Antonin felt Jeanne summoning him like a physical pull drawing him to his maker. He could tell exactly where she was: right outside the Burrow. Thankfully, she'd had the presence of mind not to simply barge inside.

It had been over three weeks since they'd met in France. Walden was so anxious that Tony was actually glad for the sunrise, sometimes counting the minutes until his brother would finally fall asleep. He was getting out of control, still slipping away at night to look for clues and – Tony suspected – using illegal curses to obtain information from unwary werewolves. It led him nowhere, of course, but he didn't let that stop him. He would go mad, if Evey wasn't found soon. And she was dead… Well, Tony didn't even want to consider the possibility, at this point.

Jeanne was also sensible enough to come during day time, when Walden was slumbering and most everyone was out for work – all except Molly. Tony walked in the kitchen and cleared his throat so that Molly wouldn't have a heart attack. She turned toward him, frowning. "Jeanne's here," he said sheepishly. "Do you mind if she comes upstairs so we can talk?"

Molly sighed. "More secrets?"

"No. Well, that is, yes, but it's not very important." That had to be the biggest lie he'd ever uttered in her presence, and he regretted it as soon as he said it. "You know what? You're right. This concerns Evey, and she's as important to you as she is to us." He doubted that Jeanne would see it that way, but never mind that now.

Tony opened the front door a moment later, and his maker glowered at him. "Took your sweet time." She entered without waiting for an invitation. Well, she didn't need one, not now that Molly had invited her in the first time. One of the Weasleys would have to formally rescind the invitation to keep Jeanne out at this point.

Jeanne grimaced when she spotted Molly. "Encore la rouquine," she muttered sourly. Tony, who didn't have Walden's nerdy knowledge of multiple languages, only had the vaguest idea what she'd said, but he suspected some nasty comment about Molly being here. His maker took a seat and gestured for Tony to join her. Molly sat across from them and Jeanne ignored her so ostensibly that she might as well have glared at her. "A meeting has been arranged," she announced without preamble. "It will take place in four days, in a neutral location. At night," she added. "The Mother insisted upon it, so that Walden could attend."

"Where?" Tony asked. "France again?"

Jeanne shook her head. "No, it will be held here, in England. At Stonehenge."

Tony stared at her, puzzled. "The area is heavily restricted because of the masses of tourists. How is that an appropriate location to hold any sort of secret meeting?" Honestly, whose brilliant idea was that?

Jeanne laughed, her delicate nose crinkling prettily. "I have connections, Antonin. We all do. The place will be empty of tourists and guards, I assure you. And the landmark is more than appropriate. It's perfect. The magic there, it's older than any of us, as old as the Mother herself. A church's consecrated ground is of no interest to us, but Stonehenge is different. It will offer protection."

Well, that sounded quite mystical. There was always much speculation surrounding the ancient stones, but nothing of import had ever happened there that Tony knew about. But hey, who was he to contradict the Bloodmother? If she thought they should meet there, they would – and not a moment too soon.

Antonin, Walden and Jeanne were the last to arrive, as instructed.

"I must warn you," Jeanne whispered to Antonin and Walden, "it would be best if you remained silent unless someone addresses you directly." She met Walden's eyes. "No matter how much you may disagree with what is being said." Walden grumbled indistinctly in reply.

Alice glanced at Jeanne as they approached, and she looked oddly worried. What could she be worried about? The Elder wasn't even going to attend the meeting, only some of his puppets, while all Ancients were present. The Wolves were badly outnumbered. It was a wonder that they'd even agreed to meet in these conditions.

Malkoran – the infamous, mysterious Elder – hadn't deigned to respond to the Mother's request that they meet. She had therefore decided to call his Wolves instead, and after long and strenuous negotiations, they had agreed to gather at Stonehenge. The few who had answered the invitation were those who despised Greyback, the ones who disapproved of his actions, notably his alliance with the dark wizard who called himself Voldemort. (What a ridiculous name. It was even worse than the Wolves' nicknames, and that was saying something. One of them was called Maneater. Seriously.) There were seven of them, which meant that the Wolves were evenly split. Jeanne had done extensive research to discover precisely who they were, of course. It was her job.

