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May 1, 1994.
The dinner party was in full swing. It was a lavish affair, seeing how it was not everyday that a young woman turned seventeen. The Delacour family spared no expense, hiring the best magical caterers in France and the best entertainment money could buy.
The party was held in their dining hall, a great room with a rich red carpet covering the floor from wall to wall. Six giant arches split the room on either side, cutting a quarter of the room from the rest. The center section was surrounded by twenty circular tables, each seating six guests. At the far end of the hall, opposite the main entrance, was the family's table where Pierre Delacour had risen to his feet, a flute of wine in one hand and a fork in the other.
Their guests were chatting with their neighbors, talking about who was implicated in the latest gossip, how happy they are for the birthday girl, the architecture of the dining hall, and a hundred other relatively unimportant topics.
A discreet sonorus charm had the small chime of metal on glass calling everyone's attention to the patriarch of the Delacour household.
"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for joining us this evening," he said, his voice filling the room with no magical enhancement necessary. "I have been looking forward to this day ever since the moment that my daughter was born. With each passing birthday, a couple of things come to mind. First of all, it makes me feel old to see Fleur growing up so quickly. However, I am quickly consoled in the fact that with each passing day, she is one day closer to getting off my payroll!"
Polite laughter filled the air as Fleur blushed lightly, chuckling behind a raised hand.
"I really don't know what I will do with the money I will save from not being a part of Fleur's wild spending habits. My accountant says I may even save enough money to buy a small island!"
Guests, who had previously been holding in their mirth, dropped all pretences and began laughing outright, increasing the hue of Fleur's blush.
"I will always remember holding Fleur in my hands as a baby, watching her take her first step and her first words. Little did I know that she would mutter another two point five billion words over the course of the next seventeen years. I remember her coming home terrified after her first day of school. Today feels like a natural progression.
"Has she changed over the last seventeen years? Yes and no. She has always been a girl with a tender heart, beauty, and unbridled intelligence.
The last remnants of laughter had died down, and polite applause started, making Fleur sit up straighter. She looked immensely proud, much like her mother and little sister.
The applause died out as Pierre raised his hands for silence. "I remember Fleur bringing home an injured pigeon and that was my first glimpse into her warm and tender heart. "Now that Fleur has joined the ranks of us adults, I suppose that it is my duty to leave her with some wisdom.
"I know that you're going to party later with your friends. Always remember this - make sure the pleasures of your youth doesn't bring you pain in your old age.
"Ladies and gentlemen, please rise and join me in proposing a toast, to Fleur!"
"To Fleur!" echoed everyone else, raising their glasses in a salute towards the blonde witch at the head table.
"Thank you for coming, Monsieur Rousseau," said Pierre, shaking hands with another guest before turning to the next. After his speech and the family had moved out to circulate among them, all the guests began to make their way over to personally bestow their congratulation on both the birthday girl and the father.
Much to his surprise, Pierre didn't recognize the young man who stepped forward next.
He was six-foot-five, which gave him two inches on the Frenchman, dressed in a set of robes that looked more like a Muggle suit than anything else. By the look of his hands and the fit of his tailored suit, Pierre assumed the man was no pushover, probably weighing near two hundred pounds with much of that accumulated mass in muscle.
The man had raven-black hair, drawn back into a ponytail at the base of his neck, tied with a red ribbon that trailed down his back with the rest of his hair. Pierre couldn't quite place his nationality, the tan of his skin making it difficult to accurately place his homeland.
A small scar on his lips twisted as he smiled, not taking away from the face but enhancing it. The grin reached his eyes, which were the deepest emerald green Pierre had ever seen before.
Pierre grasped the outstretched hand, noting that he was right about the man's physiology after experiencing the firm handshake.
"Thank you for coming, Monsieur…" Pierre trailed off, arching an eyebrow in silent question as he retracted his hand to lay it on the tabletop.
"Auditore. Ezio Auditore da Firenze, Signor Delacour," he returned, a slight Italian accent to his voice. "My best wishes to you and your daughter."
"Merci beaucoup, Monsieur Auditore. I must say, I do not recognize you. Have we met before?"
