“Your wand, Miss.” The tall staff member put his hand out, blocking the entrance to the staircase. He watched her expectantly, fingers twitching to be given the witch’s wand. Her brows rose. Again? The level of security in this place was ridiculous and certainly wasn’t endearing Hannah to Le Masquerade. Enough security checks were carried out within the ministry, treating her like a criminal every time she came into the Department for the full moon. Why would she want to undertake this in her spare time?

“I’ve an engagement with Mr Desrosiers.” Hannah responded, not so much as moving to retrieve her wand from the pocket created in the ball gown.

The wizard didn’t move. He said nothing, continued to look at her, hand open to collect the wand.

Hannah grit her teeth and handed it over with reluctance. Recent events of the bygone year made her very attached to her wand and vulnerable without it. But the necessary spells were cast the guard offered it back to her. The witch snatched it back, giving the wizard a cold look before she carefully slipped it back into the dress.

“Follow me, miss.” He uttered and she let out another sigh. Apparently she was to be led to the office. Despite the intrigue of the club and it’s magnificence, Hannah was very quickly beginning to wonder why she’d bothered looking into the invitation. Questions from another, quite strange stranger in order to join a club of no doubt oddballs wasn’t really the first thing she wanted to deal with at the moment. The witch had enough problems on her plate. Like a large engagement ring upon her finger, reminding her of the mess she’d made a mere few days before.


It was a few minutes of following the taller wizard before they finally stopped and he knocked on a large door and opened it for Hannah to enter. She glanced back at him for a moment, not saying a word before she entered the office.

“Mister Desrosiers… rather an absurd amount of security you have for a place boasting assured anonymity of its clients.”

He quickly got on his feet removing his mask and letting it fall on the desk. He circled the desk and the chair in front of it with an elegant pace to his walk, a smile—charming and inviting on his face. He waved the guard off and when he heard the door click shut, he leaned forward, taking a graceful bow and raised her hand to his mouth to place a polite kiss on the back.

"Ah, but mademoiselle Bombay, it is precisely for the safekeeping of our clients' anonymity that we go through all these ordeals" he said still hovering over her hand. He smiled curtly and straightened his back, turning to indicate at the large baroque inspired armchair in front of the desk. 'Please, mademoiselle, have a seat" he said as he threw his cape behind him and turned to take the armchair across the desk.

"I have called you by your last name, as you have noticed. This is the first and last time you will hear or use that name at Le Masque. That is, of course if you choose to become part of our little establishment" he said smiling as he twined his fingers in his lap. "First of all, I'd like to say merci beaucoup for accepting our invitation. I hope what you have seen of the party has... intrigued you" he said with a half smile, watching her through half-lidded eyes.

"Now, then, shall we start with this petite rendezvous? We thank you for your cooperation in providing us with the pensive memory, it has been reviewed and it has been established that you are indeed Hannah Bombay, 24 years of age, Healer of Creature Injuries at the respectable St. Mungo's" he said with a smirk, curious of her reaction. "Rest assured, mademoiselle, there are only three people, including myself that know the identities of all our clients and we are all under wand oath or Unbreakable Vow—in the case of my employees, to never divulge the information. As I said, one of them is myself, the other is Alanna, our darling receptionist and practically my right hand and our Legillimens that also deals with Pensive memory reviewing" he said smiling as he extracted a set of parchments from a drawer and placed them between himself and the lovely lady on the desk.

"Now, to actually become a masqueradian, you will have to sign a contract in blood, ergo provide your magical signature" he said as he tapped the contract. "If you have not read them at the reception already, here are the pamphlets that present Le Masquerade in detail, and also the annex to the contract that might interest you"[1] he said as he extracted the documents from the pile in front of him and gently nudged them towards her.

"Along with the signing of your contract, your key will also be imbued with your magical signature. Said signature shall also remain on record with all our checkpoints, without actually linking you as an identifiable individual to it. So, your key, will literally grant you access at Le Masque. I am terribly sorry for the wand check, it will not happen again once your key is modified" he said not-so-sincerely apologetic.