Most of the Wolves were sitting on the ancient stones, or leaning against them, while the vampires stood rigidly on the other side of the large circle, arms crossed. No one was talking. The Mother alone sat in a comfortable chair, in the midst of all, seemingly unperturbed. She rose from her seat with an eerie grace when Jeanne entered the stone circle and she gestured for the three of them to stand at her side.

The Wolves had risen as well. They didn't look particularly concerned, despite being outnumbered two to one. One of the werewolves moved forward, a tall, clean-shaven man with a commanding air. William I, commonly dubbed the Conqueror. Among his kind, he was known as Razorteeth. Jeanne assumed that he was in charge, though it was sometimes difficult to tell, with werewolves. Or men in general, really. "Mother," he began politely, "it is an honour to make your acquaintance at last." He bowed his head slightly. "You told us that one of your own was being held captive by Greyback – and yet I see that all of your children are present this night, including a new Ancient, if I'm not mistaken. And this one," he indicated Walden, "is a simple vampire, as far as I can make out."

"That is correct," the Bloodmother replied quietly. "The Wizard joined our ranks almost two years ago. I assumed that you would already know of this. Malkoran is usually better informed." She made no mention of Walden.

Another Wolf stepped forward, a red-haired man with an impressive beard. That had to be the Viking bloke, Erik Thorvaldsson. "Malkoran concerns himself little with the world these days. In fact, he has not been seen or heard from in many years, Mother."

"I see," the Bloodmother said dismissively. That explained why he hadn't replied to her messages, at least, but the Mother would likely consider Malkoran's indifference as a personal affront regardless. "The matter is quite simple: we demand that the girl be released forthwith. She belongs to us." She had already explained the situation before arranging a formal meeting, although not all the facts had been revealed, obviously.

"But who is she?" one of the other Wolves asked in a reedy voice. It was the one they called Moonsinger. He seemed to be in his nineties, which made him easy to identify: Ramesses II. Jeanne knew that, unlike the Ancients, the Wolves kept the appearance they'd had when they were transformed; no eternal youth for them. As to why anyone would bite a decrepit old man, even one as distinguished as the one-time Pharaoh, she couldn't begin to imagine. "Whiptail here visited Greyback's den only a few months past," he went on, indicating one of his fellows, "and he sensed something odd, out of the ordinary, but it certainly was no Ancient."

"The girl is no Ancient," the Bloodmother admitted, "but she belongs to us nonetheless," she repeated firmly. "She was bitten by one of us and possesses an ability that is entirely ours."

"But you also said that the cub bit her," Razorteeth insisted. "Doesn't that make her one of us? She is bound to Greyback by blood, at least as much as she is to your progeny."

"Which one are you, again?" Darya wondered innocently. "Cottontail?" The Wolf glared at her. "She's a girl, you idiot. Since when do you beasts take girls in?" On aurait dû la bâillonner, celle-là, Jeanne thought in annoyance. Making the Wolves angry would serve no purpose. Hell, they were on the same side. Everyone here wanted to see that Greyback reaped what he had sowed.

"If I may, Mother?" Gorgo asked softly. The Bloodmother nodded for her to speak her mind. Gorgo held herself as she must have when she stood at her husband's side, like the Queen she was and always had been. "The girl doesn't 'belong' to anyone. She is a person, not a good to be sold at market," she told them all chidingly. Walden grunted approvingly, but remained blessedly silent.

Alice took a step forward. "The Queen is correct. The facts are as follow, gentlemen: the girl was taken against her will and is currently held captive – at least we hope she is. Greyback may have already killed her." She surveyed the Wolves with hard eyes. "And may I remind you that Greyback bit her, regardless of the rule that binds us all, which states that we must maintain secrecy at all times. I find that messily murdering an entire family and biting a witch is not particularly…discreet."

"And let's not forget the fact that Greyback kept her a secret even from you," Jeanne added. That should increase their distrust of the werewolf.

"Should he even be allowed to consort with warlocks as he does?" Alice went on. "The whole wizarding world knows his name. If he is captured, you could be discovered – and bring us down with you."

