A gunmetal gray late-model BMW sat parked on the street, mostly hidden from the streetlights of the suburban housing development by the shadows of the trees that lined the sidewalk. Nearly silent, the modern coupe had drifted into place just after eleven o’clock. Though its driver had never emerged, a passerby or an observant neighbor might have spotted an occasional dull orange glow from behind the tinted windows, but the late hour and the car’s stealthy approach assured his privacy.
Inside the coupe sat an older, stern-looking man with steely gray hair, immaculately trimmed and slicked back. His jacket was a Margiela and his sweater was a Lauren, but the rest of his ensemble was weathered and brandless: faded jeans, rough leather boots, a thick leather belt and fingerless gloves. He sat comfortably in his coupe, attentive but at ease, never once succumbing to distraction or fatigue.
Slowly, he drew a long pull on the last of his Cuban cigarillos and stared up at the attic window he’d been watching all night. The house was a few doors down from his vantage point; one man, a neighbor, had left as he pulled up, but no one had entered since. This did not, of course, mean that his subject was alone, but his mundane companions, at least, had gone for the night.
The stern-looking man exhaled, and the smoke from the cigarillo, pulled into a tiny ionizer attached to the car’s ashtray, evaporated without leaving even the faintest trace of an odor behind.
Without warning, a freak storm broke out, and heavy, pounding rain obscured his view of the house. As he leaned forward to peer into the storm, a flash of light from the house's attic window cut through the night, and a strange, purplish afterglow forced him to blink in order to clear his eyes.
As his vision slowly returned, he flexed his fingers as if preparing to go to work. This was no teenager dabbling with love potions. This was a sorcerer. This would have to be dealt with.
Switching his focus from the attic window to the electronic display on his dashboard, he tapped at the symbols on the touchscreen, and then activated the hands-free call button on the steering wheel.
“Control,” came a soft, feminine voice over his audio system.
“Matthias,” he said gruffly, stubbing out the remains of the cigarillo. “Subject confirmed as a person of interest. Uploading full-spectrum footage for spectroscopy.”
Several seconds passed before the voice replied to him. “Results are inconclusive, Magister. Spectroscopy suggests possible post-infernal residue within a classical containment field. Heat patterns from your area sensors indicate there are two beings with active carbon-based metabolisms currently inside the home.”
Matthias frowned. “Two living beings?”
“That is correct, Magister.”
“Image analysis,” he growled. “Who’s in there with him.”
There was another pause before the reply came. “Unknown, Magister. The camera angle appears to have been altered during the recent magical operation; we don't have a clear view into the Circle anymore."
“Zoom, enhance and onscreen,” he rumbled, and a blown up still image from the footage he’d just uploaded filled his touchscreen. He leaned in, raised an eyebrow, and studied his subject before leaning back and shaking his head.
"Damn it. Between the angle and the interference from that Circle there's just no way to tell for sure. What about electromagnetic readings? We had a collection net set up in that attic last week."
“The operational protective circle makes analysis difficult, but it seems as though the subject's visitor has an eleven percent higher resonance frequency than standard human baseline. Margin for error in this reading, however, is twenty-five percent.”
“Inconclusive,” he grunted, leaning back into the plush leather driver’s seat. “You’re certain there’s no taint on the primary subject?”
“Spectroscopy does not indicate any active or residual corruption, but I must remind the Magister that --”
“Yes, yes, I know,” he said, interrupting her, irritation clear in his voice. “There are passive effects that we can’t detect via spectroscopy. We’ll get a more thorough reading when we detain him.”
“Is that your recommendation then, Magister?”
Matthias looked forlornly at the crushed cigarillo in the ashtray, then peered briefly at the image of his subject on the touchscreen before replying. “Continued observation for now. I don’t know what that thing is in there with him, and I don’t want to intervene before I know exactly what kind of fire he’s playing with. But I’m requesting backup.”
There was another brief pause before the response came. “Control will dispatch two additional Adepti, Magister. Are you certain you would not prefer to let them --”
“I’m certain,” Matthias said curtly, cutting off the voice.
“Very well, Magister. I shall inform your supplicants of the continued delay. Next scheduled check-in will be at twelve hundred.”
“Out,” Matthias said, flipping the hands-free off before the female voice could reply.