Downstairs, the new changes were far from subtle. Where once the sad excuse for a kitchenette stood, there was now a door. Presumably, that led into the new full kitchen. On the far side of the main room, another room and a hallway leading around the corner had appeared where none were before.

She hadn’t known what to expect when she descended, but certainly not such sweeping changes, nor so quickly. Underground, perhaps? Or perhaps portals to another land. But no, there they were, and there wasn’t even any hint of fresh construction- they may as well have had been there since this place was first built.

Even as she stared, a small trickle of panic threaded through it all. Those rooms weren’t small, which was great for her purposes. However, those rooms weren’t small. A hideout that was not discrete was no hideout at all.

With a quick, dignified, and not at all hurried step, she walked to the front door. She opened the door, and saw- the perfectly normal, run down building facade. The same as it was when she had first entered.

She shut the door with a relieved sigh. That could have been a disaster. Just because one can do something, doesn’t mean one should. A lesson for her to remember just as much as her underlings.

The door shut and security re-engaged, she thought again on the relic. Temporal and spatial magic both, and that’s without the informational capabilities, and communication. She whistled to herself. This had to be at least a class three relic.

Thayer and Regina would absolutely kick themselves if they knew what they let slip by. Or at least Regina would. Thayer was not well known for his long term planning. And Regina would never know. Best not to open any weakness for her to exploit.

Clanking and not-so-muffled curses from the new kitchen interrupted her reverie. With a sigh, she headed off to investigate the commotion. This relic would make her beyond powerful, if only she could keep them alive long enough to get there.

The kitchen was small, but not cramped. To be cramped, there would need to be furnishings of any significant size. The room’s description was not wrong, per se. It was technically correct even, a phrase she much preferred when she was the one being so.

The description had claimed there was food storage, appliances and countertop space. Between the mini-fridge and the counter, there was storage. Plus, if one didn’t mind overflowing onto the top of said fridge, there was just enough room to lay out a cutting board. The rusted out old stove rounded out the group to make the appliances properly plural.

She wanted to be annoyed, but she had to admit, it was still an improvement. Fortunately for her temper, the imp atop her oven was not.

Panos knelt on the oven and hung the top half of his body behind it. The clanking earlier must have been him pulling it away from the wall. Even now, the sound of rhythmic cursing filled the air, more as white noise than anything with heat or intent. Periodically, the sounds of metal on metal chimed.

Elizabel crossed her arms and cleared her throat loudly. When there was no response, she tried again. “Panos.”

The imp held up one finger and began to wiggle, presumably extricating himself from the oven innards. Elizabel frowned. She wasn’t quite sure how exactly ovens worked, but she was fairly confident that one shouldn’t need to try so hard to sit up while working on one.

Panos, finally free, popped up with a grin and a wink for Elizabel. “Bos-”

“Dark Mistre-”

“Dark Mistress, of course. I’ll get there. Lovely new digs. Great stuff. This pile of bolts will provide plenty of material.”

Elizabel raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure you weren’t talking about scrapping the brand-new, to us, oven for parts? Without permission?”

Panos’ face lit up. “I see the confusion. No, Dark Mistress,” he said and slapped the stove top. “This is a piece of junk. But give me a bit, and I’ll make it a proper oven. And well, if any extra bits happen to go into some other things, well, you know how it is.”

Elizabel’s eyes narrowed. Panos held up forestaling hands. “How about this? You give me some time and I’ll fix this up and make dinner. If it isn’t up to snuff, then you can take it out of my hide, eh?”

Not to allow terms to be dictated to her, Elizabel countered. “Not out of your hide, no. If you screw this up, you’ll be in charge of keeping Cassmere out of trouble.”

Panos mumbled under his breath, but threw himself into his work with a fresh vigor. Elizabel opted to ignore it for now, and strode out of the kitchen and towards the next of the new rooms.

Which was also underwhelming.

