The day had finally come.

Walden never been so eager for Halloween in his life. He had convinced himself that everything would be alright now, that the Ancients would assist them in rescuing Evey, that Tony wouldn't get into too much trouble for turning him. This meeting was the only thing that had kept him going these past weeks.

Evey had to be alive. He would know if she were dead, wouldn't he? The day his mother had passed, Walden had awoken in the middle of the night, and he'd known, even before Irina came to give him the sad news. Walden simply assumed that the same was true with Evey. There was no way that the earth would go on spinning if she were dead.

They'd had little luck in their search for her. The last werewolf Walden had interrogated – a little more forcefully than strictly necessary, perhaps, because he'd had a feeling that the man knew more than he let on – had revealed that Greyback's den was protected by a Fidelius Charm, among other things. Just as they'd suspected, but at least now they knew that Tony, or any other Ancient, might be able to find the place. Which was why he was so anxious to attend the bloody meeting.

Although, admittedly, he was also excited to meet the other Ancients, which was weird, because Walden usually avoided interacting with people, if at all possible. Evey and he had already figured out who some of them were, mainly thanks to Tony, who couldn't keep a secret if his life depended on it. But Walden wouldn't let his curiosity get in the way, of course. His priority was to find Evey – and to survive the meeting.

It would take place in a château, in south-western France, near Bordeaux.

Travelling abroad via Apparition was heavily regulated, just like any other magical or Muggle means of transportation, even inside the EU. And, as Tony was officially dead, and Walden was now also supposed to be dead, they opted for a somewhat less…legal option. Walden had learned a lot about avoiding detection while Apparating when he was serving Voldemort, since his missions often took him out of the country.

Illegal Apparition provided a complicated network of secure spots around the world, if you knew how to operate it properly. They found themselves in French territory after Apparating at several different locations; thankfully, none was too far out of their time zone, otherwise Walden would have fallen asleep. And perhaps burnt to a crisp.

Once they were in France, they cast a simple – and quite illegal – spell on themselves so that the local wizarding authorities could not detect them, and then they were free to travel anywhere they liked.

Molly had agreed to cover for them, although there was hardly any need for it. Nobody ever bothered to talk to them, and especially to Walden, since he was only awake at night. Molly had agreed to keep it all a secret unless the safety of the Order was somehow compromised. They would only be gone for a night, in any case. Luckily for Walden, the meeting would begin at midnight, local time. The Ancients seemed to enjoy these silly references, like the meeting taking place on Halloween, for instance. Jeanne hadn't said anything about a disguise, but they'd had to find suits for the occasion. They'd briefly returned to Macnair manor to fetch some old clothes. Tony was the same size he'd always been, but Molly had had to alter Walden's old jacket to fit him.

The château was a grand building, dating from somewhere around the 18th century, unless Walden was much mistaken. There was a double staircase in the front yard, and another inside, in the main hall, just like in a Disney movie. For all its grandeur, however, it was tastefully decorated, if somewhat opulent in style. Everything was white and gold, and all modern commodities blended pleasantly with the period furniture.

A slender, pretty man wearing a blood-red satin shirt invited them in and led them into the reception room, which must have been a ball room in its early days and was currently serving that very purpose: several men and women were dancing across the large space, on the varnished parquet floor. Walden recognised the music as Dmitri Shostakovich's Waltz no. 2, which was being played on an old gramophone.

Exactly what sort of meeting was this? Jeanne had made no mention of a ball or party. There were a lot more people than Walden had expected, considering that there were only fourteen Ancients. Before he could ask his brother if they were in the right place, however, a youthful woman with heavy-lidded eyes accosted them. She was wearing a pink dress with a lot of superfluous frills.

"Antonin, my fellow countryman," she said with a small grin. She had a distinct Russian accent – unlike Tony, who spoke maybe ten words of his mother's original language, and had in fact never set foot on Russian soil in his life.

"Evening, comrade," Tony replied pleasantly, with the usual flirtatious smile he reserved for pretty women.

Walden couldn't tell who she was. He glanced at his brother, but the woman went on in a cheerful tone, looking straight into Tony's eyes and ignoring Walden entirely. "Dance with me." It sounded more like a command than a suggestion. She grabbed Tony's hand and pulled him after her. Tony spared Walden a resigned shrug before following the bouncy little woman.

Walden had to admit, he felt like an outsider even here, at the Halloween undead party. He wasn't the only 'regular' vampire around, he could tell – Tony said that "companions" were allowed, whatever that meant – but no one seemed to have noticed him, or perhaps they didn't care. There were about fifty people in the room, servants included. Among the other men, only two had the youthful face of the Ancients. Regular vampires weren't blessed with eternal youth, but were instead stuck at the age at which they'd died. At least I'll never be forty, Walden thought with bitter amusement.

One of the men was obviously Vlad Dracula; the moustache was a dead giveaway. Though why he'd keep the same moustache for so long was a mystery. It stood out, and Walden had assumed that the Ancients wanted to keep a low profile, and to avoid attracting unnecessary attention. Vlad's hair had been cut short, at least, and he – like everyone else in the room – wore fancy, modern clothes. Though "modern" ranged from the 1910's to today, in this case.

Before Walden could study the rest of them, Jeanne suddenly materialised at his side. "Look at you, so elegant," she said with a genuine smile. "Are you sure this little girl of yours is worth all that trouble?" she added, placing a hand lightly on his good arm.

"Quite sure," he replied, removing her hand smoothly.

