Sylvia is used to getting this reaction when people come to her office. In truth, she does nothing to discourage it. Being called in by the authorities has a way of making people nervous. That's as it should be.

But she will do what she can to soothe those nerves and make her colleagues feel welcome when they arrive. That's why she straightens up and gestures for Lancelot to take a seat.

"Yes," she says. "Let's have a chat over here, this shouldn't take long..."

'Over here' is the informal meeting area: a couch and a couple of armchairs in a rough circle around a coffee table. Sylvia picks up a brown paper folder from her desk and walks over to join him, crossing her legs as she settles down with the folder in her lap.

"I wanted to thank you again for the part you played at Croydon." Even thinking of it makes her angry, remembering how they were driven off, the confusion and chaos, but she keeps her voice calm. "You helped a lot of witches that day, and they won't forget your courage."

She smiles. "Well, I'm glad to hear you say that."

Because it's the perfect segue to...

She edges slightly forward in her seat. "We choose Guardians for the skills and knowledge that they can bring to the job. Loyal Guardians always get the job done. And for some of our more sensitive tasks, well, those are only given to our most trusted Guardians. Now who do you think that sounds like?" There's a bit of a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, but she only pauses a moment before answering her question for him. "You'd like to have the chance to do more. So I'm going to raise your security clearance – which comes with a nice pay rise, by the way, but you can take a look at your revised contract later – and then we can get down to business. Okay?"

He needs to say yes, of course, for this to work. Not that she's expecting him to refuse.

Sylvia nods. "Good. Now..."

Straight to business. He'll have a chance very soon to live up to her expectations, as it were. She opens the folder in her lap, taking out an ordinary sheet of paper. This she passes over to Lancelot. Printed on the paper is a simple table containing the following information: names, phone numbers, home addresses, jobs and work addresses, and notes about family members (siblings, parents, children). Most of the information is comprehensive, except for two names at the bottom: Nancy and Kenzi. These have no information other than the first names.

"These are the names of all the members of the Shadow Coven, which is part of Circle Midnight." She gives him a few moments to skim through it, leaning back in her seat. "What do you know about Circle Midnight?"

"Come in."

Sylvia stands up just before Skip enters, stepping forward to hold the door open as Skip brings in the painting.

"Lovely to see you again, Sofia." And in better circumstances, somewhat. "Is this it?"

Her eyes are bright with anticipation. She's quite intrigued to see how the painting has turned out. She has no idea whether the girl is any good or not, so it's pot luck.

Sylvia steps back, folding her arms as she looks over the painting. She bites her lip. Witches dancing in a circle around a fire: the quintessential image of their community. It's a dark picture, but there's life in it. The movement of the dancing figures, the flickering flames.

Of course, they had met at the memorial. It's a fitting tribute.

"I'm impressed." She looks up at Skip. "Thank you."

She nods. "We'll add it to the school memorial." All the flowers and gifts from the park haven't gone to waste. There's a place set up for them inside the school. She sighs, unfolding her arms to clasp her hands in front of her instead. "What about your people? How are you doing, after the blood moon?"

The door to her office opens and Sylvia steps out. She's wearing a long cardigan and scarf, and her handbag is slung over her shoulder.

"There you are, Faolan, right on time. Have you had breakfast?"

She closes the office door with a click and sets off down the corridor, expecting him to follow.

"There's a lovely place just around the corner that does full English, and excellent coffee." She smiles, half-glancing back at him. "Rather a necessity on a Monday morning, don't you think?"

In truth, Sylvia isn't thinking about how scrawny and underfed or otherwise Faolan looks. She's thinking of her own stomach. When her schedule gets really busy, as it has done in the past month, half her meals are business meetings and the rest are snacks grabbed in between meetings, hearings, public events, gatherings with her coven, fights with unruly fae, etc etc. Hey, a woman running three factions has gotta eat.

So off they go to the cafe around the corner: a quaint, bright little place, its Cath Kidston style cuteness somewhat diminished by all the customers in business suits huddled over the breakfast bar and tables. This is Westminster, and there are likely more than a few junior policy wonks here, multitasking with a bacon butty in one hand and a Blackberry in the other.

Sylvia takes a more relaxed approach. She orders a full English breakfast, stirs in the milk when her coffee arrives, then looks at Faolan from over her cup.

"Everything still quiet in Hillingdon?"

Ah. Yes. She resists the urge to make a face, covering with a crooked smile instead as she sips her coffee.

"Lambeth, yes. Hunters needed for clean-up. That'll take some work."

A lot of work: it's a dangerous area. And all orchestrated by one Gilbert Norrell, whose wealth appears only to be dwarfed by his enormous ego. What an odious little man. He sends her letters complaining about one thing or another every week, it seems. Actual, physical letters. Who does that these days? This entire thing is a vanity project, in her opinion. They lost Croydon; they should be focusing on recovering and what to do about the fae infesting the area. That's still her main concern. Norrell's huffing and puffing is a distraction.

Frankly, she hopes his efforts will fall flat on their face. Sylvia knows ambition when she sees it, and she doesn't like it. But that's a story for another day.

"There is something else," she says, moving on. "Unrelated to Hillingdon. I'm looking for someone who can go undercover, long-term, to keep an eye on a different problem. Have you heard of the Shadow Coven?"

"Come in."

It's a soft reply. Sylvia is still checking her email in between appointments. She has devoted this entire day to appointments with students and faculty who want to see her for various reasons. This is rare for Sylvia: she might schedule one day a month. So appointments are not easy to get.

She looks up from behind her desk when he enters. "Simon? Take a seat. So, how can I help you today?"

The appointments are only fifteen minutes each. So their time will be fairly brief.

Sylvia blinks. Well, that's one way to begin. Her lips curve upwards, intrigued.

"Go on."

Sylvia listens to all of this with a faintly puzzled air. She thinks he's asking for help to find his parents, but he hasn't quite said it directly. Still, there is one thing she should check first...

A gentle nudge: "You know you can't actually publish that."

Right? It wouldn't do for UCL to start publishing papers about the genetic origins of shapeshifters.