"I hereby formally request that Greyback be brought before us and tried for his actions," the Ripper declared suddenly. Jeanne winced, half-expecting the Bloodmother to lash out, but she merely nodded in silent assent. When no one spoke, the Londoner bore on. "He threatens us all and must be arrested before he can cause more damage." It annoyed Jeanne that, although she now knew the name of every single Wolf, she hadn't yet uncovered the Ripper's identity. It was rumoured that even Catalina, who had turned her, didn't know her true name.

"Look, lady, we can't deny that he's over the line," the one called Blackstripes said, "but I've never heard of anyone being judged for anything of the sort." He paused, eyeing her with narrowed eyes. "It's especially funny coming from you, Miss Ripper," he went on with a broad grin. Mm. Apparently, they had done their homework as well.

"Any crime I may or may not have committed was perpetrated before my ascent," the Ripper retorted coolly. The 'ascent' was how the Ancients sometimes referred to their transformation, though it was a bit overdramatic, if you asked Jeanne.

Razorteeth raised his hands in a placating gesture. "What I believe my fellow is trying to say is that we don't have the authority to proceed to a formal arrest or judgement," he clarified, shooting a warning glance in Blackstripes's direction.

"If Malkoran refuses to take part, what choice do we have?" Alice asked pointedly.

"It's not as easy as you think, Miss Kyteler." They were going to rub their names in their faces, were they? Classy. Very subtle. Typical of the brutish fools. "We have no hold over Greyback, no way to make him obey. That fancy summoning power you people got, or whatever it is exactly, we don't have it. Even Goldeneyes can't make him do anything." Blackstripes hesitated for a moment. "Not sure even old Mal could."

Goldeneyes. That was Grigori Rasputin, Greyback's maker. Jeanne hadn't found anything relevant regarding his whereabouts, and she suspected that the Wolves themselves had no idea where he was. He'd apparently vanished from the surface of the earth soon after they'd banished him.

The Viking rolled his eyes in irritation. "You want the girl, yes? Can't we leave it at that?"

"Drop the charges against Greyback and let you deal with him as you see fit, provided that the girl is returned to us in pristine condition?" Alice said with an arched eyebrow. "Yes, I suppose we could agree to that."

"Don't be a fool, woman," the man formerly known as Hernán Cortés spat out. He now bore the supposedly well-earned epithet 'Demonslayer'. "We have no way of knowing in what condition the damned girl might be. We'll return her to you, aye, but you'll have to make do with just that. There's nothing any of us can do against Greyback, no matter what he might have done to her." Cortés glowered at them all in turn. "And no matter how much we might want to," he added sourly.

"Then let us deal with him directly. We can handle him," Darya said firmly.

"You expect us to reveal his location to you?" Cortés nearly choked on the words, looking at her as if she'd gone mad. "We are not traitors, burn you!"

"Regardless of his actions, Greyback is still one of us," Moonsinger explained calmly. "I propose this: we will visit his current place of residence. Three of us will go. If he is there, we will attempt to negotiate with him. If that proves vain, we will take the girl by force. If he is absent, we will bring the girl back to you and deal with Greyback later."

"I second this. We must handle Greyback on our own. He is of no concern to you. You should be glad that the girl is left to you without a fight, given her mixed blood," Cortés told them haughtily.

"Then so be it," the Bloodmother announced.

Razorteeth bowed his head to her once more. "We will contact you again as soon as it is done, Mother."

"Pleasure doing business with you," Blackstripes added with a cheerful smile. The Ripper scoffed contemptuously.

That sounds reasonable enough, Jeanne thought. She was surprised at how easily they had come to an agreement. Although, admittedly, they had no way of knowing what would actually happen when the Wolves entered Greyback's den. What if the girl was there, alive, but they decided that they should keep her after all? There would be nothing the Ancients could do short of starting a war. Jeanne shuddered at the thought. No such thing had ever occurred. Whatever had passed between the Mother and Malkoran, she had not allowed it to influence their (almost inexistent) relationship with the Wolves. Alice seemed to have the same thought, and Jeanne could see the worry in Antonin's eyes. Walden simply looked grimly determined. He was probably considering the best way to destroy the Wolves, should they renege on their word.

The damned hybrid girl had better be worth the trouble.