“Oh, home sweet home.”
The red-haired man in the white coat said loudly, approaching a rocky outcrop jutting from the ground in the middle of the forest.
One side of the outcrop, seemingly solid rock, began to warp visually until an entrance to underground tunnels appeared before the four individuals.
“How I hate that I can’t return to you and have to live like an animal in some caves.
But you shouldn’t have to get used to this, should you, beast?”
Roman Torchwick sneered, looking at the man in work clothes standing beside him, whose fists were clenched tightly.
“Alright, bring the trunk with the ladies inside.
Quick, quick.
The buyer will be here soon, and nothing’s ready.
The ladies aren’t prepared, you idiots aren’t dressed, the beast isn’t groomed.
We have no time at all!”
Waving his cane, the wizard exchanged a few signals with the guard at the entrance, while two men who had met him at the Portkey exit carried the trunk with the space-enchanted ladies toward the entrance.
Satisfied everything was in order, Roman headed inside.
The man in work clothes followed him.
“When do I get the documents?”
“After the deal, you’ll get your papers proving you’re a patriotic native of Siberia, whose citizenship will be confirmed by all the right people in the Russian Ministry of Magic.
You’ll be there, guarding the smuggling points like a faithful dog.”
The redhead waved his hand carelessly, walking along the torch-lit stone passage that sloped downward.
“I’m not a dog.
My name is Ryan.”
The werewolf said quietly, a faint growl in his voice.
“Wrong.
Your name in the land of bears and balalaikas is Ivan.
And as for me calling you an animal, don’t worry.
I firmly believe I’m surrounded by idiots whose mental activity doesn’t exceed that of animals.
So be glad for your privilege!
Among all the other idiots, you stand out because you can grow fur and literally growl, which gives you an excuse for such a low level of intelligence.
The other idiots don’t have that excuse.”
The wizard said cheerfully until he saw one of the men carrying the trunk nearly trip.
“Hey, you cretins, you’re not carrying firewood here!
Show some respect for aristocrats from Germany!
These aren’t your usual whores from the brothels!”
Looking at the huge underground hall, filled with various crates of goods that couldn’t be stored long in space-enchanted items, Ryan Olcott headed toward one of the tunnels where the “Grey Merchants” members’ rooms were located.
A couple of guys he passed eyed him with looks of disgust and wariness.
Ryan ignored them.
Even in the criminal underworld, few liked werewolves.
And in the criminal world, few liked anyone.
Hatred, greed, and fear were more familiar to his “comrades.” And the fear of a monster that, even in human form, was two or three times stronger than a Muggle athlete was entirely justified.
Approaching his “room,” which was just a recess in the wall barely holding an old single bed, the man drew the curtain serving as a “door” and lay down on the bed.
He had to guard the prisoners tonight, so he needed to rest after the tense battle, during which he’d nearly lost his life several times.
Wincing at the pain in his abdomen, the man reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, tattered black-and-white photograph.
“Soon, Elsa.
Soon we’ll live well.”
He whispered, looking at the happy, smiling blonde girl captured by the photographer.
“Get up!
It’s your turn to relieve Jacob.”
Hearing the approaching footsteps, Ryan rose silently.
The gleam of his yellow eyes made the speaker hurry away, while the werewolf checked his hidden weapons.
He might only be a Squib, but a sharp piece of iron in the liver was just as effective as an Avada.
Soon, he relieved the sullen guy who was missing a couple of fingers on his left hand from a past cutting curse.
The “guest room” was a damp cell, closed off by an iron grate that allowed easy observation of the prisoners.
Soft sobs from a small child’s figure, huddled in the arms of a warily watching white-haired woman, reached his ears.
Avoiding her gaze, the man sat down on a small wooden stool.
“What’s going to happen to us?”
Olcott remained silent.
There was no point in saying anything.
“It was you on the train, wasn’t it?”
…
“If you help us or my daughter escape, my husband will be willing to pay a large reward and even overlook your involvement in the kidnapping.
