“Excuse me Headmistress you have a … visitor.”

Brontë was pale as delivered the message. Her last word wobbly and uncomfortable as a pebble in one’s shoe. Standing, Jackson froze. Energy cackling from her fingernails, Hemingway sprang towards the door. The Order was many things, mystical, erudite, ancient. Most of all the Order was secret. No one could just drop by.

“H halt!” The Headmistress said. “Brontë please show Mr. Fracas in.”

The ice in her voice cooled down the room. Jackson and Hemingway sat back down flanking their leader. The page dipped her head in reverence and retreated. Jackson looked at the Headmistress with confusion.

“Who else would have the audacity to walk in here unbidden except our thief?” The leader said.

Broad shouldered and in a bespoke suit, Mr. Fracas glided through the door. With a winning smile, He eyed the trio. Fracas approached the Headmistress with an outstretched hand. The Order’s leader stared at his face ignoring the offered hand.

“I hope you don’t mind the intrusion, ma’am. I hate beating around the bush so I figured I’d come right to you and discuss this alleged missing talisman,” Fracas said.

Fracas made air quotes at the word, “alleged.” Hemingway dry heaved. Prepared to negotiate, Fracas looked for a seat not occupied with books or familiars.

“I do. You don’t. Leave.”

“Wait, what?” Fracas asked.

“I do mind the intrusion of an uninvited guest. It’s uncouth. You don’t hate beating around the bush. You love it. That phrase comes from the hunters’ practice of beating the ground by shrubbery to startle birds into flight. Frightened things are easier to snare. You want to see what we know about the Macguffin. You want to see us flustered. You want to possess without understanding. You think you’re a hunter Fracas. But you can’t even tell I’m not prey. There is a power in stories you can’t comprehend. Good day, wolf.”

The Headmistress opened a volume of poetry. Fracas looked around. His confusion flared to anger. He marched to the door. Brontë opened it just as he approached.

“We’ll meet again,” Fracas said.

“Inevitably. Perhaps next time I’ll educate you on the origin of biting the hand that feeds you,” the Headmistress said without looking up.

The thief stomped out.