Chapter Three

Nightcaps

"It is an acquired taste," Wingard du Foncé admitted, gently swirling the blood wine near his nose while gazing over his other guests. The room was dim, but the candlelight that was present had a way of catching the red of his eyes and reflecting it back. "Balance is the key, to add the right amount of tempered wine to thin the blood; just enough to keep it smooth without distorting the taste of the blood itself. Rather, it is used to enhance it, complement it… an addition rather than a subtraction. It's best at room temperature, of course, although I myself find it is also quite pleasant a few degrees warmer."

"To each their own, my dear Marquis," Abraxus chuckled. "And although your private label is uncontested in the specialized area of blood wines, I admit to fancying some of your other labels more… especially your most recent addition. This newest one you've debuted tonight is nothing short of superb."

"A bit bitter," Amadeus commented thoughtfully after tasting it himself.

"It would be for you. Mr. Longbottom has long favored dessert wines," Byron Nelson said evenly. "The red ones, of course," he said, ignoring the dark look Amadeus gave him. "This new white wine of yours has a faint nutty flavor, and an interesting hint of smoke as well," Byron decided, holding it up to the candelabra. "It also an interesting tint to it; a white wine without being too light."

"I do not create light wines, Lord Byron, it goes against my nature, after all," the vampire explained politely. "White wine was never a true interest of mine until this new strain of grapes was developed. They're best harvested at night, and afterwards not a hint of sunlight must touch it, else it spoils the flavor… that is why I went with the black opaque bottle for this one."

"I think it will do well, Marquis. What are you calling it?" Abraxus asked curiously.

"Nightshade," Wingard said.

"I rather like it, but aren't you afraid your clientele might think it is poisonous with such a name?" Abraxus asked.

"If they doubt my reputation for wines, they probably shouldn't be drinking them," Wingard said calmly. "Unless they're victims, of course."

"Do you have any new cursed or enchanted wines coming out as well?" Amadeus asked, a great deal more interested in the conversation.

"As a matter of fact, I do, and one specifically that might interest you, although I'm afraid that particular vintage isn't open for tasting. We wouldn't want any accidents," Wingard said with a hint of amusement.

Abraxus shook his head as he watched the two of them and several other interested guests go over to a table near the back. Exchanging quick pleasantries with a couple of the other wizards he recognized, Abraxus wandered over to where Nelson was standing, watching those in the back of the room thoughtfully.

"Rather open, isn't he? He is going to end up getting into trouble the way he is going," Abraxus murmured worriedly.

"Do you mean Longbottom?" Nelson asked quietly.

"Who else? He's the only one in the room who has a tendency to be indiscreet…"

"Far from the only one in the room," Nelson warned, and then pointedly paused until Damon Platt and Hephaestus Grey passed by on their way over to have a few words with the Atchisons near the red wine selections. "There's no reason to be concerned. After all, all of those wines are legal if self-imbibed…"

"As if that were their purpose!"

"No, but I see no reason to interfere in his recent distractions. If anything, it has made him much easier to keep in line," Nelson said calmly.

"Perhaps, but I have heard he has the goblins grumbling about his personal expenses. If he's not curbed soon, there is going to be very little of Malfoy Industries to salvage," Abraxus whispered.

"Who is being indiscreet now?" Nelson warned him. "Abraxus, concern yourself with our investments, and less about investments that I may or may not have with others. I assure you it will be to your advantage. Careful, here comes our host again."

"I have another vintage for you to try, gentlemen," Wingard said.

"Yes, and we saw which table you got that from, thank you, but no," Nelson said.

"Its charm only affects women, Lord Nelson. I assure you it is quite safe for us to drink, and you'll find it has an excellent flavor. I have made limited quantities of this blend for years now; it is called the Black Rose," he said, offering Abraxus a glass.

"I do like rose wines," Abraxus said, putting his nose in the glass. "Very fragrant. A bit musky, but not in an unpleasant way."

"Dare I ask what sort of affect this stuff has on women?" Nelson said, sniffing it suspiciously.

