Chapter Text
There was something strange about Professor Noël.
Kasia didn’t want to assume, but the person teaching them Hellenic Studies at University of Warsaw was definitely not an ordinary educator. Where did she begin describing Professor Noël? Maybe with the fact that she told them to just call her Melissa on the first day. On that front, she was rather informal with her students. But then again, her upperclassmen told her that with the younger professors that usually was the default.
But then, weren’t professors usually older?
There were some hints of gray in Professor Melissa’s blond hair, but they were blink-and-you’ll-miss-them figments that were only beginning to set in. She didn’t care much for them and, frankly speaking, rocked the look quite nicely. Someone even made an observation that the gray hairs form a thin wreath around her head. How topical.
Professor Melissa wasn’t very uptight, but she could be strict and didn’t tolerate laziness. Right after lowering everyone’s guard with the informal introduction, she made sure that the students understood she would be willing to boot anyone she thought was not paying rapt attention. A few of Kasia’s yearmates made light of the threat – they were gone by the end of the first week.
Some complaints were raised, but the university faculty didn’t want to hear them. Malcontents spread rumors that Professor Melissa had ties with the mob or some other shady groups and was able to rule the Hellenic Studies thanks to that. These quickly petered out, except for one particular type of person who wasn’t used to hearing “no” – and had rich parents who could help him stay by that ill-healthy principle.
A court case was arranged. Media rolled up to investigate and stoke the flames of clicks with outlandish theories, fake news and gossip. For the next week or so, this was the big thing Poland lived with, despite all the other and more important things going on. The disappearances among the populace that the authorities had no answer to, an acid spill that sunk a bar ferry at Vistula and killed everyone there, fishing trawlers going missing across the unwelcoming Baltic Sea…
Kasia knew what was going on. She also knew that most people didn’t – and they wouldn’t listen to her, because a statement of “a faction of weird frog monsters from the olden age is causing destruction across the world” would land her in a psych ward. Then, the same frog monsters would disappear her; not because of the slander she instigated (if you could call it such), but because of her meager magical talent and seemingly only because of that.
Kasia didn’t go around advertising it. Her parents and grandmother already tried to stick her in a furnace for a Hail Mary once, Rozalka-style. She was lucky that her aunt was visiting at the time to pull her out – and then spirit her away from there. She hadn’t spoken with her parents since. For all Kasia cared, they could go rot in their podunk little town in the southeast.
A court case was arranged. Professor Melissa showed up in person; the plaintiffs pointedly didn’t. The proceedings lasted all of fifteen minutes, during which the case was annulled. Nobody questioned why the plaintiffs opted for a meager settlement that wouldn’t even cover the costs for attorneys. Behind closed doors however, Kasia had heard whispers and gossip. Professor Melissa might not have been in bed with the mob… but she had very, very wealthy parents herself and they’ve made it clear that they were more than willing to ruin slanderers beyond any hope of financial recovery.
Those students who held fast and paid attention found themselves with the best teacher they’ve had. Professor Melissa could quote the entirety of Parandowski’s Mitologia as a party trick (although her Polish could still use some work), but her real specialty was ancient myths; the kind that wasn’t covered in wider fashion. She liked the Orphic traditions the most. The whole Zagreus-Dionysus misconception always had her smiling as she recalled it with no issue, the kind that would have seasoned experts blush with inadequacy.
Sometimes, Kasia wondered if Professor Melissa was a supernatural being. There was no real basis to it other than a whole lot of tiny details: the heterochromia that made one of her eyes look almost blood red (pretty sure it wasn’t), the aforementioned “wreath”, how she always had orange footwear regardless of occasion or weather… and sometimes it was just a feeling. Of course, Kasia knew better than to prod. The supernatural lived among them and they generally didn’t want to be disturbed. Not always; there was always going to be some ghoul or fairy or vampire too big for their britches. Thanks to the Paranet and the wide collection of friends and acquaintances she’s made over the web, she had some basics figured out; how to recognize and ward off some of these monsters. She was also able to put together some wards around the place where she and her aunt lived; nothing like a real wizard would (incidentally, Warden Zeman kept giving her a stink eye whenever he visited. He could screw right off; she knew her Laws and she wasn’t doing anything bad), but sturdy enough to give them enough time. Her aunt was a practitioner herself, although she wasn’t much of one either.
They never had to test the wards. As far as she knew, Warsaw was fairly safe in its central districts. All she had to worry about was the depressingly mundane villains instead – and those she could zap with her hand, at least.
