[Helena Polyxena]

Helena’s job wasn’t really the kind that usually came with perks. What it mostly came with was paper cuts and deadlines and splotches of ink on her clothes, shouting editors and belligerent authors, but every now and then there were advantages. One of those advantages was the special express delivery of the yearly “Best Bachelor” issue of Witch Weekly. When she’d read her first issue of Witch Weekly she’d found herself shocked, incensed and deeply embarrassed by what was contained. Tips of things that no one needed to know about, weird love potions ingredients, endless quizzes. She hadn’t been able to see the appeal, that was until the she got her first most eligible bachelor edition. More specifically, the first issue Jasper had appeared in.

He’d tried to brush it off as nothing that first time, shrugging and looking as sheepish as he was able while Atlas pursued the horribly pink and shiny publication. It had become a bit harder to brush off when the small mob had formed outside all bearing pomegranates, Jasper’s favorite red colored fruit of the year. From then on it had been one of her and Atlas’ most treasured activities as a couple, Witch Weekly reading by the fire. The tradition had evolved and taken on its own happenings and meanings and players. Then it had ended and she’d woken up on a sunny spring morning and realized what day it was in England. At the time, it had seemed strange that a trashy rag of a publication had been the thing to further catalyze her mourning.

Her editor hadn’t really understood why it was vital that she have a single express Witch Weekly issue delivered to her, but she’d been able to convince him with only marginal effort and now she had a new tradition surrounding the day. She’d sat on her porch, hands underneath her chin, like a little girl and waited for it to come. She might have been self conscious of the looks from passing neighbors had she not been so excited. When the owl had come she’d shut up, curled up and read, just like every other girl in England.

That had been two weeks ago and now came the second phase of the yearly celebration, a visit from Jasper. It wasn’t always easy to predict what he’d be about, his visits were sporadic though they’d increased in the last few months but consistent times were still largely absent. Times that could be counted on were a visit for Saturnalia and the weekend before her birthday and post Witch Weekly. This yea he’d been late, and had owled a vague and hasty apology, to which she’d reply that if it was a strain he didn’t need to put himself out but she’d added that there was another round of ingredients for him to pick up.

Now she was sitting on the sofa, an open letter from Atlas in one hand and a cryptifying scroller in her lap. He’d been writing, as Jasper had said he would, but like most things with Atlas it wasn’t really straight forward. All in code, all puzzles to solve. The first time she’d translated the opening sentence she’d gotten something about pajamas and monograms, convinced that she was wrong she was having a second go of it. Everything was ready and waiting for Jasper’s arrival, down to the outfit she’d specially selected for the occasion. One of the goats had gotten to it while she had it on the line that morning, maybe Jasper wouldn’t notice.

[Jasper Christie]

Most people wouldn't find a weekend of mockery the most relaxing sort of vacation, but Jasper was packing for Greece anyway. Witch Weekly Week had come and gone with no major injuries and a brief burst of monogramming, and now it was time to complete the ritual and visit Helena. For the first few years he'd been mildly offended by the barrage of snide comments that followed his yearly feature, but more often than not they were funny, and his agreement to the article was somewhat tongue in cheek anyway. Plus he felt like he owed her a cheerful visit; she'd been so obliging about his constant whining over the past few months.

He packed a few more spare shirts (you never knew when you might need something with a different windowpane check) and the necklace he'd made her out of a broken beaker Cal had brought back from the lab, left a note -- Going to have the piss taken out of me in Greece. See you Sunday, Jas.-- and Apparated to Helena's porch. He could see her through the open curtains and she waved, perhaps a little too happily. Witch Weekly was garishly visible on her coffee table when she opened the door, a hideous pink rectangle among the marked up parchment of her current editing projects.

"Cheers. It's the most wonderful time of the year."

He quirked an eyebrow in irony as she ushered him in, and picked up the magazine by one corner. His own picture grinned cheesily back at him and he replaced it, face down, before reaching into his pocket and handing over the necklace.

"Broken laboratory glass. A new one for me. I know bribery has failed to mitigate your comments in the past, but I'm optimistic." Helena sat down nearby, perched eagerly on the edge of her cushion, and he glanced down at her collar, which was looking a bit lopsided. "What happened to your shirt?"

[Helena Polyxena]

What happened to your shirt? She looked up from the necklace, she’d never had one from glass before, and had been busy investigating it. Her finger slid along the top of the stones and Jasper nodded at her collar. Her initial reply was to smile and to slip the necklace on, covering the patch of torn fabric with her arm as she adjusted the chain to fall just right.

