take a moment to let the word settle in before I ask, “Ready for summer?” They aren’t. Mister Jones will end up just returning home to his parents for the months away, while Mister Newton will likely go on some kind of family vacation to fish or hunt or the like.

“Sure are,” Kyle lies.

I wait. Waiting comes easy, and the longer you wait, the more uncomfortable people get. I do not mind much, the silence is almost relaxing. But they will.

Steven breaks first. “You are?” he asks, “Because I’m not really. Not after the end of next month, at least.”

Kyle shoots a half glare at Steven. “Shush,” he says, as though saying it aloud as a word would make the attempt at silencing more effective.

“What, I’m not,” he admits, “And it’s not like Magister Scott doesn’t already know that, either.” He is right. My freshmen have noticed that about me. All three of them have, over the course of the last year, become keenly aware that I am keenly aware of many things.

Kyle smirks. “Fair,” he says, “But still, you got to at least try and win those waiting games. Otherwise she won’t respect you.”

Miss Horton, one of the sophomores, walks in, as though waiting outside for a cue. “That implies she’d respect you if you won. I’m not sure that’s the case.”

“The point is moot,” I reply to Mikayla, and leave the implication silent. After all, they would not beat me in a game of waiting. “I assume you have better plans than them,” I say. She does. She won’t tell me those plans here, of course, because they involve some questionable activities with her friends in New York City, but she does. I still need to find a way to get her to admit to those parts of her life, as I haven’t found a good inroad into the Big Apple quite yet, but that is just a matter of time.

Before she has a chance to avoid answering my question, the two juniors under my purview walk in. Jenny Ito and Zacharias Kovac. Zacharias looks at me, surprised. “You’re early, Magister Scott,” he says, “Normally don’t you show up on time.”

I nod. Steven adds, “We’re past that, Zach. She’s moved on to tersely and impliedly complaining about our lack of summer plans.”

“Not with us,” Jenny counters, “We actually made plans.” That is an exaggeration, but not too great of one. They both had summer internships in the Magisterium lined up, though neither particularly impressive. Zacharias will find out his lauded Basilica internship will be filing papers and get very bored very quickly. Jenny’s internship is more nebulous, because Great Maestro Ito is an interesting figure politically for the upcoming years, but the internship is because he is her uncle, so the extent of her involvement in his machinations over the summer is unclear.

“That’s not fair,” Mikayla complains, “You’re seniors, your internships are all the plans you need.”

I look at Miss Horton. I decide to try to goad her, just slightly, to see how she defends herself. “You could have arranged an internship for yourself, if you had wished. I did my sophomore summer.”

“I’m still young, and some of us like having fun,” she tries her best to joke back. I stare her down, wondering if she’ll interpret the silence as offense or humorlessness. She likely will not reveal which she feels, not until and unless I can get her to confide in me.

Qasim Ahmad and Paris Williams walk in as I am staring at Mikayla. “What’d she do this time?” Qasim asks.

“Made a bad joke,” Kyle answers.

Zacharias clarifies, “I mean, if we’re honest, it wasn’t really a bad joke. That would imply it was meant humorously.”

“Mickey, please stop insulting our advisor,” Paris says in her usual, half exasperated tone. “I would like her to not hate us entirely.”

“She’s the one who implied I was lazy, because I’m not planning my summer around some nebulous future possibility or whatever,” Mikayla says, putting up a front of being more upset than she actually is. A good disguise, for when you are feeling somewhat upset. Most would assume a near total lack of offendedness from the ham-handed, near parodic tone of perturbation. But I recognize the subtle differences between an act and a front. The prod hit some nerve, though I have no idea which one.

“Oh, summer plans. Anyone doing anything interesting?” Paris asks, looking at everyone.

“Family stuff,” Kyle says, shaking his head.

Steven shrugs. “Does fishing count as interesting?” he half-jokingly asks.

“No,” Zacharias seriously answers, “On the other hand I managed to snag a proper Basilica internship from their own Apprentices, so I’m undoubtedly going to be doing something awesome.”

Qasim nods, taking the information in. “Honestly, that does sound fun. Tell us all about it in the fall.”

“What I can tell, sure,” Zacharias says, “What are you up to?”

Qasim glances up at me, noticing how attentive I am. I always am. He is trying to think of a way to phrase that he’s got a summer job with a group of community organizers in DC that does not tip his hand to me, assuming I did not already know, and also doesn’t hurt Mikayla’s feelings. Before he can come up with the right words, Paris speaks. “I’m working with Habitat, building houses after the storm. All summer.” She was clearly waiting for someone to ask her about it, so she could feel morally superior.