"No, we have not. I was brought by Signor Dubois, who believed I would enjoy this outing," Ezio said, taking a glass of wine from a passing server. "I must say, you have an impressive array of wines, Signor Delacour. This is Chateau Lafite, 1989, correct?"
Pierre raised an eyebrow again, curious at the offhand way he remarked upon expensive wines and identified one within seconds. "You have a good deal of experience with wine, Monsieur Auditore?"
"Sì, sì. I run a business importing high-end wine-and-spirits," explained Ezio, taking a deep breath of the scent wafting from his glass as he waved his hand dismissively. "I specialize in rare European wines and fine liquors, both magical and mundane."
I have not heard of this business… thought Pierre, puzzled. I know most of the importers, how do I not know of this man?
"Would you honor me with your thoughts on the red that was served with the entrée?" he asked, eyeing the young man before him, thinking him too young to have as much experience as he claimed. He turned to one of the waiters and whispered an order. The server returned in seconds, carrying a glass of the red wine and a smaller glass filled with water.
"Certainly, Signor. Allow me to cleanse my palate first."
With that, Ezio picked up the water and took a small sip, which he swished about his mouth for a moment before swallowing. He replaced the water and took up the wineglass, placing it on a clear section of the table before jogging it gently in a circle, creating a steady, high swirl inside the half-filled glass.
"Lovely color," he remarked, watching the wine swish about. "Almost purple… remarkable body."
He ceased the circular motion of his glass, satisfied the wine was sufficiently aerated, and lifted it to get a better look, examining it with a critical eye. "Long legs… and smooth."
He tilted it forward, closed his eyes, leaned his nose full inside the voluminous Bordeaux glass and inhaled deeply. The aroma had him thinking of the times he had relaxed in a field of Alpine strawberries, confirming his original thoughts about the wine.
"The Gros Vien grape. High altitude variety, very rare," he said before taking in a larger mouthful. "The fruit has tremendous character…youthful, richly acidic."
A second inhale followed, just to be sure. "I had no idea you were so decadent, Signor Delacour. There are so few bottles of the '61 Chambave Rouge in the world, and you're serving one to those who do not recognize it for what it really is.
"To be frankly honest, I'm appalled that your sommelier would allow it to be served with this kind of entrée, instead of the rustic northern Italian cuisine it was meant to accompany."
"Now – with your leave, Signor Delacour – I'd like to find someplace I can enjoy the rest of my wine with a good cigar."
Nodding to the other couples who had been discretely eavesdropping, he added, "Signori; signore."
Leaving the table of stunned faces, he walked quickly toward the banquet room's exit, which had been left open so the guests could wander around the ground floor and out to the gardens. He flicked his fingers, conjuring a small flame above his palm to light his cigar, his last Punch Rare Corojo. Now… where is that library?
An amused, muffled chuckle filled his ear; his partner stationed a kilometer away trying not to overload the audio rune with his laughter. "Sounds like you've learned a few things since '88."
"I've been at school."
The library was found easily enough, only a few hallways away from the dining room.
Ezio walked along the leftmost wall, looking for the switch that would unlock the hidden door the Seers had discovered, listed in one of the many journals by an Assassin of 1743. Apparently, what was now the Delacour Mansion used to be an Assassin's den a few hundred years ago, which supposedly held clues to the whereabouts of several ancient armor caches, some dating back to the time of Altaїr.
Now… if I was a hidden door, where would I be, wondered Ezio as he walked, trailing a hand over the book covers as he looked for any sign of the Assassins. The Seers said the library, yet they didn't point out its exact location…typical.
Ezio paused after reaching the end of the left wall, his activated Eagle Vision catching a glow from the corner on the other side of the library. Ezio rolled his eyes as he walked over, stepping between several of the chest high bookcases on his way to the fireplace.
Of course it would be the fireplace, Ezio thought as he puffed on his cigar, looking around the mantel and the frame, looking for that one out of place detail that would reveal the release for the hidden door. I should have immediately gone to the fireplace. It's the cliché hiding place for a secret door.
"Have you found something that interests you, Monsieur Auditore?"
Ezio smirked, having heard the light footsteps trail him since he left the dining hall and was unsurprised when he turned to see Fleur Delacour standing a few paces away.