"Alors, so this part, mademoiselle, is where you choose. We can either continue this interview and immerse yourself into the grandeur of Le Masque or you can choose to enjoy the rest of the night, and in the morning you will wake up well-rested in your own bed with no recollection whatsoever of the invitation, the club, myself, everything Le Masque" he said with a smirk as he settled his elbows on the desk and steepled his fingers.

1.	Bienvenue à "Le Masquerade"

He kissed her hand. The strange wizard took the liberty of taking Hannah’s hand in his own and pressing his lips to it. She visibly stiffened. She pulled her hand back, eager to get his skin off her own when he used her name and the witch looked up at him from her hand, his eyes betraying her disapproval. Hannah was already very much regretting accepting this invitation to come to such a place. It wasn’t her. People touched other people, they became overly friendly and the anonymity, seemed to make them act even more frivolous.

Yet despite her thoughts about the club, Hannah slowly stepped over to the plush armchair and relaxed into it, watching the proprietor with the alert eyes of the wolf within her. Now that she was seated and Desrosiers had ceased in attempting to touch her again Hannah betrayed little more of her inner thoughts. She simply listened, regarding him calmly.

As ever, Hannah’s analytical mind didn’t cease working as she listened to the words. The wizard before her was young and striking. He was certainly no older than her and his features betrayed no blemish or previous injury. Hannah didn’t like being faced with someone so untarnished in appearance as she had always been able to tell the story of a person through their bodies, marks scars, auras. It had been her career. She briefly wondered what his extravagant clothes covered. Everyone’s body had a story to tell.

The final statement regarding obliviation concerned Hannah. She had no trust of obliviators and was certainly not prepared to have any memory wiped. That was quite a terrifying prospect for a witch who relied on her mind and ability to recall magical knowledge as if there was a textbook lying open in her brain.

A ringed hand reached out to pull the documents closer. She’d perused them upon arrival but had been entirely unsure. Now she was further intrigued. Her analytical gaze snapped back up to Desrosiers.

“Why was I sent an invitation to this establishment?”

He leaned his head forward, pressing his lips to his hands as a sly, half-smile formed under his long, pale fingers. He hadn't expected it... So few of them ever bothered to put their brains to good use and ask. It was true, some of the reasons were terribly boring—recommendations, notoriety, fame. However, a handful of them were chosen for being indeed special, for being a true masqueradian at heart and then some were chosen for the sport, the hunt. In Éloi's view, there was nothing more beautiful than the corruption of an innocent. Seeing one as pure as the driven snow succumbing to their inner most ardent desires, was truly a marvelous spectacle. But Mademoiselle Hannah, was both prey and hunter, which was the rarest of delicacies at Le Masque.

"That, chérie, is a most formidable question. However, where's the fun in receiving an answer on a platter" he asked, raising both his eyebrows for a second. "Instead, I'm going to answer by offering you a tidbit of information about the formation of Le Masquerade and you can draw your own conclusions" he said as he settled his arms on the rests of the armchair and crossed his legs. "While it is true that the main use of masks in our establishment has the purpose to hide and protect the identities of our clients, there is also a deeper, more symbolic meaning to them. We all wear masks, whether in their physical form or psychological form—do we not? At our workplace we wear the mask of propriety, intelligence, subordination. With our friends we wear the mask of trust, fun, interested listening. With our lovers we wear the mask of seduction, love, pleasure. And so on" he waved at thin air. "But when you add a true, physical mask over the layers you have carefully constructed to show the world, does it not cancel your own psychological mask? Does it not let your true self finally surface?" he asked fervently now, leaning across the desk to look at the woman with a spark in his eyes.