“One of the goats got to it.” There was little point in sugar coating it, though she did think about it for a moment. To say that Jasper wasn’t fond of the goats that she had roaming around her bit of the island (and often on her neighbors bit of the island) would have been akin to saying that Atlas wasn’t fond of Shirley. The greatest understatement since the council for magical secrecy had called that Sabrina the Teenage Witch a minor affront to decency. Jasper hated the goats, loathed them with the loathing that only came when someone had destroyed one of his children. She’d had to wait months to get him back to Greece after that incident. “It was my fault really, I left it on the line and then left their paddock door open. I think its an improvement.”

Jasper glanced at the windows and other possible points of goat entry and she waved him back down. “I put them all back, promise. You did bring back up shirts though didn’t you? Just in case?” Leaning on the arm of the chair she spotted his bag and rocked back to her seated position.

“Now, the necklace is lovely, I thought glass was always unstable?” She wouldn’t let him get to comfortable, like he’d said, there wasn’t much that could mitigate but a momentary breather might be a good way to start off the trip. “Before we start,” Hopping up she retrieved her wand and pressed Jasper down into his seat before giving it a quick flick. A small bulb appeared, contained in it was a tiny shrunk down version of the magazine now face down on the coffee table. With all due deference to a sacred object she past it to Jasper. “To commemorate Cal’s first Witch Weekly day. If you shake it, you can hear hoards shouting. How was the crowd this year?”

[Jasper Christie]

Goats. The only way Jasper wanted to come into contact with anything related to goats was in kebab form after a gig. He'd let Helena wash some of his shirts during a long summer vacation once and woken up to see a goat outside his window, chomping down the sleeve of a J. Lindberg like Atlas with a slice of pineapple. Ever since, he'd refused to allow any of his clothing out of his sight in Greece and came prepared with at least twelve spare outfits.

"You don't leave the Chanel out with them, do you?" He admonished sternly.

“Now, the necklace is lovely, I thought glass was always unstable?”

She lifted it from her throat and looked at the stones again, a little cross eyed from the angle. Jasper nodded.

"Usually is, but Cal gave me some pointers about wave motion at subatomic levels-- handy having a Phd physicist hanging about every now and then." He leaned forward and pointed to one of the stones. "That might be the best topaz I've made this year, you should be nice to me."

She wouldn't be, but that was the tradition. A period of mockery, followed by baklava and then maybe a nap. When he woke up his hair would be perfectly smoothed and he'd pretend he didn't notice the change, then Helena would suggest a spear fishing trip. She'd Accioed something and was holding it out to him. A snow globe, with a tiny, very realistic-looking issue of Witch Weekly inside. The base was a matching shade of appalling, glittery pink.

“To commemorate Cal’s first Witch Weekly day. If you shake it, you can hear hoards shouting. How was the crowd this year?”

Jasper duly shook the small sphere and a din of high pitched voices rose from it. Clever, he had to admit. As the glitter inside the glass swirled, the pages of the magazine turned and he winked from their glossy surface. Leaning down again, he carefully folded the globe inside one of his shirts.

"It's brilliant, I'm sure he'll love it. He finds the whole thing almost as funny as you do." He settled himself in his seat, preparing. "They got a little more-- aggressive this year. Managed to get round to the back door, it was a rather close call getting Cal out before they broke the lock. I got loads of cupcakes though. Someone brought a camel...that was different..."

[Helena Polyxena]

She found it maybe a bit hard to believe that anyone thought the situation was as funny as she did. Though if there was someone who was better equipped to enjoy it than her, Cal seemed the best candidate. If he hadn’t been angry about it, than humor was the next natural reaction.

Cal had a sharp tongue and the mind that had to go along with it, it stood to reason that his sense of humor would match. She hoped that sometime she’d be able to experience it herself. Not in the sardonic and vaguely performance sense that she’d witnessed in their few meetings but the kind that she knew Jasper was talking about when he watched the globe swirl. Maybe someday they’d get to the point where they could joke about it together, for now though she’d stick to the game plan.

Folding herself into the chair, chin atop her knees she motioned for Jasper to begin. They got a little more-- aggressive this year. Managed to get round to the back door, it was a rather close call getting Cal out before they broke the lock.

Gasping she burrowed her chin into her knees, eyes widening as she waited for further details on a daring Cal rescue. Maybe the Aston had been involved...maybe they’d finally gotten it some proper rockets...maybe....

I got loads of cupcakes though.

“I did see that its your new favorite food, so I saved myself the trouble of making baklava.”