She wore a luminous halter top dress in a beautiful pale silver grey. It was slim fitting, a sheath that featured a dramatic halter neckline, which lead his eyes to an amazing back treatment, and served to accentuate the elegance of the taffeta gown. The asymmetrical sweeping waist flatters and the glitz of the brooch at the hip only enhanced the silhouette of this halter top gown, made even more beautiful by the woman who wore it.
Ezio had killed men who had claimed to be untouchable. Broken into places that were said to be impenetrable. Hit targets from distances that were near impossible at angles that were improbable. Fought men who were nigh unbeatable. He'd done a number of things that seemed unlikely but were completed nonetheless.
What he hadn't done was feel that way about women before. He'd met many beautiful women, all intriguing in their own unique way, but he'd never had such a reaction to anyone. Something about her phased him… something called to him, making him feel like he'd just taken a kick to the chest and had forgotten how to breathe. Something that made his stomach feel like there was something fluttering around inside it.
Maybe it was her eyes, those crystal-clear cerulean eyes that observed him from a face set in a look of cool disposition with a brazen look of almost desire.
Maybe the way her lips formed a saucy smile as she noted his raised eyebrow as she looked him over.
Perhaps it was the way the dress she wore appeared darker than what it appeared to be, almost contrasting with her cream-hued skin.
Possibly the way the ambient lighting reflected off her silvery blonde hair, which hung loose down her back almost to the point of grazing the small of her back.
It wasn't the allure that her quarter-Veela blood gave her that drew his gaze, as he was immune to most forms of natural and synthetic compulsions, but something that he couldn't quite classify.
"Something that interests me?" he asked, returning her look with one of his own, a smirk on his face as her cheeks colored slightly at his perusal of her. "Yes, you could say that."
"Oh?" she queried in a throaty way, walking up to him with a sensual sway in her hips that he had not seen when she had moved amongst the crowd of guests. She stopped her approach well within his personal space, close enough to feel his breath against her skin and, in turn, him hers. Close enough that, if they both turned their heads the right way, their lips would meet in a kiss.
"What is it that interests you, Monsieur Auditore?" she asked, tilting her head to look into his eyes. She placed a hand on his shoulder and ran it down to his chest, where she grasped his tie and tugged lightly.
"I could list a number of things," he whispered, tilting his head down to speak directly into her ear. "But only one is important right now."
Fleur barely suppressed a shiver as his voice, a mellifluous sound of itself, reverberated through the air at her ear. She closed her eyes and breathed, inhaling a mixture of citrus fruits, cinnamon, and a tint of sandalwood as she put her free hand on his shoulder, pulling him flush against her.
"Who are you, really?"
Ezio chuckled, the vibrations of his chest transferring to her easily. "Only the most interesting man in your life."
"We'll see about that," she said, before pulling him into a kiss.
The kiss was like nothing he or she had experienced before. The world's sounds faded into white noise, the lingering chatter of guests down the hall devolving into a murmur that was easily ignored. One of Ezio's hands went to the base of her neck, his fingers becoming tangled in her hair as he gently tilted her head and deepened the kiss. The other hand came to rest at her lower back, pulling her into his body. It was like honey, sweet, charged with electricity. Too short.
They pulled back slowly as the need for air became prevalent, both with their eyes closed, thinking about what they had just experienced. When they opened their eyes, they saw how that kiss – that lasted only fifteen seconds – had affected the other immensely.
Clap…clap…clap…clap.
Both turned quickly towards the sound, each stepping away from the other.
A man stood at the entrance to the library, a smirk on his lips as he placed his hands in his pockets. He was six foot seven, easily filling the doorway with his giant frame. His blonde hair was cropped short to his skull stylishly, obviously done by a professional. Brown eyes that were crinkled with amusement yet maintained a steely look, almost intimidating. His suit was impeccably tailored, almost a match to Ezio's but with one minute difference:
His suit bore a scarlet cross-shaped pin on the left lapel.
"Ezio Auditore," he drawled, strolling over to stand a yard away from the pair. "So…nice to see you again."
"Ramirez," returned Ezio, his voice perfectly controlled even though he was mentally kicking himself for letting someone sneak up on him like that.