Unfortunately, the group’s plans to have the professor accompany them to Room 13 to celebrate the end of the semester had to be put on hold. A cousin of hers arrived with some urgent family business. He turned heads himself, built like an athlete slash Hollywood star with a winning smile and an unruly cowlick sticking out of his “organized chaos” hairdo. He liked orange too, Kasia noticed, with plenty of such accents in his outfit – and he also wore a turtle pin on his chest, for whatever reason.
“Don’t let me keep you from your fun, but… please make sure you don’t go around on your lonesome after dark.” Professor Melissa warned them before she left. It seemed like a perfectly normal piece of advice. Even in the capital city’s downtown, there was always going to be some scumbag looking to seize their chance.
...but then why did she look specifically at Kasia when she said that?
----
“Father’s vault was raided?”
“Yup, a bit of a hassle and a half. Was handled, seemed like your dad’s had it planned out. Buried some of the unfortunate thieves in there, as you do.”
Melinoë frowned, eyes overlooking the evening city from her apartment. Behind her, Lord Hermes, the erstwhile divine messenger, entertained himself by playing with Tula the Third. The Maine Coon batted at the reed-like toy with a determined glint in its eyes. “I see. Forgive me for asking, Lord Hermes, but how does it concern me? I am no longer a part of the underworld.”
“Oh, you know, just wanted to update you on how things are going. You don’t write much.” Melinoë the Time-Slayer, raised for the explicit purpose of slaying Chronos, flinched. Lord Hermes wasn’t wrong; her contact with her family – or what was left of it – hadn’t been the best. But then again, that was the case long before the present day. “Nobody minds, there’s no pressure. Write when you can.”
“...yes, of course. Though… I assume this isn’t just a social visit, yes?” Here, in the privacy of her apartment, she could rest in her true form. Fireproofing the entire place wasn’t cheap, but the Svartalf artisans went above and beyond; bless them for it. Mortal materials were so annoyingly flammable, and all she really wanted was to rest her feet somewhere.
“Yes indeed. Though first, a quick question: met any Denarians recently?” In the window’s reflection, Melinoë’s expression darkened. Ever since her faithful meeting with Lasciel, there was a small but persistent part of her soul that refused to mend itself. Over time, as Headmistress Hecate said, it shrunk to an almost infinitesimal amount – but that meant it was still there, like a pebble bouncing around the sandal or an odd ache that came and went with no rhyme or reason. Centuries later, she would first hear of the tarnished silver coins in proper fashion; soon after, of those who used the Fallen beings within them for ill.
Melinoë was a deity of obscure roots and no real following. Among mortals, in the age of withering mystique and ascending technology, belief still held power. It was why her father remained a respectable figure in the supernatural world (even if he was thoroughly annoyed at being pegged a villain all the time). Those Olympians who still lived were well-to-do, although contact with them was limited. She also knew of the one they called the One-Eye; a god from the North who rose to prominence despite his faithful also being lacking in numbers.
Then again, with the undying cadre of warriors to match the finest of Elysium’s armsmen, perhaps he put quality over quantity.
Melinoë was a nobody, in the scheme of things. She wasn’t going to let any of these blasted Fomor pus sacks harm the mortals under her protection. Perhaps she needed to visit Kasia Jasińska’s apartment in secret and see how strong those wards were, just to be sure.
A nobody god was still a god however; these vermin she could fight.
“Right, so… there were a few in that thieving crew.” Hermes set Tula the Third down on the carpet, letting her amble over to her food bowl. “Some nasty types, that Archleone guy with his daughter. He got away, she didn’t. Charon’s still looking for the other guy, the… big guy.” The god’s brows furrowed in thought. “Blood-on-his-Soul, I think. Some of these bigfoot names are rather on the nose.”
“Archleone left his daughter in Hades?” No mortal could live in the underworld for long, not even with the assistance of a Fallen being at their side. And, if she recalled, one of the warding gates leading to the vault required human sacrifice. “Blood and darkness… the man has no heart. No wonder he is the ruler of that blasted bunch.”
“Technically speaking, he’s just a ruler. They do a lot of bickering. Anyway, remember Iorío?” Melinoë stiffened, slowly turning back to face the divine messenger. “Yeah, uh, she was there too and so was her host. She didn’t make it. The host, I mean. But…”
In Hermes’s hands – gloved hands, even though she never saw him wear gloves ever – was a familiar tarnished coin of silver, with the sigil of the hourglass. “Think it was meant to stick around in the vault, but your dad’s working on refurbishing security again… so he figured you’ll be the second most reliable person with it.”