He chuckled then slowly let himself fall back into the armchair. "Are you not tired of wearing your own masks, Mademoiselle? Don't you just want to let the night take you over, from time to time? Wouldn't you like to see—to rediscover what lies underneath all the years of applying layer after layer to be fit for society? Don't you want to let the wolf run freely, even for just a few moments? Hmmm?" he asked, still ardent in his speech, yet more collected.

He let the words sink in as he raised silently to reach for the absinthe tray and settled it on the corner of the desk. He gently set two crystal glasses on the desk then placed two perforated spoons on the glasses and dropped a cube of sugar on them both. He moved the absinthe decanter between the two glasses and opened one tap, then the other, until the glasses were full. He sat back in his chair, and produced a Zippo lighter from his pocket. As much as he loved his magic, some things were still done better the classic way. He set the cubes on fire and watched as they dripped into the glasses. Once the process was done, he delicately pushed one glass across the desk, to stop it in front of Hannah and took his between two fingers.

Hannah didn’t swallow most of the wizard’s speech. His attempts to make his club fit a wider society and an unfalsifiable idea about masks worn by witches and wizards on all occasions would probably have engaged any other sat in this chair. But he was sat opposite Hannah Bombay; a healer, a werewolf and a straight talking witch with little tact and cover up. Hannah believed she didn’t wear a mask in real life. She didn’t believe in changing who she was for people.

Nevertheless the healer gave the words some thought. Wearing the mask over her features hadn’t yet made her feel any more inclined to act any different. She felt normal excepting the mild wooziness brought on by the cocktails she’d had. And the amusement over Johann’s advance earlier in the night.

“Don't you want to let the wolf run freely, even for just a few moments? Hmmm?” Desrosiers ventured before he began to prepare a strange green drink, setting things alight and going about it in quite a bizarre fashion. Hannah took the proffered glass between slim fingers and glanced into it with suspicion.

“I don’t wear a mask.” The healer quietly stated, not yet touching the liquid to her lips. It didn’t look appealing. If her inner wolf came out, the proprietor of this establishment would have a lot of dead or injured on his hands. Hannah was still reeling from her actions against Wolfgang Storm. He’d remember her inner wolf for a long time. That scar would serve to that.

After a moment Hannah finally lifted the Absinthe to her lips, taking a small sip and swallowing. It burned her throat, the fumes seeming to go straight to her head. She fixed a stare on Eloi.

“If my wolf ran freely you’d have a crisis on your delicate hands.” Her eyes scanned his features, rouged lips forming the small hint of a smile. “You don’t look like you’ve ever encountered a crisis.”

"Don't you now?" he asked with a raised eyebrow, humming the question. "Are you positively sure about that?" he asked again this time more serious. He sipped his glass, with eyes closed smiling as the strong anise flavored hit his mouth. "Absinthe, mademoiselle. Our own brew, as a matter of fact. You won't find better in all of England" he beamed at her. "It is, however an acquired taste" he smiled over the brim of his small crystal glass.

"You'd be surprised" he said whimsically at her next comment. He raised a hand in front of his eyes, displaying it, turning it to one side than the other. "They seem delicate, but they've seen and touched their fair share of crisis" mostly with them actually being the cause of it, he added mentally. "Besides" he exclaimed suddenly "our security is more than adequately prepared if such a crisis were ever to arise" he said smiling politely at her. "They have instructions to contain or eliminate any potentially lethal threat" he said matter of factly, with a bright smile on his face. His security was completely made out of ex-aurors and mercenaries, each more deadly than the other. They'd actually be excited at the idea of a werewolf going rogue in the club, in all honesty...

"Well then, Miss Bombay. I've tried to charm you to the best of my abilities, but we both know you're not the sort of person to buy that, hmm?" he said raising both eyebrows in question. "At the same time, we both know, that you wouldn't have come here if you did not already decide on your answer" he added as he downed the rest of the absinthe and settled the glass on the desk. "So what's it going to be, Mademoiselle?" he said, leaning back into his char, and clasping his hands over his crossed knees.