You must know how powerful Lord Winter is.”
Under the yellow-eyed gaze, the man’s fingers clenched into fists.
Irisfil von Winter’s insinuating voice continued to reach his ears.
“Maybe you’ll get something out of this kidnapping now, but that won’t stop the authorities from searching for you.
Constantly living in fear of your crimes being exposed and the Aurors coming, or the bounty hunters my husband hires.
Can you call that living?
You’ve already committed a crime, but you still have a chance to redeem yourself.”
“SHUT UP!”
The enraged yellow irises glared at the aristocrat’s frozen, icy mask.
Ruby eyes stared stubbornly back at one of her captors.
“Your husband, you bitch, and his ilk, have long since taken that chance away from us.
A reward?
Sure, I get a pile of Galleons.
And then me and my family get branded with a mark on our arm because of a law passed practically all over Europe.
‘Mandatory registration of werewolves.’ And off to one of the reservations, where life isn’t a ‘fairy tale’ like the Brothers Grimm or Beedle the Bard.”
The sobbing ceased as the woman’s hands, with bracelets blocking spell-casting, soothingly squeezed the child’s body.
With a slightly pale face, Irisfil continued softly.
“We can think of something…”
Olcott just laughed.
Having a chance to vent his anger, he didn’t want to stay silent anymore.
“Damn hypocrites.
You so majestically condemn Grindelwald and his ideas, but in reality, you’re a thousand times worse than him.
He was ready to give everyone their place and purpose in the new world order. Enjoying the story? Read on at g.com.
You aren’t.”
“His ideas would only lead to more death and blood…”
“Haha.
Easy to say that now that you’ve won.
How I hate all of you.”
Ryan, who had been about to continue, suddenly turned his head due to a strange premonition.
His eyes saw a hand appearing from thin air, a wand clutched in its palm.
Consciousness was flooded with light.
“We’ve been expecting you.
Unfortunately, I can’t offer you a glass of virgin’s blood.
But I can offer a glass of tomato juice.
Will you have some?”
“Where are the Winters?”
A dark-haired man with pale skin asked coldly, dressed in the latest fashion of European magical aristocracy.
The red-haired wizard shook his head with a smile.
“That’s not how it’s done.
First, show me the payment, then I’ll show you the goods.
Four of my men died on this job.”
The dark-haired man standing opposite made no movement, but one of his subordinates stepped forward with a small box and immediately opened it.
The smile on Roman Torchwick’s face widened at the sight of the contents.
“Please, generous gentlemen, follow me.
It’s not very tidy here, but appearances aren’t everything.
The main thing is the substance.”
“Your speech only makes me want to break your neck and throw your body to the birds.”
“I was just trying to entertain you with a pleasant conversation with an intelligent interlocutor.”
Red eyes stared indifferently at the gesticulating Torchwick.
Magically sustained torch flames illuminated the stone walls of the artificially created tunnel.
When and who had made these tunnels didn’t particularly interest the smugglers who’d taken over the place, nor Torchwick, who had soon subjugated the smugglers themselves.
A few minutes later, their procession reached one of the cells, where two representatives of the Winter family slept.
The guard, seeing the procession, rose from his chair.
“Here are your expected aristocrats.
In perfect…”
The wizard with the cane paused and looked at the dark-haired man who had twitched his nose.
The man stood still for a second, then blurred into motion, lunging at Roman.
The Grey Merchants leader was lifted by the neck by a palm with elongated black claws.
The previously handsome, delicate face of the dark-haired man took on predatory features and snarled, two elongated fangs extending from his upper jaw.
“You thought you could play games with me, wizard?”
“I…
don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Torchwick gasped, feeling the cold, powerful grip of the vampire on his neck.
With one quick motion, the vampire broke a piece of stone from the wall and threw it at the prisoners sleeping in the cell.
The projectile passed unhindered through the silhouettes of the girl and her mother.
The rippling illusion dissipated a second later.
“Now you understand.”