“This… seems like an extraordinarily bad idea, Lord Hermes.” Melinoë said quietly, eyes glued to the tarnished coin. The tiniest of voids within her pulsed with need, a base want reigniting itself after millennia. “Lasciel had her hands on me before, and—“
“Which means you have an idea how to deal with her. And, she’s not really in a manipulative mood at the moment, from what I know.” Hermes shrugged. “Something about some Dresden guy getting the better of her.”
“Getting the better of her?” She did hear of Dresden; the wizard who scoured the Red Court of Vampires off the face of the earth. A commendable deed, even if it came with grave consequences. The Fomor, unfortunately, were much worse than the Reds. Neither of them were as bad as a Fallen however; let alone a Fallen scorned.
“Don’t know the deets. You know how it is, running correspondence, dodging baddies, the works. Might end up looking for that Blood-on-his-Soul guy again.” Hermes placed the coin on the table. Melinoë was grateful he didn’t just flick it over to her to catch. “And speaking of which, I need to get going. Take care, Mel, I’ll be seeing you.” One moment he was there; the other he was gone with the wind, without even a faintest of traces left. The erstwhile witch of the underworld watched the spot for a few more seconds and then flopped onto her lazy chair, feeling as if her entire body was encased in jelly.
She could reach for the denarius easily; it was just within her reach. Melinoë stared at the tarnished coin, feeling a strange sense of longing. Even at her weakest, she was still a god; she could resist the temptations of the Fallen. It helped that her greatest desire was already realized so many years ago. It was realized, and the Time-Slayer found herself adrift and purposeless. Attempting to reintegrate herself into her family proved surprisingly difficult, and so she opted to wander the mortal plains in search of a meaning. Plenty of places held her attention for a time, but none for too long. This hadn’t changed much. She’s been here masquerading as a professor for almost a decade now, and already the itch to wander elsewhere was starting to grow within her.
Ten years was a lot for a mortal or even some of the supernatural – but for a god, it might as well have been an hour.
…
She grabbed the coin, twirling it with her fingers. Lasciel – Lash, Iorío, Ananke to some; The Seducer, The Web-weaver, the Fallen – appeared in a chair over without fanfare. Once again she bore familiar raven black hair of her father and the shape of her mother’s face. Once again she glimmered in the many colors, some seen and some incomprehensible, with the faintest glimpse of her wings threatening to fill out the entirety of Melinoë’s apartment. She wore more modern clothing; an exact copy of Kasia Jasińska’s outfit from today, in fact. The only difference was the logo on the hoodie; rather than the crowned eagle and Latin of Warsaw University, it was a familiar hourglass.
...Lasciel was sulking. Something about her pursed lips and downcast expression amused Melinoë. This impossible being, with its unfathomable power that could rival the ancients of old, was sitting there in her chair curled up, doing her best impression of every teenaged mortal under curfew.
“I am not sulking, my host.” Lasciel murmured from behind her knees, very clearly continuing to sulk. Melinoë sighed, reaching out to offer an awkward pat on the shoulder. The Fallen wasn’t here; it was merely a projection seen in her mind and a testament to Lasciel’s power that she could make it so real.
“For all it’s worth – it’s good to see you again.”
“Is it really?” Melinoë offered a shrug.
“It’s been many years. You did offer help to the task I was focused on, even if there were caveats involved. Few ever offer help for no cost. But… it wasn’t needed in the end.”
“So it wasn’t. How?”
“A little secret of mine and the Headmistress’s.” Lasciel made a vague bemused sound but didn’t reply beyond it, eyes watching Tula the Third approach the seemingly empty space slowly, as if hunting. Melinoë’s eyes followed, eyebrow raising. “She can see you, no?”
“Cats do that.” The Fallen reached out with her hand; the Maine Coon stilled for a few seconds before it approached, nuzzling against the palm and purring in approval. “So… I suppose this is my house arrest until your Lord Father puts me away for good.” The erstwhile witch hummed noncommittally. Logically, this seemed like the right thing to do: the vaults of Hades were among the safest places available to house an item of this significance.
But, few were mad and cunning enough to raid them and survive. Perhaps “second best” would have to do for now. “Thoughts on the Fomor, Lasciel?”
“Disgusting creatures.” The Fallen’s nose turned up slightly as if she smelled something bad – but then she offered a hint of a smile. “I suppose culling a few would do for tonight. A little… equivalent of comfort food, I suppose.”
“Good. I think we should make ourselves comfortable then. It’ll be some time together, after all.” Melinoë placed the tarnished coin back on the desk and rose from her seat, offering the Fallen Angel a hand.
Lasciel took it. As the two left for an evening sweep of Fomor servants, Tula the Third curled up on the spot where Nothing-but-Everything was a moment ago, and found it pleasantly warm to lie on.