cypresscrowâ:
It makes sense, that MACUSA would have been a place important enough for Allen Snow to stick aroundâif the once-chief of the Easter Squad had been anything like their own acting chief, or any of the other higher-up aurors Cypress had dealt with before, his job had probably been pretty much his life, at least enough for his ghost to make some lasting impression on it. But then there was the problem of space, the weird fact that while, yes, the Eastern Squad offices were technically just one floor down, they were also technically in an entire other state than the Central Squad offices. Or⊠something like that. Heâs never bothered to question the metaphysics of their many-entranced office.
But the rest of MACUSA is in New York, along with the Eastern Squad, so her suggestion about the occlumency training rooms is probably a good one, as good as theyâre going to get without getting into the Eastern Squad chiefâs office. Thereâs no telling what kind of range his ghost will have, if itâs even here at all, but itâs the best answer theyâve gotâ
And then, Baron mentions the cigar smoke, and maybe itâs a stretch, but⊠maybe itâs just the sign they need to know that he actually is still here, in some capacity, that there may be some chance of communicating with him after all.
   âYeah, I mean, it sounds like itâs worth a shot,â he says, his voice a little more level than the excitement in hers. He wishes she wouldnât get her hopes up like this, but, well, he canât really blame her, and he did offer.Â
Itâs a quick trip down to the training rooms, and once the two of them are there he takes a seat across from her, sets his deck of cards on the table. The room feels nothing like the kind of place where a seance should take place, sterile and too well lit; it feels like there should be candles or something like that. Heâs not sure. Heâs never been to a seance, is basing all of his assumptions of what they look like in late-night movies. But he also knows his powers donât work based on whether or not there are candles, so maybe it doesnât really matter at all what the room looks like.
   âOkay,â he says, trying to search his mind for where to start. Something simple, something ritual, something to attune him to the feeling of the right spirit, thatâs what Magnolius had said might work. âThink about him, I guess. Focus on him. Draw a card from the deck and tell me something about him.âÂ
.
She knows that thereâs a chance that this wonât work. The cigar smoke might not be the sign that she hopes it is, and there havenât been any other indications to suggest that Allen Snowâs ghost is hanging around the MACUSA building, why would it be? His death is unfinished business to her, yes, but he knew his secrets, he knew why he did it all. She doesnât know the logistics of thisââand neither does Cypress, she would guessââbut sheâs not sure if itâs only lingering ghosts, or if it might be possible to find spirits who have moved on. Either way, she canât help but get her hopes up a little. Hanging in limbo isnât something sheâs content with, especially not when they had gotten so close to things, only for it all to come to a halt, timed perfectly with Judith Eamesâ disappearance. She knows itâs all connected, knows it must be another case of wrongs being righted after mistakes were made, but she doesnât have the pieces to connect it all yet. A conversation with Allen Snow, the real Allen Snow, could be the thing that would fill in the gaps.
So Baron just nods, letting her thoughts race, already trying to work out the best way to go about this all, as they head down to the training rooms, and lock themselves away in an empty room, sitting down. It feels weird, sitting in a training room, the bright florescents, everything about it impersonal, but then maybe thatâs right for this; her job has been her whole life, up until recently, and maybe part of that was Allen Snowâs problem, too.
Itâs strange, it feels like theyâre playing pretend, but she focuses, nods along with his words, closes her eyes, because that feels right, thinks about all that she knows about him, thinks about what it was like to see someone masquerading as him, thinks about that smell of cigar smoke, the taste of bourbon. She reaches out, and puts her fingers on a card.
âI never met him, but I know he liked good bourbon, neat; my mom got that from him. No ice, even. She never talks about him, but one time I caught her mixing it with Ale-8, and she told me he had said thatâs the only way you should ever mix bourbon, and even then, only on occasion. I donât know many personal things about him... he kind of looms larger than life,â she says.
She lets out a small sigh, as she opens her eyes, wondering if thatâs the sort of thing Cypress was looking for. Either way, Baron finally draws a car, and looks down at it, resisting the urge to ask what it means.