It was, at the least, much larger than the kitchen. It was relatively spacious even. And contained nothing more than the two sets of bunk beds promised. Utilitarian was the word for those. No frills, and functional. Each rack could be triced up to reveal a moderate amount of personal storage room underneath. As for the beds themselves, well, it was softer than the floor, and there was bedding, however thin it was.

Eisley was already passed out on the bottom rack of one, so it clearly met at least some minimum bar of quality. It’d do for now. If she was frank, at least to herself, it’s probably have to do for quite a while. She had a hard time believing that enough cash was going to fall into her hands to make quality of life improvements anything but a luxury over more practical upgrades.

Which brought her to the final of the improvements, and the only one that was actually going to help her pull this mad thing off. The training room.

After the first two rooms, Elizabel steeled herself before entering. And it was- not bad, actually. The room was brightly lit, with the laminated, wooden flooring common in basketball courts. A track was marked around the perimeter of the room. Several mats lay in neat rows inside the circuit.

Cassmere, somehow already changed into workout attire, jogged around the track. He waved at Elizabel as he passed without stopping. Elizabel suppressed a grin at the sight. While she’d prefer her newly purchased kitchen wasn’t out of commission already, the thought of sardonic Panos trailing along behind Cassmere was not entirely unsatisfactory either.

The training room allowed her minions to work on either fitness or hand to hand. Her first impulse was fitness- nothing instilled a sense of discipline of yet another round about the track.

But as she had already seen, it was more likely than not their jobs would go sideways one way or another. She didn’t like the idea of getting these half-sized agents of chaos into more brawls, but of the options she had, it seemed like the best course for now. Maybe, by the time The First’s job came in, they might even listen.

Though her inspection had concluded, Elizabel found herself drifting through her hideout rather than returning to the kitchen. Whether the reluctance sprang from some hidden reservoir of generosity, that she may provide Panos a bit more time; or, if she was simply forestalling the inevitable disappointment and annoyance that would follow, even she couldn't say. In the end, she was driven in by a force even greater than her ennui- she needed more tea.

Panos no longer hung over the back of the oven. In fact, the oven was no longer pushed away from the wall at all, but in its proper place with fires dancing merrily from the front two burners. A kettle sat on the one nearest her, and Panos bent over a small pot on the other.

He stood on a small box he had pulled from somewhere, and wore a faded apron. Elizabel's High Infernal was more than a little rusty, but she believed it said, "Caution: Spicy as Hell". She groaned and knew that the translation was correct, even as she wished it weren’t.

Panos looked up and waved as a noodle disappeared into his mouth. "Good timing," he said as he moved to a bowl resting on the countertop. "Guanciale is cooling down, noodles are almost done. I put on a kettle for you too and that should be singing any moment."

He was too busy cracking eggs into the bowl to notice the look Elizabel gave him. He mixed them into what looked like shredded cheese. "Oven is fixed now too, of course. I assume you won't mind me taking the extra parts after we dine? I have some ideas."

Elizabel grunted noncommittally and stared at the suddenly chipper Panos. She had known him for not even a day, but whatever this was did not fit the growing profile. Not a bit.

The kettle whistled and Elizabel stood mechanically and poured the water in a mug, and broke into her good blend before leaving it to steep. All the while, she looked away from what was clearly an imposter as little as possible.

Cassmere walked in as she finished and resumed her seat. He looked between Elizabel and Panos and grinned. "Yeah, got me the first time too," he said as he took a seat across from the mastermind.

The imp had added the cooked noodles to a pan that had been resting on the back burner with what looked to be bacon. He was not quite bopping along as he worked, not quite humming either, but if he had been, it would have fit right in with the rest of the show.

That must be it, Elizabel decided. A show. None of her underlings had shown much in the way of competence all day, clearly there was no reason to expect that to change now. She admitted that it certainly both looked and smelled like Panos knew what he was doing, but that too must be a facade.

She took a sip of tea, savoring the rich flavors before she had to choke down the food soon to be served.