Someone brought a camel...that was different...

No rockets, fiddles. “Cal got a frenzied mob for his first? Lucky.” She tried to imagine Jasper performing a daring rescue as a league of bacchanal women amassed around his home. “Did the rescue involve masks and swinging on curtains? Disguising him before parting the crowds with your...” Here she unfurled and snagged the magazine, dragging it across the table until she could open it, clear her voice and read from the ‘introductory’ paragraph, “ ‘smile that smolders, emitting a heat and a glow that made us here at Witch Weekly turn down our fires, at least the ones in the room!’ ” She paused to add the wink that she was sure was meant to accompany it. Years on and they were still coming up with new and delightful ways to describe the way Jasper quirked his lips and showed his teeth.

“Then, did you ride the camel to your exotic destination of choice? I have to admit you made Antarctica sound very appealing this year, I’m sure all of you enjoyed, 'the majestic sweep of the mountains and the abundance of fine Pan-Arctic cuisine' There are some snow cones in the ice box, in case you'd like to relive the experience.”

[Jasper Christie]

“I did see that its your new favorite food, so I saved myself the trouble of making baklava.”

Jasper wasn't sure he'd ever need to eat again, having consumed approximately seven dozen cupcakes in the last week (Cal and Atlas had taken on a fair number as well), but a trip to Greece without baklava just wasn't right. It was clearly a lie; Helena would never let Jasper escape her clutches without at least one pastry in him, but he pulled a face anyway. Helena pouted back at him.

“Cal got a frenzied mob for his first? Lucky.”

Helena had been there in the early years, when only the diehard Christie chasers had appeared at his door in a modest crowd that subsided within a few hours. The mob had grown exponentially over the subsequent years, much to Helena's delight, until the critical point where Jasper could no longer leave his house without things turning into a Hard Day's Night chase sequence (complete with skinny suit and Chelsea boots).

“Did the rescue involve masks and swinging on curtains? Disguising him before parting the crowds with your...” She smirked and picked up the magazine, a signal that the mockery was about to begin in earnest. Jasper flicked his fingers in a 'come on, then' gesture and sat back. “ ‘smile that smolders, emitting a heat and a glow that made us here at Witch Weekly turn down our fires, at least the ones in the room!’ ”

She had it down. Even the cheesy, somewhat manic smile. He could picture the same expression on the face of a Witch Weekly reporter perched at her sparkly pink desk, holding her sparkly pink quill and feeling very clever with herself for such a metaphor.

“Then, did you ride the camel to your exotic destination of choice?... I’m sure all of you enjoyed, 'the majestic sweep of the mountains and the abundance of fine Pan-Arctic cuisine' There are some snow cones in the ice box, in case you'd like to relive the experience.”

"As lovely as it was, I'm just recovering now from the frostbite. It was on my feet. If I have feet." He kicked his feet up on the edge of the coffee table, mindful of her papers.

"The plan was more covering Cal in my Invisibility Cloak and Apparating to Atlas' to hide out for a few days." He frowned. "Atlas--monogrammed a lot of things. Towels, plates, he got pajamas somewhere-- it was a strange weekend, I need a break. Speaking of, if there isn't any baklava to be had I'm going home.

"By the way, if you think the goats would like a camel friend, we cant seem to chase the thing off."

[Helena Polyxena]

He was taunting her as he leaned back and gingerly placed his feet up the table. Under the finely polished leather of the shoe she could just make out the outline of his feet. They were the ones Cal had bought for him, just a hint of Enzo’s chalk was still visible, leaning forward she pinched the top of the shoe. Jasper wiggled her off before she had a sense of single toes, but one day....

“I have an excellent remedy for frostbite, if you just take them off I can see what I can do.” Jasper’s only response was a snort and to scrunch up a little more from his slouch on the sofa. The end result was his feet now being out of her immediate reach.

The plan was more covering Cal in my Invisibility Cloak and Apparating to Atlas' to hide out for a few days. She paused in her skimming of the magazine for her next dart, the section on this years hottest potions trends looked promising, and blinked at Jasper. Blinked again and then her eyes narrowed as she looked for the classic signs of a Christie joke. Atlas -- Folding the magazine closed she balanced her hands on one knee and waited for the inevitable punch line. monogrammed a lot of things. Towels, plates, he got pajamas somewhere-- it was a strange weekend, I need a break.

"He did not."

Mono.....gramed. There hadn’t been any mention of monogramming in the spread, they’d stop asking about it years ago when William Robards had given them an answer involving shears, a party, and a small endangered manticore.