Jeanne gave a throaty laugh. "You can't blame a girl for trying." Her laughter died abruptly when she spotted Tony, who was still waltzing with the Russian woman. "Non mais, pour qui elle se prend, celle-là?" she muttered darkly.

Who does she think she is? Well, Walden would very much like to know who she was, as a matter of fact. "He's not going to remain chaste for the rest of…well, eternity…just to please you, you know," Walden pointed out.

Jeanne threw him a dirty look. "Nor do I expect him to. I don't care what he does, as long as he remains discreet. But that Russian catin… Ugh, she's awful. She's crazy."

"Yeah…" Walden cleared his throat. "So, um, who's she?" he asked, abandoning all pretence at subtlety.

Jeanne shook her head ruefully. "You might have made it this far, mon cher, but I'm still not supposed to let you know these things." She was quiet for a moment. "On the other hand, if you were to discover it on your own…" She was grinning now. "Antonin told me that you were passionate about history. Let's put that knowledge to the test, shall we?" Walden nodded eagerly. "She was a Russian noble lady – although 'noble' hardly applies in this instance – who was accused of torturing to death over a hundred of her serfs. She is now known as the Sadist. Which, I must say, is both perfectly adequate and painfully lame." Jeanne gave Walden an expectant look.

Did they choose their epithets themselves, or were the names forced upon them? Walden couldn't think of a reason why anyone would want to be known as the Sadist. He'd never heard of that Ancient before; either she was a new one or, more likely, she'd changed her name several times to confuse the few historians who had attempted to unmask the Ancients, and to prove their existence in the process. In any case, that was not exactly the sort of things Walden was fascinated about, but his brother had once offered him a book about the most notorious serial killers in history. She could only be one person – Darya Nikolayevna Saltykova, also called the Saltychikha. Jeanne smiled approvingly when he whispered the name, aware that nearly everyone here could likely hear what he was saying, if they chose to focus on him.

But why would anyone turn such a person into an immortal vampire with amazingly powerful abilities? He turned the question to Jeanne, who shrugged. "I've told you that the Queen scouts the world in search of the next potential candidate. She looks among the famous as well as the infamous, because she thinks that people can change, that they can be made better, that they deserve a second chance. Which is why so many of us have a criminal past, since she started to do the recruiting on her own," Jeanne went on with a smile.

The Queen – Gorgo, of ancient Sparta. Walden had to admit that he very much wanted to meet her, but it seemed prudent not to let Jeanne know that Tony had revealed her identity to him. "And…do they? Change, I mean. Because you clearly dislike Darya."

"Well, the fact is that the Queen only reports her finds to the next Ancient in line – then it's up to them to pick the one they wish to turn. With the Bloodmother's approval, of course. Darya was bitten by…the Dragon."

"That one was quite obvious, you know," Walden said with a smirk. "You can call him by name."

Jeanne made an impatient gesture. "I know, I know. Not sure what it was about him, but apparently he just had to be one of us, I was told." She made a dismissive gesture. "He's not that bad, I suppose. Not much to look at, but he's cultivated, refined. Far from the barbarian image I had in mind. Not so his progeny. But to the Queen's credit, it's true that most of us have repented, and are trying to do some good. Darya is an exception," she added with blatant distaste.

"Now, what do we have here?" someone said from behind them. Walden turned to see a tall, flame-haired woman. Her accent was faintly Irish. "My daughter, it's been too long." She embraced Jeanne and kissed her on both cheeks, and Jeanne returned the woman's warm smile.

"Walden, this is my maker. The Witch."

The taller woman laughed softly. "Please. Call me Alice. You know I'm not terribly fond of the name he gave me." She glanced toward the second Ancient man, a robust bloke with a shaved head. The man bowed slightly in their direction when he caught them looking at him, before returning to his conversation with Dracula.

Walden assumed that they were named by their makers, then. He wondered who this Alice was, but no obvious answer came to mind. "I thought Antonin was the first person with magical abilities among the Ancients," he said with a small frown.

"Oh, but he is," Alice said. "I am no witch. I didn't even know there were real witches until I was turned. But enough about me." She grinned at Jeanne. "Tell me all about this new companion of yours, my darling daughter."

"He's not mine. Unfortunately," Jeanne said with a pout. "He came with Antonin."

"Really? I didn't know he was…one of those."

Walden's eyes widened when he realised what she meant. "Oh no, it's not like that, um, Miss...Alice. We're not…" he stammered.

Jeanne was laughing. "I wish. Unfortunately, though, my Antonin's not very picky about his conquests." She cocked her head toward Antonin and Darya. Alice had the same moue of distaste as her "daughter" as she watched the two of them whirl around the room. Shostakovich had been replaced by Sviridov.

"Who is he, then?" Alice asked, eyes narrowed, suddenly suspicious. "Why has Antonin brought him here? He can't just invite every vampire he meets!"

Jeanne raised her hands in a placating gesture. "It's nothing like that. Don't fret, Alice. All will be well."

Alice scowled. "What is that supposed to mean? What has he–" She was cut off as a resounding gong went off somewhere in the château. To Walden's enhanced hearing, it felt like the gong had been hit right inside his skull.

A short, ebony-skinned woman had entered the room. Her wavy black hair was woven into a thick, intricate braid decorated with various golden accessories. She wore a crimson gown that would not have been out of place in the 1920's. She didn't look like an Ancient – her handsome face was neither youthful nor old – and yet she radiated power and majesty.

Everyone had paused in their conversations and activities to stare at her.

The Bloodmother had arrived.

It looked like the meeting was about to begin in earnest.