The redhead said nervously.
The vampire’s snarl widened.
“Tch, vampires are such annoying creatures.
Their sense of smell for blood is truly hard to fool.”
The guard suddenly spoke, making everyone turn their heads.
The tall, yellow-eyed man looked at the others with superiority.
“Hey, animal, what does this mean?”
Roman Torchwick, freed from the vampire’s grip, asked.
The creature in the dirty work clothes smiled.
“I just want to say that soon, the entire local Auror force will be here.
Lord Winter’s wife and daughter have already been rescued and sent home by Portkey.
You’ve lost.”
The dark-haired man’s figure appeared before him, easily breaking his raised arm with the hidden blade and gripping his throat.
“And after this, you think you’ll stay alive?”
“Ryan Olcott” grabbed his limb with his intact hand and smiled.
A glow began to ignite in his yellow eyes, and yellow discharges ran across his skin.
“Yes.
Because…”
With a pop, the head of the vampire’s subordinate holding the box exploded in a spray of blood.
Torchwick, snatching the box, disappeared with a pop of Apparition.
“…I’m not here.”
The high vampire Lionel had time to throw the body of the guard, now covered in large yellow lightning bolts, but not to escape the subsequent explosion.
A wave of incredibly hot yellow vapor from the combat potion swept through the underground tunnels, evaporating the Grey Merchants members in its path.
Five minutes later, a figure covered in terrible burns, wearing tattered shreds of clothing, burst from the tunnel entrance.
“Unforgivable.
Unforgivable.
Unforgivable!”
His skin regenerating before his eyes, the figure inhaled, clearly sensing five trails that hadn’t been there when he’d arrived with his fledglings.
“You’ve lived too short a life, mortal, to think you could deceive me.”
Determining the most saturated scent, the high vampire raced after the trail.
Pine trees blurred past him, quickly disappearing from the undead’s field of vision as he pursued his quarry.
The fully regenerated body of Lionel, muscles bulging beneath his skin, easily navigated and leaped over obstacles.
Soon, a wizard’s figure in a light cloak, levitating a trunk before him, appeared ahead.
Realizing the wizard was transporting the aristocrats in a space-enchanted trunk, the dark-haired man bit his own finger until it bled.
“Blood Art: Crimson Crescent.”
The wizard, who had sensed something, narrowly dodged the trajectory of the blood arc, which carved a furrow in the ground and cut down a couple of trees.
“Such annoying creatures.
Why can’t you be like in Muggle fairy tales, afraid of garlic, dying agonizingly from an aspen stake through the heart, and sunlight hitting your skin?”
The high vampire, now beside the discarded trunk containing his target, glared at the carefree wizard. Read this novel at g.com for the best experience.
“I’ll break every bone in your body and drain you dry, wizard.”
“You only know how to suck, you damn bloodsuckers.
Sectumsempra!”
Dodging the spell’s area of effect along with the snatched trunk, from which female scents emanated, Lionel watched his opponent warily.
“Let me explain why you’re going to lose now?”
“Blood Art: Crimson Star.”
A sphere of blood pierced the wizard’s chest, but despite that, the wizard’s voice continued, and familiar yellow lightning began to run across his body.
“The main reason is that I have cooler special effects!
”
Lionel dodged quickly as the figure, from whose eyes and mouth yellow light blazed, was about to explode.
He belatedly noticed the light emanating from the holes in the trunk he was holding with one hand.
The combination of the Imperius Curse, Legilimency, and combat potions was a dream for the leaders of Muggle terrorist organizations.
Such a thought ran through my head as the last thread of the mental connection snapped.
Looking at the column of smoke rising in the distance, I returned to creating a Portkey that could safely transport two adult wizards and a small girl with a still-strengthening magical gift.
I wasn’t worried about the Aurors later checking my wand for the spells I’d cast.
I’d long been able to use one of the three Unforgivable Curses without any magical focus or incantation.
My mastery of Legilimency saw to that.
“Mom, are we going home soon?”