Speaking of, if there isn't any baklava to be had I'm going home. His palms slapped onto the tops of his knees as he propelled himself halfway upwards. Smirking she aimed her wand, muttered a kick spell and smiled when she succeeded in getting Jasper back down to the sofa. She’d unstick the back of his shirt in due time.

“Not so fast, Christie. You called the bluff, there are three trays for you to get through.”

By the way, if you think the goats would like a camel friend, we cant seem to chase the thing off.

“Pinky doesn't need a companion? She must get lonely with only the skeleton to play with her. Besides won’t you need it for Mongolia, you did say that it was going to be the destination for mid summer holidays. Have you reserved your own yurt yet? No corners, imagine all you can accomplish when you don’t have to worry about a corner coming out to get you.”

Jasper pulled a face and looked ready to response, but Helena stopped him, holding up her hand like a particularly tiny judge at her pulpit. “Not so fast, we’ll discuss knit ware and circular dwellings in due time, first.” Leaning forward she let the serious expression fade. “You took Cal to Atlas’? Have you ever heard the phrase out of the frying pan and into the fire? Did everyone survive unscathed? If you tell me every grubby detail I could be convinced to let you off of a sailing trip.”

[Jasper Christie]

"He did not."

Jasper nodded solemnly. "Did."

He'd brought along the pajama shirt, made of crisp, pale blue cotton. An elaborate J had been stitched into the pocket in complimentary navy thread, he suspected by Atlas himself. That idea suggested a concerning level of premeditation that Jasper hadn't let himself consider too throughly, especially while they'd still been staying in the guest room.

When he mimed getting up, Helena slapped him back into his seat with a quick charm. His shoulders felt--heavy? In the interest of shirt safety he decided to remain where he was. He wouldn't lose another one to the harsh environs of Greece.

“Not so fast, Christie. You called the bluff, there are three trays for you to get through.”

Jasper beamed. That was a lot of baklava. So much that he might have to extend his visit an extra day to eat it all, but it would be worth it. One especially motivated summer he and Atlas had completed the "Tray A Day" challenge. Okay, maybe that had been a very slow summer with a lot of rainy days rather than a high point of lifetime achievement, but he distinctly remembered some celebratory laps around the dining room at the end, at which point Helena had come in and stared at them in concern. Then brought more baklava because their plates were empty.

"...Have you reserved your own yurt yet? No corners, imagine all you can accomplish when you don’t have to worry about a corner coming out to get you.”

Jasper started to make a comment about the goatherd calling the kettle black, but Helena cut him off.

“You took Cal to Atlas’? Have you ever heard the phrase out of the frying pan and into the fire? Did everyone survive unscathed? If you tell me every grubby detail I could be convinced to let you off of a sailing trip.”

"Witch Weekly wasn't enough grubby details for you? Come on, you were dying to know what sort of mouthwash I use, don't deny it. And that bit about my favorite spa in Abu Dhabi was a thrill." Still stuck to his chair, he Accioed his bag into his lap and pulled out the pajama shirt, tossing it to her. "Monograms. On everything. Towels, pillowcases, toothbrushes, headboards. Plural on the headboards, mind. Two of them. He redecorated the guest room so we'd feel at home."

[Helena Polyxena]

She already knew what mouthwash he used, she had a few half used bottles lying around, and he always fibbed on answers like that anyway. This year his new formula had involved tamar lillies and the ground shavings of a blue rhino, when in truth it was your boring run of the mill wintergreen...whatever that meant. How could a flavor be a season and a color?

After another go at leaning forward and a worrisome half glance at his back, Jasper retrieved his bag and handed her a pajama shirt. She caught it easily enough, putting on foot on the ground to balance properly before unfolding it to be greeted by a very loopy J. Unmistakably Atlas in its origin, he favored the curvatures of the Zia school of needle work and there was probably no way that Jasper would have bothered to recreate the style down to Atlas particular way of tying off the ends of his thread.

Monograms. On everything. Towels, pillowcases, toothbrushes, headboards. Plural on the headboards, mind. Two of them. He redecorated the guest room so we'd feel at home.

Lazily she traced the letter, back and forth while she tried to think of what her first question should be here. Jasper’s description called to mind the strange old muggle shows that Atlas likes, the sorts where husbands and wives didn’t sleep in the same.... her mind made the connection and unable to help herself she laughed. The sound was partially muffled when she lifted the shirt up in a hasty effort to cover her expression.