"It makes them a bit more open to suggestion, as long as it's reasonable," Wingard said. "It's mild enough not to be easily detected, and as with all my wines is worth purchasing just for its superior vintage."

"I quite agree, it is very nice, not that Lynn needs that sort of persuasion, of course," Abraxus chuckled softly.

"You already have all the persuasion you need, Abraxus, and the majority of it is in your vault in Gringotts Bank," Nelson said, taking a cautious sip. "What truly matters is whether or not the label is profitable," he said, pausing as Amadeus walked up to join them. "Anything else we may need or desire can be easily acquired through those assets."

"Spoken like a true banker, Lord Nelson, although I have found from my personal experiences over the centuries that money only goes so far. Gold does not always equate to true power," Wingard said.

"I would suppose that would depend on what one's definition of true power is," Abraxus said.

"Yes, perhaps it does," Wingard agreed tolerantly. "But I have found that money is a lot easier to acquire than power. Money is simply a matter of having enough time to build it. Power can be more elusive. Enjoy the wine, gentleman, that bottle is three times your age."

"Was that some sort of an implied insult?" Abraxus murmured to Nelson as Wingard moved away to speak to other guests.

"Does it truly matter, considering whom… or rather what… that remark came from?" Nelson pointed out quietly in return, watching as Wingard went over to a different group of men.

"Careful, he's coming over," Damon said, and the three men standing with him glanced up as Wingard slipped over to them.

"Enjoying the wine tasting, gentleman?" Wingard asked.

"That, and the presence of your discriminating guests," Arnold Jeffers replied.

"There would be no point to indulge my love of wine to those who would not appreciate it, and I am hoping to improve my reputation in this community without undue unpleasantness."

"I admit that my appreciation for your wines has gone up," Atchison replied. "But there are many who will never see you as anything but a vampire, and who feel that you see us as nothing more than assets in your food bank."

"True, but they are still drinking the wine, I see," Wingard said, pointedly looking at Atchison's own glass. "Don't care for it, Mr. Gamban?" he added, noting that Gamban's glass was nearly full.

"I tend not to drink much in public, but I have been trying each one, Marquis," Peter assured him. "Actually, I was wondering if there was any chance I can speak to you alone for a moment?" Atchison and Damon both stared at Peter as if he were quite mad. "It's about a business proposal of sorts."

"Is it?" Wingard mused. "Then why do I suspect that whatever it is you have in mind is likely to be more beneficial to you and not to me?"

"Well, it isn't my proposal exactly," Peter admitted. "But it wouldn't be offered unless it were mutually beneficial."

"Very well, I admit you have me momentarily intrigued…" Wingard began. But suddenly he paused and whipped his head around with a strange expression on his face. "I'll discuss the matter with you later. Perhaps we can make an appointment."

"Actually, that would have been needed anyway," Peter said.

Wingard nodded distractedly at him, but his eyes were fixed at the windows and doors. Then he saw mist around the door and focused in, walking over to it and opening it to find a tall black-haired vampire standing in the doorway without any intention of coming in.

"Your presence is demanded at the Clan's hollow immediately," the elder vampire stated. "Our father has come to a decision as to whom he is bringing into the inner circle this evening. You are required to attend… and bring an appropriate gift."

"An appropriate gift? At this short notice?" Wingard scowled. The vampire peered in, glancing at the full room.

"You have a full larder, Brother Wingard."

"None suitable for that. Fine, I will go fetch something and be over as soon as possible," he hissed.

"Do not tarry too long. The Reverent does not like to be kept waiting," the elder said.

The elder seemed to simply dissipate away, the mist quickly rising and drifting down the hall and out a side window. Sighing at the inconvenience, Wingard slipped down the hallway in the other direction to the kitchens and grabbed the arm of his servant, a vampire girl who apparently had died at a fairly young age. "I need you to go in there and babysit the stock. Entertain them as you will, but do not feed off any of them."

"Yes master," the girl said, dutifully leaving the room.

