Strange Aeons [Book 1]

4.Staccato [Part IV]

«I had work to do.» he grumbled, while Francesca, almost frantically, was checking that his tie was perfectly knotted. As it could ever not be. From head to toe, in his perfectly ironed black suit, Garaham was waiting beside his wife outside the glass door of the conference room.

When someone imagines a Mage Council Room, epic images come to mind. Grand halls with tall thrones, round tables of marble with esoteric inscriptions and fascinating runes, dim magic lightings, maybe on green or sparkly red tones, skillfully managed to shed as little light as possible and, that few lights, not to be enough to make out the threatening faces of the Councilors. A dozen intimidating figures wrapped in large sartorial robes, watching down on the poor underling requesting an audience. A sort of wispy fog would rise from the ground, and sometimes, menacingly, a raven would caw from someone's shoulder.

But the meeting on the agenda today didn't require the Official Council Room. So, the dozen, plus one, suited up men and women around a quite normal conference table in an office on the 27th floor of a prestigious building in the Chicago Loop, were as far as a Mage Council as any imagination could try to conjure. There was a screen with a map and pie charts, everyone had piles and piles of paper in front of them, and someone was, inevitably, doodling on his block notes. If someone would pass beside the glass walls, such a boring design choice, they would have looked precisely like a bunch of bored executives at a periodical adjournment staff meeting.

«Oh, only you could whine about being called up by the Council! Are you kidding? Maybe this is it, they're finally taking you up for a transfer!» Francesca's eyes had been gleaming with excitement and anticipation since her father's call that morning.

Garaham had seen through the glass a thing he didn't like already. His sitting figure wasn't less imposing than his standing, but he could have detected him blind in a dark room just by the nasty sensation of political climber he emanated.

But it wasn't the tall and muscular black man to come and gallantly open the door to them. It was a man with blonde hair and deep blue eyes, whose squared features and well-built body couldn't distract anyone from the fact that he was eleven good inches shorter than Garaham's six-feet-two.

«Garaham.» he greeted him, greasily.

«Joachim.» he replied, dryly enough, in contrast, tasting the childish satisfaction of seeing the shadow of disappointment rise in his eyes.

«It's Councilman , we're in an official situation.» he said, trying not to sound annoyed.

«You are. I am still out of the door.» Garaham replied, with the well-honed tone of a lawyer. Francesca, beside him, rolled her eyes towards the ceiling.

«Councilman, it's nice to see you again.» she smiled, moving a step forward, trying to insert herself between the two men. At her sight, Jägermann's eyes beamed dangerously.

«Dear Francesca, you're always a sight for sore eyes. I'm so sorry, but we can admit only Garaham. It is quite a private matter.»

«But I'm his wife!» she protested.

«I know, but this meeting is just for the people in a need-to-know chain. As ex-Enforcer, wife to an Enforcer and Councilman's daughter, I'm sure you'll understand.» Jägermann's voice was mellifluous to be annoying but not enough to be actually insulting, so Francesca gritted her teeth behind her perfect lips and put a fake smile on them, before retreating.

Of twelve Councilors. Garaham knew them all. One of them incredibly well. And he hated all of them. Not because they were particularly incompetent, on the contrary, rarely, like in the last years, the Council had been so well managed. He simply hated what they stood for. Political squabbling that made everything uselessly complicated. Even for an enthusiastic bureaucrat.