“Wait, by redecorated, you mean he separated the bed? Did he make three and sleep between the two of you like a dorm matron? I don't suppose he informed you why he was doing this...”

She tried to imagine it...to imagine the whole endeavor. Jasper didn’t seem to be traumatized and when he said Atlas’ name it wasn’t with the weight that it had been dropping with in most of their conversations. The implication from that could be that the affair had actually gone well.... she looked out the window, just to see if one of the pigs was flying.

“Does monograming make you feel at home, Jas? I could get out my needle and start in on your jamas here, after I finish carving your name into a soap or two. Why didn’t you tell Witch Weekly about it? Your adoring public should know! They have rights. You could really give the monogramers of England a boost. So selfish keeping it yourself.”

[Jasper Christie]

Helena unfolded the pajama shirt with the same ingrained reverence she had for all his clothes. He'd noticed a distinct change in the way she handled them after the first time he'd taken her shopping in London. Before that she'd been flippant with his jackets, tossing them onto the coat rack in her front hallway. But then she'd raised her eyebrows at the prices in Philip Lim and started to handle his things far more gently, like frail children. She peered at him from over the monogram.

“Wait, by redecorated, you mean he separated the bed? Did he make three and sleep between the two of you like a dorm matron? I don't suppose he informed you why he was doing this...”

Jasper shook his head. Sometimes it was better not to ask after Atlas' motives. There had been comments about the two beds before the impromptu visit to the guest room above SHOP, but Jasper had consoled himself that Atlas was probably joking at least a little. Then he'd gotten there-- they'd had matching bedside lamps, for Merlin's sake. And while Cary Grant had worn pajamas in North by Northwest, Jasper really didn't think he was cut out for it. He flailed too much and woke up with both arms wedged through one sleeve or one leg losing circulation in a tangle of drawstring.

“Does monograming make you feel at home, Jas? I could get out my needle and start in on your jamas here, after I finish carving your name into a soap or two. Why didn’t you tell Witch Weekly about it? Your adoring public should know!”

"I really don't think witches need any more help identifying me. Especially after this year. I sent Atlas over to do some reworking on the security spells after they got to the door, he said it looked like a herd of rhinos had been round the place. I had to use glass for your necklace because all the pebbles in the alley had been trampled into dust.

"Luckily he stayed well out of way once he was finished dividing the bed up, which he seemed well concerned about, like he might have offended our sensibilities by not having it ready beforehand. And he announced whenever he was coming into a room very loudly." This with a specious flicker of his eyebrows. "He meant well, and it could have been loads worse, but it was a bit trying. Especially the matching slippers. And all that tv about the strange race of orange people from New Jersey. Plus I missed the bird bed, it just isn't a good night's sleep without that patch of ptarmigan on my left side."

Helena was grinning, still holding the pajama shirt.

"This is even more entertaining for you than Witch Weekly, isn't it? If I'd had more time to prepare I'd have done up a little article with a sidebar about the glazing process for the matching monogrammed mugs Atlas made in case we wanted tea while we were holding hands. Which is, I've learned, presumptively what one does in monogram-land."

[Helena Polyxena]

She listened to the details he gave about the mob finally breaching the walls of the ‘castle christie’ . She’d have to be on the look out for stray religious relics that turned up in the temple of Helios. She also took some time to breifly consider what else Atlas might have done to the guest room.

“You still could make one up for me. My scrap booking supply might not be as impressive but I’m sure you could make it work.”

“It seemed to me that in monogramed land you’d have to hold hands, while reading individualized magazines together, and smoking with pipes.” Jasper made a face that read ‘how did you know’ and Helena lifted and dropped her shoulders in a girlish shrug. This was better than Witch Weekly but she had a feeling that unlike the magazine the visit to Atlas' might have been one of those once in a life time experiences. It was more than a little shocking that nothing seemed to have gone wrong when it was all three of them staying in one house, with Atlas having to comprehend Jasper and Cal in the same space together. She half expected for Jasper to crack at any moment and tell her that he needed help getting rid of a body.

“You’ve been separated from the bird bed for a whole week and you still came to see me?” One hand on her chest, she batted her eyes and used the other to fan herself. “I’m beyond flattered. I’ll have to turn the fire down, you’re smile makes it completely unnecessary.”

Rising from the chair she affected the motions of banishing the flames from the fireplace, but instead swished her wand and retracted the charm she’d put in place. Easy enough to do wandlessly but very handy, it made the fabric grow into the surface it was currently in contact with. It was most useful when there were children around the house, but was equally effective on people who had a great deal of concern for their apparel.

