An Evening at Madam Zenarie’s Emporium Ⅲ

Leaving the elated couple and friends behind to their clamorous celebrations, Madam passes by unnoticed and makes her way to one of the concierge private rooms. Carefully knocking once, Madam Zenarie turns the silver knob before entering the lavish, but tastefully decorated chamber. Sipping rather leisurely wine in a silver chalice, the Potentate of Londo raises his sharp wolf-like eyes to meet her own. The old weathered wizard showed incredible dexterity despite his age. His white hair is neatly cut and is dressed rather well in a fine cloak rather than in his usual deceiving wool or cotton blended sweaters.

Madam Zenarie stifles a shiver and bows to the Potentate of London. "Sanderson, the callers have yet to arrive, but they will be promptly brought in by Tamara. She knows how to bid her tongue and keep her eyes shut on the encounter that is to occur this evening."

"Zenarie," Sanderson slowly said with a cool expression, "you make it sound as though I have a private rendezvous with my most mysterious and secretive of lovers."

Madam Zenarie blanches and bows her head even lower. "Certainly not, Potentate of London, t'was was a mere slip of the tongue. I sincerely apologize for the misspoken words of this madam." This was the debt that she owed Sanderson for his continual protection, and this was how he elected to collect. It was a better one than most Madam's had, but that did not mean that it did not come with its own set of difficulties.

"Mm, it was a mere jest, Zenarie," Sanderson hummed as he took a sip of his wine and gestured for her to rise. "Excellent vintage, what year is it?"

"It is an 1878 elf made wine from the Chateau du Foix. I shall immediately order for an unopened bottle to be brought up from the wine cellar for the Potentate to collect upon the Potentate's departure," Madam Zenarie swiftly answered as she slowly straightened back to her feet causing her skirt to rustle softly.

"No need," Sanderson dismissively ordered. It would be far too easy for a wine bottle to be tampered with especially in such a large lapse of time. No, he would be a fool to take such a risk now. And the only reason, he had even accepted the wine bottle was because he had personally opened the wine bottle and poured the wine in a silver chalice to test for poison.

"As you wish, Sanderson," Madam Zenarie quietly said bobbing up and down in a tiny curtsy. "If there is nothing more to add, I shall take my leave, Potentate."

Sanderson dismisses Madam Zenarie with one hand, before leaning back against the chaise to enjoy the wine. He swirls the rich flavor in his mouth, savory the exquisite elf wine. The wine had hints of sweetness, sourness, and an aged sensation that made the tongue tingle with pleasure. It was most definitely a good wine, and he'd have to remember to purchase a few bottles through several back channels to ensure that there would be no trace left back to him. He had no shortage of enemies and rivals, who would use such an opportunity against him and his family.

Sanderson had not been contemplating long when a knock is heard at the door. Sanderson takes another sip of his wine, before setting the silver chalice down on the table. He'd not take another sip as he did not wish for his facilities to be impaired. Leaning back, he waits as the door opens to reveal a pretty lass with oak-colored hair. Visible lacerations can be seen on the back of her hand, on her neck, and a practically deep gouge across one of her cheeks.

Sanderson's eyes grow cold as he eyes the girl's scars. There were rules in place and the only reason he had not taken the head of Mulciber's brat was that even he was bound by unspoken rules in place. However, that did not mean that the rules in place could not be bent nor twisted if certain requirements were met.

Sanderson's wolfish eyes narrow in recognition towards the wizard following behind Tamara. A sharp-faced man with dark hair ending in a widow's peak, Avery Sr. and a burly, very muscular wizard with perpetual angry eyes, Rosier Sr. He would have normally turned such a meeting down, but he had learned that Avery Sr. and Mulciber Sr. were deliberately at odds with each other. No one knew the exact reason pertaining to their sudden separation, but the more attentive members of society noted that it occurred right after the assembly held at Mulciber Citadel. Whatever had occurred between the two wizards was serious enough to warrant the destruction of their lengthy friendship that had been forged since their time at Hogwarts in their youth.

"I shall return with drinks and food for the guests," Tamara respectfully said as she gestured for the two wizards to take a seat with a polite curtsy to them.

"No need," Avery Sr. crisply replied as Rosier Sr. grunted darkly in agreement.

"Very well, sirs, I shall wait further down the hall to escort you upon the ending of gentlemen's discussion," Tamara resolutely answered, before curtsying again. The rustle of her skirt can be heard before the door firmly closes shut behind her. Certain that the door is closed properly, she walks away further down the hallway to wait. The Potentate of London did not take too kindly to being overheard nor much less to those that dared to eavesdrop. Neither group nor individual never lived to tell the tale.

Inside the parlor, there is an icy silence until Sanderson gestures to the two other empty silver goblets set on the table next to the corked wine bottle set next to it. "Wine?" Sanderson politely asked. "It is a rather good vintage."

"I am fine at this time," Avery Sr. crisply declined with a wave of his hand, while Rosier Sr. did not verbally answer except to address a menacing glare at the Potentate of London in acute response.

"It surely must be a matter of delicate nature to require such secrecy for the request was not conveyed via owl post nor in person at the pub where it is customary to present alternative business matters. Then again, I cannot help but note Avery that you have been accompanied by Rosier which suggests that that the pressing nature of the matter to be discussed is of some magnitude," Sanderson frankly opinionated as he seemingly rested his hands on his lap, but carefully peeked up at the wizards. He noted that the two wizards gave nothing away with their expressions which all but confirmed his previous statement regarding the gravity of the request.

With a self-assured expression, Sanderson says, "Very well, then let us commence negotiations."

"Then I shall make this conversation rather short, Sanderson," Avery Sr. coldly answered, before his lips twitched up with a touch of contempt, "-as not to offend your sensibilities."

Sanderson narrows his eyes at the pureblood's curt remark, but he does not rise to the bait. He would settle the score between them soon enough. For it was the other party, who had come to his door.

"The matter begins and ends with a Babylon Candle," Avery Sr. flatly stated causing Sanderson to let out a surprised sound.

"A Babylon candle," Sanderson slowly said with a look of intrigue in his eyes. "Do pray and tell, Avery. How does such a foul and innately rare item exactly relate to your personage?" The mockery in Sanderson's voice is evident as Avery Sr. maintains his composure, while Rosier Sr. burning gaze darkens with irritation.

Sanderson feigned shock and derisively says, "Do not tell me that the artifact was stolen, because I can assure you, Avery, they were not one of mine." For it was true. Nothing so valuable could have been stolen and traded without his knowledge.

Avery Sr. flashes Sanderson an icy white-toothed smile. "Your answer is understandable considering your line of services, Sanderson," Avery Sr. contemptuously declared. "And no, it was none of your own, Sanderson, you may set your concerns to rest."

Sanderson's face finally twitches with annoyance at the contemptuous remarks of Avery Sr. Smug at having finally rattled Sanderson's composure, Avery Sr.'s face grows solemn. "T'was Damian Mulciber who viciously used a Babylon candle upon my daughter-in-law and grandson with the condition that only could not live. In the end, my noble daughter-in-law, Marceline elected her own life over that of her child, my grandson, Barnabas."

Sanderson shows a trace of surprise on his face, before cautiously wording a response. "Avery, I need not remind you of the fact that Damian Mulciber was killed at the hands of the Auror's." He pauses to frown to continue in a stern voice, "And I do not dabble in resurrecting the dead. Necromancy is most foul and evil that even I am reluctant to be tainted by such vile magic."

"That is not what I am intreating," Avery Sr. chillingly retorted. For indeed it was not. For Death can be a mercy, and even a kindness in the end.