Chapter Text
"You know, I'm going to do more than teach brats for the rest of my life."
"I know."
"You do?"
"Amlisch won't find his malefici in Moscow. She's in Innsbruck."
"What...?"
Two months in, Sylvia was definitely beginning to suspect that Crawford had lied to her. She hadn't been able to figure out - or even begin to guess, really - what could have been in it for him, but what was really annoying her, besides the obvious fact that her reputation would be ruined if she returned to Rosenkreuz empty-handed, was that she'd thought she'd had a tighter hold on him. She really had not thought he'd sell her out for anything less than a direct order, and she would have heard if something that serious had gone down.
But what other explanation was there? She had been watching Sally Schumars for weeks, now - had even befriended the girl, encouraged her silly puppy crush, taken her to bed once or twice. Not that it had been difficult in the slightest: Sally was, in many ways, astonishingly naive, almost eager to believe whatever Sylvia told her, falling so quickly into something like hero-worship that Sylvia had at first suspected it was a trap.
She seemed, however, to be genuine - except for the one troubling fact that she showed no signs whatsoever of psychic ability, much less of being the witch Farblos had been searching for.
Also troubling, at the moment, was that she was late. Sally didn't make a habit of it - actually, Sylvia had never known her to be late - and so it was interesting, rather than simply annoying, that she'd missed their date.
When Sally, red-eyed and trembling, finally found her half an hour later, Sylvia was wandering through the stacks, trying to find something to pass the time. "Oh," Sally said, and threw her arms around her, burying her face in Sylvia's shoulder and bursting into fresh sobs.
Startled, Sylvia returned the hug, holding her close and thinking of a hundred thousand ways to get revenge on Crawford, if this all turned out to be for nothing. "Sally?" she said, toning her voice concerned and sweet, more-or-less gently pulling away. "What's wrong?"
Sally sniffled, wiping the back of her hand across her face, smearing tears and mascara over her face in raccoon-like patches. "I'm sorry," she said wretchedly, staring at her shoes. "I just... I didn't know it was going to be like this."
Sylvia pulled a tissue from her purse and held it out. Drying her face for her would be too familial, too maternal, and that wasn't the angle she had taken. Taking it, Sally blew her nose, mumbled something that might have been a thank you.
Behind them, footsteps came, slowed, stopped: Sylvia looked over her shoulder at a slight young man, a pile of books in his arms, a hungry expression on his face. It wasn't something she was exactly a stranger to, but the problem was - he wasn't looking at her. His eyes were fixed straight past her, trained on Sally, and it didn't take a telepath to know that concern for a crying girl was the last thing on his mind.
He opened his mouth to say something, but Sylvia, hearing the tiny whimper, the shuffle of feet as Sally tried to hide behind her, was faster: "Leave."
"I just want to talk to your friend there," he said. "Come on, don't give me a hard time."
It was incredibly strange, being spoken to like that: being ignored, dismissed in favor of another woman, of Sally - plainish, skinny, ordinary Sally. It would have been insulting, even, if it hadn't been one of the things she'd been looking for, these last months.
She took two steps towards him, put a finger on his pile of books, pushed, nearly knocking him over. "Get out," she said again, lowering her voice, putting all the menace and frustration of her long wait into the words. "Leave my girlfriend alone."
Behind her, Sally gasped, a tiny noise, barely audible. Hopefully a good sign - though she really had little doubt; she'd played her cards well, even with the hand she'd had.
Catching his balance, the student looked between them, his eyes lingering on Sally, then turned and hurried off, muttering under his breath.
"Sylvia!" Sally gasped, and Sylvia barely had time to turn before she had another armful of Sally, just as desperate but rather more thankful. "Oh, God, I didn't know what to do. Mama said... but I didn't think it would be now, I didn't think it would be so bad... I didn't know..."
It was a good thing Crawford didn't know she'd begun to doubt him, Sylvia thought, because this way she wouldn't owe him any apologies. "What do you mean?" she asked - not so much for confirmation, though that would be helpful, but because getting Sally out of the library unnoticed would be much easier if she kept talking and calmed down.
"You'll think I'm crazy," Sally whispered, burying her face against Sylvia's hair, shivering again.
Sylvia gritted her teeth against the thought of snot and mascara in her hair and stroked Sally's back, hoping it passed for soothing. "You're not crazy."
Sally was quiet, except for the soft hiccups of her breath, just long enough to be worrying. "It's a curse," she said finally, "on my family. My mama and my grandmama and back. But I thought maybe... maybe it wouldn't happen to me." She sighed, resting against Sylvia, leaning her weight on her. "Mama said it makes men think you're perfect for them, that it enchants them, and sometimes they can't stop themselves, and I'd always have to watch out. But... but..."
A simplistic explanation, yes, disgustingly so, and the notion that it was a curse was laughable, but otherwise it was exactly what Sylvia had wanted to hear. "But what?" she asked.
"She never said I'd want them too," Sally blurted, and to Sylvia's annoyance, began to cry again, quiet, broken whimpers. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!"
"It's alright." Sylvia pulled back just far enough to press another kleenex into Sally's hand. "Shh..."
Still crying, Sally let go and wiped her eyes again. "Sylvia..." she started, her voice wobbling.
"No, listen," Sylvia said, grabbing hold of Sally's shoulders and holding her firmly. "I don't like you any less because you've looked at men, or wanted men." Hope kindled in Sally's eyes, her lips parting a little, and Sylvia decided maybe she did have a chance of getting Sally out of the library after all. "Curse or not, you're still Sally Schumars, right?"
She didn't wait for Sally to answer before leaning in and kissing her, firmly, hands sliding from Sally's shoulders around to her back.
Sally responded instantly, opening her mouth to deepen the kiss, pressing her body tight up against Sylvia's, a far cry from the nervous, shy way she usually acted. But then, they'd never kissed before while Sally was so emotional, nor when Sylvia was in such a good mood - nor, Sylvia reminded herself, after Sally had come into her power. "Men" or not, she'd have to be careful.
It hadn't been what Sylvia had intended, but it might work as well as anything. She let her hands run down to rest at the top of Sally's ass, feeling her shudder and spread her legs slightly in response.
"Oh!" Sally practically jumped out of her skin as Sylvia's hand slid under her skirt, around her thigh; Sylvia kissed her again to keep her quiet, curving her fingers up between Sally's legs. She wasn't wearing underwear - Sylvia had to wonder whether perhaps she had lost them to a man on the way to the library - and she was incredibly wet, enough so that Sylvia's fingers slid easy, perfect across her.
"Sylvia, no," Sally whispered, "God, what if he comes back? What if someone sees us?"
"Let them see," Sylvia smiled, two fingers trailing teasingly across Sally's clit, making her hips jerk forwards into her hand, then thrusting deep into her, pressed close together. "I've got you."
"How's Farblos?"
"Good enough for now. But I heard you've been tapped to lead a team."
"One that doesn't exist. I've been looking for a telepath to start with, but the demand seems high."
"I might be able to help with that..."