If the harassment was going to continue she might as well pretend to be a good hostess and get Jasper a martini. She’d set up the small scale version of his mini bar that morning. “Two beds, so in your opinion is that going to be the new trend for couples next year? That wouldn't bode well for you, not after you told the noble readers of Witch Weekly," She squeeked out the words in the same high register her niece used when talking about discus throwers "That it was going to be Japaneses tatami mats."

"I’m entirely supportive of male bonding but you could have come here if you wanted to sleep in a bed meant to hold more than a mid sized teenager.” As a general rule Helena didn’t believe in single beds and considering the trauma Atlas had suffered at their narrow clutches over the course of his schooling, she’d have thought he’d know better.

She handed off Jasper’s drink and glanced down at Atlas letter scattered on the table top. Monogram..... “Oh merlin, that is what he was writing about. I’ve been trying to decipher the latest owl for days. I thought my dictionary was wrong." She plucked it up and re skimmed it, along with what she'd translated so far. Maybe she was meant to read the sentences at a right angle. "Everyone is still in one piece aren't they? You need to tell me so I can just relax and enjoy your mad cap tales of your weekend spent in a Caedmon tinged 1950s time warp."

[Jasper Christie]

Helena's understanding of what had gone on during the previous week was so accurate that Jasper wondered if there wasn't some kind of conspiracy going on. Maybe Atlas had been sending back daily reports in exchange for baklava. Their letter system had been apparently successful so far; he'd spotted one from Atlas on the table among the other papers, distinguishable by the cipher-proofing charm around the border.

“You’ve been separated from the bird bed for a whole week and you still came to see me?”

Jasper nodded solemnly. It had been a long separation from his bed, but this trip wasn't really a further detachment since he'd carefully reconstructed his own bedroom in Helena's guest room over a number of years. An endeavor that hadn't seemed to alarm her as much as he'd anticipated. In fact she'd been quite happy when he'd had the new furniture delivered.

“I’m beyond flattered. I’ll have to turn the fire down, you’re smile makes it completely unnecessary.”

Jasper gave her his best impression of the entirely made up, heat-radiating smile that Witch Weekly had been fawning over for years. The first time he'd read their description he'd known it wasn't what he actually looked like, but they'd been making more elaborate metaphors each year since. Once he'd purposefully not smiled during an entire interview and they'd still written about four paragraphs on his incisors. When he stopped smiling, Helena finally unstuck him from his chair and crossed the room to make him a drink.

“Two beds, so in your opinion is that going to be the new trend for couples next year? That wouldn't bode well for you, not after you told the noble readers of Witch Weekly that it was going to be Japaneses tatami mats."

"If two beds is going to be the trend next year, I'll have to be off trend for the first time in my life. Especially if they're two beds transfigured somewhat questionably from one bed. The tatami mat might have been better, in retrospect."

"I’m entirely supportive of male bonding but you could have come here if you wanted to sleep in a bed meant to hold more than a mid sized teenager.”

She brought his drink back over and Jasper smiled, legitimately this time. For a long time after he'd met Helena, he'd wondered if he was inadvertently taking advantage of her. She fussed over him so much that it made him feel guilty, and rarely let him return the favor on her incredibly rare visits to London. His gifts had started as an inadequate way to say thank you, and he still hadn't managed to find a proper one.

“Oh merlin, that is what he was writing about. I’ve been trying to decipher the latest owl for days. I thought my dictionary was wrong." She picked up Atlas' letter again and cocked her head sideways, then continued. "Everyone is still in one piece aren't they? You need to tell me so I can just relax and enjoy your mad cap tales of your weekend spent in a Caedmon tinged 1950s time warp."

"Everyone's fine, it wasn't as bad as you or me or--anyone, really, expected. Atlas tried to make us eat chicken ala king, and I'm not really sure what that is, but other than that and all the monogramming it was very, er, normal? I mean, you've been to SHOP. Only so normal. But Atlas and Cal are getting on better lately, which is nice. And Atlas charmed the guest room to keep the bandits out. He also charmed the lights in the monogrammed lamps to go out at curfew, which is apparently 11:30 in the 1950s."

Cal had gotten a bit of a face on over that one. That and the night Atlas had made deep fried Twinkies. Those had been some dire moments.

"And I know your guest room is always open and the bed is less lumpy, but I wanted to be there to keep an eye on my house. Prevent looting and that. It's why we couldn't go to Scotland either." He put a hand out for the parchment she was examining. "How are the letters going? I see he's included his 'famous' corndog recipe for your enjoyment."

