This is not acceptable. Not when our work has been going so well. It is time to move this phase of the experimentation to a more expedient location.
The problem is what to do about Magistra Moody. She is very, very tiresome (though Abelard finds her attire entertaining, and no doubt has entertained a great many thoughts of his own about what to do with her) and while I would gladly be rid of her she knows far too much about my conversations with the master.
The research goes well. Teleforce may not be everything that Professor Tesla believes it can be but it is possible that it will be everything we need to be.
I hope I will not have to stay here too much longer. I have never really enjoyed teaching, except for the few students who are both gifted and committed. I have not found too many of those here, and Professor Moody is very inquisitive and observant, which makes her a very good scientist, but not a good person for someone like me to be working near.
Abelard is doing a very good job with the students. I do not think they like him very much, but then, students have hardly ever liked me.
I have not heard much from Glory, but then, it is hardly safe for her to communicate with me through normal channels. Diotima has not written, either.
I have my work.
It is enough.
Salem is everything I'd heard it might be. I think I am going to like it here. I shall miss Gloriana, but perhaps she will be able to come here to visit soon.
Miss--oh, excuse me, Professor Moody--is very earnest and just as tiresome as I had feared. Fortunately she is in no way a Legilimens, and she is acquainted with the personage I hope to meet.
I am pleased to be out of England. As much as I was enjoying Gloriana's company, that...creature...which claims to be Draco is talking entirely too much, about too many things it knows nearly nothing about.
Macnair and I were the last to leave, and now the Abbey is empty again. I have sent Dashwood brandy and oranges as a token of the fine time we had.
I took Gloriana to the meeting, but we left in the early hours of the morning. I believe she was entertained and intrigued, but she is not ready to participate in the festivities herself. Indeed, she permitted me only kisses when I took my leave of her.
I would not put up with that from anyone else, but I mean to marry her if things proceed according to my liking. Gloriana Black is quite receptive to our philosophy even after living in Lutetia under the occupation; in fact I think she rather approves of the way the place has been cleaned up. I must have her, for I must have a worthy mate...and I must have a fitting heir, which Diotima is regrettably not.
I was unable to return until just before dawn, but at least I managed to get a look at that young wildcat Evander Warrington and Etienne De Vries were entertaining themselves with; of the new girls, she seems the most promising, and it amuses me past words that she lives in the household of bloody Ned Kyteler's mistress. I did not get a piece of her, but perhaps next time. They tell me she is a necromancer, and descended from Byzantine royalty. That is also of interest, of course.
Draco's really gone now. What a fool. He could have had anything he wanted, but he chose Zabini.
Poppaea is very tiresome. I have encouraged her to go and visit her beloved Elladora and leave Cariadoc and Miss Weasley alone. I don't want to hear any more about Kyteler or his whore or Miss Weasley or Gabrielle or Arianwen or Delgardie and his Mudblood consort. O tempora, o mores! but I don't fool myself into thinking that this is a revelation.
I want Gloriana.
And I need a wife. Diotima is not a proper Heir.
Well. They buried him. Her. It. Or rather they buried a box, in which Leffoy was not. I don’t actually know where the body is. I brought back the cane, which they have given to the child, Florian.
The child resembles him, when he was eleven. Delgardie’s afraid that I want the child, but I don’t. It’s a bloody impertinent brat, nothing like the father except in its looks. Delgardie—of all people—has been made one of the child’s guardians. Lucky him. I wonder why Delgardie and not the Secretary Malaspina. Ah well, at least Goyle must wonder that, too.
Casaubon accused me of lying. I told Casaubon the truth: I saw him staked to the ground with cold iron through his joints. If he’s alive, his life’s not worth living. I cared for him once, and I don’t care if no-one believes that. He could have stopped fighting. There’s no shame in accepting a greater power. I tried so hard to teach him that. Someday, maybe, I’ll hear his voice in the wind, and he’ll tell me I did the right thing--I know he will. He had forgotten what he was meant to be, cloaked himself in pale pink silks and perfume and the veneer of Roman civilisation. When he’s riding free as one of the Folk, as he ought to have done all along, I think he will understand.
Pendry actually thinks that he and I were in collusion—that we both have always supported von Thorwald, and that I helped him “fake his death”. I told Pendry that if Leffoy lived through all of the things I saw done to him, he had more than paid for his sins, which were legion, and also a number of other unprintable things.
I had a note from our Miss Dee—condolences. Death seems to follow me so closely these past few years. I do believe she still cares for me. She may forgive me yet for having chosen J. I wonder if she would understand what it is that I do, or what I’ve given up for our cause. In the end, she will understand. She will go where the power is. I can wait.