Eisley emerged and grabbed an empty seat as Panos dished up for the group. The magitek stared at the approaching plates with a look not unlike a cat preparing to pounce. He had been surviving on a diet of prison food, however. His opinion didn’t count.

With a flourish, Panos set down a plate of carbonara in front of Elizabel. Cassmere and Eisley wasted no time in digging in, but Panos watched Elizabel, waiting for her reaction. With trepidation, she took a bite.

And, well, it wasn’t bad. If she was feeling charitable, she might even call it quite good. Really good. She was not feeling charitable. “Adequate,” she said, keeping the pleasure off her face and the hurry out of her hand. “You may keep the parts.”

Judging by the grin on Panos’ face, she did not do as good a job as she would have liked. A glare took care of that and sent Panos to his own food.

Good food and good tea tempered Elizabel’s mood somewhat. Between the powers the runic would bring, and at least some measure of competence, even if it isn’t where she would like it, perhaps she might be able to pull this thing off after all.

Cassmere stood and moved towards the counter with the dirty dishes. Elizabel gestured him back to his seat. When she had their attention, she started. “Today was, well, today did not go well. But despite the issues, we are ahead because of it.”

Cassmere grinned at that. Oh that wouldn’t do at all.

“However,” she continued, “we have a lot of work to do if we are to pull off these jobs. As such, training will begin in the morning. We’ll start with the combat courses, and go from there.”

Dismay crossed the faces of Eisley and Panos. Cassmere, however, grinner wider and said, “Excellent! I could use some time to improve-”

“No, I don’t think you’ll have time for that. You’ll be instructing Panos and Eisley in the basics.”

Panos cackled and Cassmere slumped in his seat. Eisley just looked alarmed. “Are you sure that’s the best idea, Dark Mistress?”

Elizabel turned her gaze to the bookish imp. “I’m sorry, were you questioning me, Eisley?”

Eisley whimpered and looked between her and Cassmere. “No Dark Mistress.”

Smart one. She liked him.

Elizabel nodded, acknowledging it as if it were the only possible answer. “Good. I’ll see you all in the morning in the training room. And now, goodnight.”

She stood and exited the room, heading directly upstairs to what she was already considering her lair.

And it was then she realized her mistake. There was no bed in this room. She could go back to her flat, of course. Taking a ride between her uptown flat and here on the daily would raise a few eyebrows, however. And she still couldn’t park her car in the Darklands.

Not to mention she really didn’t want to leave her underlings unsupervised. That seemed like a very dangerous idea. So that left the floor, or. She frowned and mulled how badly she really needed a good night of sleep, and she continued to ponder long after the inevitability had began to settle in.

She’d need to sleep in the barracks. With her underlings.

The thought of coming back down, tail between her leg and the clear implication that she forgot her own quarters was unacceptable. Instead, Elizabel sighed and took a seat at her desk. She drummed her fingers on the desk. If only she hadn’t been so eager to investigate the runic earlier, she could at least do that now.

After a sufficient time had passed to cover her blunder- exactly as much time as it took for her boredom to surpass her dignity- she went down to the main floor once more and to the barracks.

Eisley was already passed out in a top bunk. He had the oversized tome he carried under head in place of a pillow. Better than sleeping under it, but not by much. The bunk across from the imp held an unconscious and remarkably ungraceful Cassmere. The way he contorted made Elizabel’s back hurt just looking at it. And he snored.

It wasn’t the chainsaw-ripping, angry-bear snore that one often heard in the media. No, this was much more subtle- a soft whistle, just on the edge of hearing, and irregular. She hadn’t been in the room for two minutes and she already knew it would drive her to madness.

Her years climbing the ladder of The Equalizers came to the forefront of her mind- the sacrifice, the unyielding discipline, the sheer strength of will that was required to not just survive, but thrive as the premier lieutenant of The First. She turned over in her rack, and drifted to sleep.