[Helena Polyxena]

Everyone’s fine, Once she had looked at Jasper’s face for complete confirmation she let out the rest of the breath that she’d been holding. It was the mild astonishment in his voice that finally made her decide that what he said was the truth. There was reason to be surprised, after she’d spoken to Atlas she had found herself along for the ride on the train of Jasper’s concern about the two of them working together. She hadn’t said anything to him at the time, but she hadn’t been and still wasn’t entirely sure that it was the best idea. She smiled though, holding Atlas letter and watching Jasper sip at his drink in contentment.

Atlas tried to make us eat chicken ala king, and I'm not really sure what that is, but other than that and all the monogramming it was very, er, normal? A raise of her eyebrow was all it took for Jasper to make some slight amendments to what he’d said. If things had been normal she was sure it would have only been in the strange plasticine vein of the old sitcoms that Atlas had seemed to be re-enacting with his spree of monograming. Not normal by any standard of normal, maybe a better way would have been to describe it as normal for Atlas. Normal for Atlas and encroaching speciously close to insanity for most other people.

She shouldn’t say anything but she couldn’t resist. “Chicken ala King is about 90% heavy cream and 5% butter and 5% chicken.” Jasper’s face colored as he swallowed wrong and coughed in his seat while she smirked.

And Atlas charmed the guest room to keep the bandits out. A kindness that Atlas had never extended when they had shared a room together. Helena had implored him and he’d just looked at her in the worried and hurt way and said, ‘But what if something happens and they /need/ us?’ He’d only consented to keeping them out the SECOND time she’d woken up tied to a set of tiny, hastily cobbled together children’s rail road tracks.

In an attempt to change the subject Jasper leaned forward and motioned for the letter she was still holding. How are the letters going? I see he's included his 'famous' corndog recipe for your enjoyment. Childishly she hefted the letter above her head.

“Interesting gambit for changing the subject, Christie. Witch Weekly warned me about your ‘sultry brand of cunning’.” Jasper watched the letter and she knew if he stood up he’d tower over her. “That was the word they used wasn’t it? Sultry? Interviewing certainly didn’t mind impartiality too much did she?”

Leaning forward she offered the letter with flat palms, the same way you offered tokens to gods, or grass to horses. “Help yourself, if you can read it.” The first letter had taken her five days to solve, and another two to properly decipher. The game had been an excellent representation of what their relationship had been, equal parts fun and frustrating with a marginal feeling of accomplishment to follow.

“They’re puzzles. Sort of fun to do on a rainy day, I think he’s worried about someone intercepting them.” Matter of factly. “The first one was apologies in 34 different languages, one of which was harpy." From her new vantage point she glanced down at the letter, there was a definite pattern going on to that one sentence at the end of the first paragraph. Drawn from her chair she leaned her head so that she and Jasper were both looking down at the letter, blindly she reached for her codex. A few flicks and flips and glances down brought her to a rather interesting conclusion. "Jasper," With a hint of the sly delivery often heard in court room dramas. "What is a squid ball?

[Jasper Christie]

Helena, still standing, held the parchment over her head and waved it like a small, triumphant banner. Jasper looked at her, then up over her head, and back down again, and they both smiled in recognition that Helena was unlikely to win a game of keepaway with anyone but Orestes' three year old daughter, and even she was getting tall.

“Interesting gambit for changing the subject, Christie. Witch Weekly warned me about your ‘sultry brand of cunning’. That was the word they used wasn’t it? Sultry? Interviewing certainly didn’t mind impartiality too much did she?”

Jasper shrugged and leaned forward to take the letter when she offered it formally, bending forward from the waist with it out flat in her hands. He didn't strive for impartiality in Witch Weekly interviews. Mostly he wanted them to be nice. Fawning was preferable to criticism, especially when the majority of the female population took every word as the ultimate truth.

"Not my fault that I try to be accommodating. I have a reputation to maintain."

Helena joined him in scrutinizing the letter, which was largely a massive paragraph of gibberish, followed by another of the same. He'd screened the first letter between them and it had been in English; if Atlas had sent it in this format, he'd translated it after getting Jasper's approval.

“They’re puzzles. Sort of fun to do on a rainy day, I think he’s worried about someone intercepting them.” Matter of factly. “The first one was apologies in 34 different languages, one of which was harpy."

Jasper nodded approvingly. "I only mandated twenty. Nice to see he's going above and beyond."