“Yes, Ilia.
Mr.
Lockhart is making a Portkey to Prague now, and from there, we’ll go home.”
Illiasfil von Winter, twirling the returned glass sphere with the illusion of a sun partially covered by clouds inside, said reproachfully:
“But you told me Portkeys take a long time to make.”
“International Portkeys take a long time to make, Ilia.
Not ordinary ones.”
“So what’s the difference?”
“Oh.”
Irisfil von Winter sighed wearily, though she kept glancing around and gripping the wand I’d taken from one of the bandits.
Fortunately, we were surrounded by a conjured and rune-reinforced concealment dome, and any surviving Grey Merchants members probably weren’t in a position to search for us.
“Paradise’s Agony” was a highly unpleasant combat potion, especially effective against organic targets.
To prevent combat potions from activating on them, many Potion Masters prepared them so that they’d only become active when magic was infused into the flask in a specific way.
In my case, the flasks were the Imperiused and remotely controlled werewolf-Squib and some wizard guarding the entrance.
Unfortunately, this whole “pleasure,” combined with “Madeus’s Inferno,” which was in the trunk that blew up the high vampire, and the Polyjuice Potion, wasted on the last kamikaze decoy, had cost me two hundred Galleons.
Being a combat Potioneer was indeed expensive.
Fortunately, my inner miser hadn’t allowed me to pass by the contraband stored at the Grey Merchants’ base while searching for the Winter family.
Everything semi-legal and not-so-legal that I could steal was carefully packed and sent via cargo Portkey to a cache I’d set up near Prague.
It was a shame that high vampire probably wasn’t dead.
High-ranking undead were always difficult to kill, and with my current body and level of magical control, going head-to-head with it now would be foolish.
With a faint blue flash, the rope in my hands finally became a Portkey leading to the cemetery I’d visited before.
I didn’t risk setting the exit point to familiar places from my past, and in this body, Lockhart had visited too few places.
“Everything is ready.
The Portkey is complete.
You can take hold of it.”
“Thank you, Mr.
Lockhart.
I, Irisfil von Winter, am forever in your debt.”
Feeling the weight of this oath settle into the surrounding magic, I continued to follow the behavioral matrix of my “mask.”
“It’s an honor to help such beautiful ladies.
But I think the sooner you’re home, the calmer your family will be.”
I said with a smile, holding out the Portkey to them.
Irisfil smiled wearily in return.
“Indeed.
Ilia, grab the rope.”
“Okay.”
Satisfied they were all holding the freshly created one-time artifact, I activated it.
“Portus.”
A door creaked open in a house on the border between Germany and Czechoslovakia.
A nine-year-old blonde girl heard the sound of footsteps and looked out from the kitchen.
“Dad, you’re finally back…”
But Elsa Olcott fell silent, staring at two unfamiliar men.
One of them grinned, showing his yellow-stained teeth.
“Well, well, what do we have here?”
Turning quickly, the girl ran toward the back door.
A voice came from behind her.
“Incarcerous.”
A rope appeared from thin air and instantly bound the blonde girl tightly, causing her to fall painfully to the floor.
“On the…”
“Silencio.”
Elsa realized with panic that no sound was coming from her mouth.
“We really lucked out finding out where that crazy werewolf lives.
How much do you think we’ll get for this girl in one of Dresden’s brothels?”
“Idiot, she’s a werewolf’s daughter, so she’s a werewolf herself.
No one’s taking her to a brothel.
Better to sell her on the black market in Berlin.
Organs from young werewolves should be fetching a high price right now, since most of them are either in reservations or in ‘wild’ packs.”
“And I’m the idiot who found the werewolf’s house.”
His partner snorted dismissively.
“Keep an eye on the girl while I search the house.
He’s probably got a stash around here somewhere.”
“Dad, save me…”
Feeling tears welling up in her eyes, Elsa clenched her small fists, trying to hide her weakness.
She’d seen her father do that unconsciously when he was sad and didn’t want to show it.