"When I heard you were here, I simply had to come and say hello," said Ramirez, still smiling. He looked pointedly at Fleur, who was glaring at him for interrupting them. "I was wondering if I could talk to you for a moment, privately. Would you excuse us for a moment, Senorita?"
Predictably, Fleur was angry at such an attempt at a dismissal. "Who are you to order me about in my own home?"
Ramirez raised his hands quickly, trying to placate the quarter Veela before her fireball throwing side came out to play. "Forgive me, Senorita Delacour. I only meant that I wanted to talk to Ezio about a personal matter, one he and I prefer to be kept between ourselves. I meant no insult."
Fleur nodded slowly, still angry but more understanding. She looked at both men, noting the relaxed way they stood, as if they were colleagues of some sort. A few seconds of deliberation had her turning to Ezio and giving him a quick kiss on the lips before murmuring in his ear. "Come find me when you are finished, oui?"
"Oui."
With that, Fleur walked out of the library, deliberately swaying her hips for Ezio's enjoyment.
As soon as she stepped outside, Ramirez waved his hand, invoking his magic to cause the door to close and lock, cutting off the rest of the world from the two men.
"So…" Ramirez said in a low tone as he shrugged off his jacket, laying it over one of the bookcases. "Have my enemies sunk so low as to consort with half-breeds now?"
Ezio removed his jacket as well, using his magic to make it dissolve into tiny particles before disappearing completely. "It's interesting to see you here, Ramirez. For that comment, I'll make you die slowly… and here I thought the invitation said no dogs allowed."
Ramirez chuckled, not looking away from the slowly circling Assassin, matching Ezio step for step. "A dog, am I? I'm not the one playing the retriever for an old man whose power has dried up long ago."
"If his power had dried up long ago, then you wouldn't have that scar on your chest from the time you and your band of fools tried to take his head."
Ramirez's face grew angry, unconsciously rubbing his chest where a large scar went from shoulder to opposing hip. "He was lucky his sorcery was enough to save his life."
Ezio laughed as he removed his tie, hanging it on a torch bracket. "Not sorcery, old man, but skill."
"Enough!" shouted Ramirez, losing his cool. "I did not come to exchange barbs with you. I've come for the journals and you're in my way."
Ezio rolled his shoulders, shifting his apparel to his Masyaf Assassin uniform before drawing a curved dagger the length of his forearm and flicking his hidden blade into activation. "As I should be."
Ramirez reached into a pocket and withdrew a sword, a medieval looking hand and a half sword. He too flicked his wrist, a switchblade at his wrist flipping out into combat readiness. "You're not the only one with a few tricks up your sleeve."
Fleur stood at the door, ear pressed against it as she tried to listen in on what was going on in there. She had heard the sound of them talking, garbled through the wood to the point where their words were indecipherable, before the sound of steel on steel – much like the sound of blades she was familiar with from fencing – and a few muted shouts of pain coupled with tearing cloth.
Now, all was quiet. No sound emanated from the room or, at least, none that she could hear.
What's going on in there?
Fed up with waiting, she pulled her wand from its sheath at her ankle and unlocked the door, making it swing open.
She stepped into the room, intent on find out just what was going on in her family's house when she was stopped short at the sight before her.
Ezio was on one knee beside Ramirez with one hand on his eyes, sliding them closed. He no longer wore the impressive suit, now wearing a cloak of white with a splash of red around the waist and leather belts strapping blades of various sizes to his frame. The cloak had a hood, but it was not up at the moment. At his side was a satchel with a few pages of ancient-looking parchment sticking out of it.
Behind him, the inner hearth of the fireplace was sliding back into place, slowly covering up what looked like a secret passage.
"What's going on here?"
Ezio flinched, grabbed the bag and spun to his feet, facing the Veela descendent in an aggressive stance. He backed down as soon as he saw her, slipping into a more relaxed pose.
Before he could respond, she looked around him and saw the red flower blossoming on Ramirez's chest, scarlet staining the formerly pristine white shirt he wore.
"Is that blood?"
Ezio made no answer, simply taking a few steps toward her before disappearing silently, Apparating away.
Fleur turned on her heel and ran to her father as fast as she could in her three inch stilettos. "Father, where did Monsieur Auditore say he was from?"
Pierre looked very confused at the question.
"Auditore? Who's that?"
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