“I just had to get a summer job,” Qasim decided was the best way to phrase it. “Wish it was more interesting than that.”

“That’s perfectly fine, sometimes things are tight,” Jenny says, clearly having no idea what that would be like.

Like clockwork, exactly one minute before we are supposed to begin, Olivia Mascone, my last freshman and the only person we were still waiting on for this particular meeting, walks in. She shoots me a look, wondering why I’m early. But she knows better than to expect an answer. She moves across the room and sits down in the far corner.

“We got a minute,” Kyle says, “Hey Liv, you have any super awesome plans for the summer?”

“Olivia,” Miss Mascone corrects her classmate, then she answers, “And yes.” She does not elaborate. And she won’t. I have my suspicions about her plans, but I have yet to confirm any of them.

“Well?” Steven presses, but Olivia’s playing the waiting game, and she can easily beat the other freshmen in a test of patience.

The minute hand ticks over one, and I speak. “Well, we’ve come to the end of the semester. Practically. I hope your final exams and projects are going well. But I have for you the least important test of this week. I figured I would sneak it in today early so you would be awake to study, as I do not believe any of you have an exam today.” I try to make it seem like I do not know all their schedules, though not as well as I’d hoped, so I add a quick, “Right?”

They all mutter some form of assent. The older kids know what’s coming. So I continue. “To those of you that are new,” I look poignantly at the freshmen, “This is a yearly event where you apprentices get to evaluate me as an advisor.” I begin to hand out the packets. “Fill them out, be as honest or dishonest as you wish, I do not expect anyone in the administration to actually read them. If you have anything you feel like I should actually know, or anything you want me to consider, come speak with me, either after this meeting or at any of my office hours. These forms are woefully ineffective at targeting specific problems. Other than that, this is just a requirement of the Magisterium.”

They all get to work on the small, three page questionnaire. I move back to the front, looking over them. Olivia is carefully considering each question. She noticed that I said no one in administration will read them, not that I won’t read them. I don’t know whether that means she will be honest or dishonest in her answers, but I file away that awareness for when I do read hers. Qasim and Zacharias are both looking around a lot. They’ve done this before, but their last Magister must have been much less honest about what happens with their assessments. They’re trying to decide how worth it doing something weird would be. Midway through my musings on my advisees, I notice some movement. The librarian has stopped outside the room. Denise Jeanes, 33. A reliable enough contact, so long as I keep my promises to her. I walk over and open the door slightly. “Denise,” I say with a nod of acknowledgement.

“Therese,” she replies with a thin smile. She hands me a note, then walks away. Her hp movements are unnatural, exaggerated. She thinks I’m attracted to her, or she wants me to be. Interesting. I can certainly use that. I close the door and head back to the front of the room. Only Qasim seemed to take a real notice, though there is a much greater than negligible chance his focus was on the swaying hips, rather than the interaction itself. I wait a few moments for him to return to his eval before I open up the note. It’s the itinerary I was looking for. Maestro Ricardo Gomez. Relatively new Maestro, and he is pressing to be more. Has been for a while now. Great Maestro Blum has been holding him back, but also leaning on him more with each passing day. That combination would normally be ideal, save one small problem. Maestro Gomez’s reach extends beyond what I want it to be. If he were like Sierra, content with being a Greatest Maestro under the Grand Maestro of the Americas, that would be fine. But he loves the Game. Which turns him from a useful tool to an obstacle. His summer itinerary, other than going to the Convention, involves scouting the suburbs and city for new buildings, though he also seems to be spending an inordinate amount of time further south. He’s going to try to slide out into Great Maestrohood the old fashioned way, by founding a new Villa. Bold. But would remove him from my reach.

I sigh. I’ll need to call in a few favors. I put the paper away and once again wait a moment. Jenny walks up and hands me her eval, I put it on the table. “Good luck with your internship,” I offer her. She nods and heads out. Then, to everyone else, I say, “Just leave the evals in a relatively neat pile here, I have to step out for a moment.” I wait to hear Paris and Kyle both acknowledge my statement, as they are the most likely to have ignored or missed it, then I step outside. I walk through the stacks to a section in the back, where they keep the fiche and VHSs and other things they don’t really use or ever lend out but can’t legally get rid of yet. Pulling out my burner, I call a friend.

“Hey William,” I say when he picks up, “If hypothetically you were to get knowledge of where someone quite powerful mystically might be, would you mind terribly helping that information find its way to our rather hairy mutual friend down in Belle Meade?”

William sighs on the other end of the line. “Sure,” he agrees, “but if you want me dealing with a Hungered, that’s going to require one hell of a favor in return.”