He frowned as he watched her go, wondering if she truly had the mental capacity any longer to stave off the urge to bite if it overtook her. Well, it couldn't be helped at this point, he knew. He would just have to risk it. There would be no getting out of a direct summons, not that he would want to miss this summons anyway. A position finally opened in the Reverent's inner circle and he had, if nothing else, taken over territory that had established him as a leading contender for the position. Quickly flipping through his black book of Morsels, Wingard Disapparated.

Many of the clan were already present when he arrived several minutes later, some huddled in wolf packs while others waited in small groups or close to where the inner circle gathered. In the center of the circle in a blood red cape stood the Reverent himself; Rafe, who immediately gazed around with interest when he sensed Foncé's presence.

"Ah, there is Wingard," Rafe said with a thin smile and a flash in his eyes.

"Father Rafe," Wingard said, laying the unconscious girl he had brought down near the elders. He couldn't help but notice that two others with impressive embroidery on their robes had also brought tribute, although neither had quite as many stitches as he had. "Ah yes, another 'apparent runaway,' is that it? Penned by her own hand and left on a made bed, no doubt," Rafe said. Wingard did not miss the hint of criticism in his tone.

"I prefer to keep my territory clean, father," Wingard bowed.

"Clean, perhaps, but also a bit gutless," Rafe ventured. Wingard squinted slightly. "I admit to being disappointed in the fact that you have been continuing these sorts of methods, just as I am disappointed in your choice of tribute no matter how young and full of life they might be. You see, I was under the impression that when you boldly took over that particular territory that you might be bringing a different caliber of meal to the table. And yes, I understand your regular hunting grounds are far north of your home and are adequate as far as your personal needs are concerned, but I would think that someone hoping to serve me and the clan in a higher position might bring something better than his normal fare, tonight of all nights especially. Why have you never brought one witch or wizard to indulge me?"

"They have been watching me carefully since I first arrived, Father."

"You were watched in Paris, Wingard, and under Maxime's eyes, yet you still managed quite well."

"I have brought better tribute since then, Father," Wingard snapped in a stern tone that made some of the elders frown disapprovingly at him. "In Paris, I also did not have to deal with the fact that in Hogsmeade people do not stay 'missing' for very long, thanks to the talent of a certain painter…"
"Yes, what of that, Wingard? Why is it that you have failed to bring Pyther and the Snape girl to me, when they were both once yours to claim? It would seem to me that the logical thing to do would be to make them disappear quickly, and hopefully in a way we might all enjoy," Rafe said.

"Her family has other ways of tracking her…"

"Are you intimidated by your food, Wingard?" Rafe challenged him. Foncé quieted down. "And I thought I knew you better. Bear witness, my elders. It is evident now that Wingard is too spineless to become your equal. We shall welcome Karolek to the inner circle tonight."

"What? But I have several centuries and thousands of stitches on him!" Foncé snarled angrily. "And his fare tonight and in general consists of picking up the street trash in Amsterdam!"

"Do you dare question my judgment?" Rafe whispered dangerously.

"I find it strange that you would question me to such an extent and not question him, yes, Reverent," Foncé snarled. "The fact of the matter is you are not turning me away so much because of my offering as the fact that you see me as a rival!"

The other elders began to move but Rafe put up a hand to calm them, his red eyes staring fixedly at Foncé.

"To be a rival, Foncé, you would have to be equal to me, which is something that you will never attain," Rafe said evenly. "But if you mean that I think that you are far too ambitious for my liking, my answer would be yes. It is past time for you to learn your place, Wingard. You may be a lord among the living, but you will never be a lord among the unliving. Return to your place," he ordered.

There was a heavy silence in the hollow until Foncé finally retreated to stand among the wolves, his fists clenched and his eyes flashing in anger as he watched Karolek join the elders and made a feast out of the three offerings while the rest of them waited in case anything was left to drain after the fact. But even as Foncé and the wolves were called forward, he stood in the same spot and watched from a distance, furious enough to maintain a subtle protest but not foolish enough to try and make another move that night. There would be other times, he swore to himself. There would come a time when they would all bow to him.