He'd never been patient enough to humor Atlas' love of crypotology, but Helena had apparently made some headway in understanding the note. She'd pulled out a substantial book with several markers of different colored paper down the side and was flipping through. Pausing, she poked a finger at the parchment then flipped another page.

"Jasper, what is a squid ball?"

Jasper grinned broadly and set aside the letter.

"Well, Verity came by, as she always does, with squid balls from the recipe Atlas gave her. My favorite, apparently, just like Grandma Christie makes. They smelled like the bottom of your bait bucket at the end of the season and looked slightly less appealing. So of course I had to try one. Luckily I bothered to learn wandless food transfiguration. He's still trying to work out how I ate five of them.

"It may have been the first time I've ever enjoyed being in the same room with Verity. Atlas also conveniently spit his onto one of the witches outside my shop, which I think deterred her for about three minutes."

[Helena Polyxena]

Jasper’s eyes scanned over the paper, sometimes keeping in focus and occasionally dropping out of it. Probably he was looking for a hidden 3d message, Atlas had discovered muggle book on one of his excursions entitled ‘Magic Eye’ and for some time his reproductions of that work had been the only written way of communication. If there was one embedded in this letter she hadn’t found it.

I only mandated twenty. Nice to see he's going above and beyond.

His voice said that he was kidding, and so Helena smiled indulgently but she knew better. The second letter from Atlas had detailed the encounter he and Jasper had had after she’d left and the resulting aftermath, namely that Jasper was checking through the letters Atlas wrote for appropriate content. He’d likened it a bit to Sergei’s times in the Gulag writing letters to home, or maybe it had been the Chinese work camp, Sergei had been incarcerated in so many places that it was hard to keep track of all of them. Saying that defending her honor wasn’t Jasper’s responsibility might be true, but it would also be about as effective as trying to tell any of her brother’s besides Christopher that they didn’t really need that 10th spear.

In the end she decided to stick to topics of conversation that embarrassed Jasper as opposed to both of them and carefully asked for some clarification of Atlas’ correspondence. It elicited the kind of smile that Helena was certain Witch Weekly had never written about. It was the same face Jasper got when he knew it was time to make another card for that horrible school mate of his, or when he had just sold an especially fake necklace to some horrible type of person. The sort who was a witch in much more of a muggle sense than a wizard.

Well, Verity came by, as she always does, with squid balls from the recipe Atlas gave her. My favorite, apparently, just like Grandma Christie makes. Verity. Helena did feel a special sort of affection for the girl. It had taken some time for her to get there, probably until that evening when she’d watch Jasper be coaxed into dancing with the girl. She’d been rather young at the time, but no less tall, and still she’d insisted upon standing on Jasper’s feet to dance. Poor Jasper...it had been a Catalonian waltz, and those were so very long. It was as the dance went into its second movement that Helena had decided that she rather liked Verity.

And Atlas had told her about....squid balls. She’d never met Jasper’s fraternal grandmother...neither had Atlas or Jasper for that matter but she had helped Clieti study for her exams and never once in any of the “family recipes” section had any item involving squid come up. From the expression on Jasper’s face and her knowledge of how these things went, Atlas had thought he had his friend right where he wanted him.

They smelled like the bottom of your bait bucket at the end of the season and looked slightly less appealing. So of course I had to try one. Her jaw clicked when it dropped open and Jasper grinned wider. He lounged, leaning back in his seat, martini held up like a goblet. Luckily I bothered to learn wandless food transfiguration. He's still trying to work out how I ate five of them.

“Five?”

It may have been the first time I've ever enjoyed being in the same room with Verity. Atlas also conveniently spit his onto one of the witches outside my shop, which I think deterred her for about three minutes.

Before she knew what was happening she laughed. Shaking her head knocked some of the curls loose as she wondered how much effort would go into a wandless transfiguration of something as vile as what he’d described. Helena tried to refrain from praising Jasper’s skills too often, not because they weren’t impressive but more precisely because Jasper knew just how impressive they were. Here though she went against principal and offered a small round of applause.

“Verity must be about 9 feet tall by now. She’s what....16? Hasn’t she lost interest in you yet? I’d be careful Jasper, a few more years and she’ll be a real threat as instead of a cute nuisance. I know that Britain isn’t teeming with attractive bachelors, Witch Weekly having to go to you time after time is evidence enough of that, but she could do better.” All with a wry twist of her mouth.

“Maybe get s step stool, look her in the eyes and let her down gently. And you should know better than to eat food she made before you test it on Atlas and allow 24 hours to go by. She could know what a love potion is. My mother always says that with age comes desperation.”