Late evening, penthouse flat. M for language and violence.



Ira Almasy sat in one of the two armchairs that occupied the entrance parlour of Atreus' topmost apartments, wearing a black knit dress that slid further and further up her milky thighs as she crossed her legs. The fireplace was lit and the room irregularly warm - its flames were doubled in a great mirror that took up an entire wall on one side.

Her eyes focused on the hearth steadily as she held a torn bit of parchment in one hand. It was the note her niece had left before disappearing before dawn today. Layton, the fool, had let Raine go before she could have a word with her.

I know, the note read in block letters, and I have to go back.

It was as good as a refusal of terms. Ira had taken the girl in, had taught her and cared for her, given her opportunities that few could boast of and fewer still could survive. Had essentially groomed someone who might... at least obscurely understand Ira's view of this transient realm. A glimpse of her reality.

That was all she asked, yet nothing came to meet the plight besides ingratitude.

She crumpled the note and flicked it smoothly into the fireplace. The paper quietly went up in flames. Not even the relative success of her brag[1] could console the personal hurt. Persons she had been assured of keeping were slipping through her fingers even as her ventures triumphed.

A soft bell echoed abruptly in her mind and she frowned gently, glancing over her shoulder in the direction of the door. Someone was coming up the elevator to visit her. Did she have anything scheduled? Surely Layton would have...

Wry and smug, a voice answered in her head. Ah.

Hannah Bombay. That was right. The full moon was the night after this and she had asked her assistant to summon the she-wolf for a bit of fun. Life had been far too quiet for Bombay of late and Ira was not wont to allow her hirelings to grow complacent. Some, like Musgrave and Storm, were easily occupied.

The older witch drew herself up as she felt the elevator doors slide open somewhere down the corridor, moving barefoot to the entrance. Perhaps a talking-down to the mutt might cheer her up tonight. It always did.

1.	Werewolf Kidnapper Taunts Ministry's Finest - 17th Feb

The decision had been made. There was no doubt that this needed to happen. There was no choice. There was no other way. There was no chance she would get away with it.

There was no backing down.

Being ordered to Almasy’s home was the perfect opportunity. Hannah had been waiting for her chance, eager for some payback. Doing it in the bitch’s own home would be priceless. So the potion was safely in a stoppered vial, hidden in her trouser pocket as the witch mounted in elevator, her heart thumping loudly in her chest, beating hard as she considered when to take her chance, how to do it, how to get away.

It was the evening before the full moon which meant that Hannah’s emotions and senses were heightened. She was alert, feisty and hungry for blood. The wolf was awake.

As the doors to the elevator slid open, the witch stepped out as confidently as she could, pacing down the small corridor in her heels. She’d not personally seen Almasy since the night in November that had given her the nightmares and scars. She’d be happy to never see the witch again. Life wasn’t, unfortunately, kind enough to Hannah Bombay to allow that to happen. So when the door to the penthouse apartment opened to Ira Almasy, Hannah grit her teeth, holding her tongue. This had to be done right.

The mongrel came when bid.

Hannah Bombay might not have seen Ira for many moons now but it did not mean that Ira, with her ability to take on different faces, had not seen the younger witch. So far she observed little more than begrudging obedience. It would take time even for that to become something akin to complacency.

They forget the contract if you wait long enough. Forget the chains.

"Come sit, little she-wolf." In spite of being barefoot Ira still towered over tiny Hannah as she stepped aside to let her guest into the foyer. "I would see you at ease tonight."

She shut the front door and went to the mantle, where the two armchairs were positioned at an angle across from one another. Ira indicated one to Hannah as she took the other, the great floor-to-ceiling mirror behind her and in full view of the other woman.

"You have not been here before?" the query was polite, in her own way a pretence of nothing unpleasant ever having happened between them. "Not to my quarters at least."

Ira Almasy, the witch who had tortured Hannah and had her by a blood contract would see her at ease tonight. If Hannah hadn’t felt so sick in the company of the cruel witch, she would have laughed at the irony. Instead she said nothing as she stepped past the towering figure into the penthouse apartment. An extreme hatred burned as Almasy’s voice, calm and pleasant invited her to sit. She spoke as if nothing had happened.

Despite her wish to carry out her plan, Hannah knew she needed to bide her time for the perfect moment. Catch the bitch offguard. So she lowered herself into the seat, sitting up straight. The scars left by Ira’s attack were covered by her long sleeved top and scarf. There was no way Hannah was willing to show the woman like trophies of her work.

“I haven’t.” Her voice was cold, calm. Last time she’d seen Almasy she’d been a hysterical mess on the floor. “What do you need?” Much better to cut to the point.

She clucked her tongue reproachfully, smiling gently at the other woman.

"No manners, Miss Bombay. Have you ever thought about how much pain you might be spared, if you extended... even a modicum of  courtesy?" Ira drawled lazily as she leaned back into her respective armchair and looked away towards the fireplace - the English were lazy in raising their children.

They did not realise that a fool is happy to get away with their foolishness if not strictly reprimanded. "Your survivalist instincts fail you in the social arena," she crossed her long legs and tilted her chin forward as she glanced back to watch Hannah appraisingly. "You do not, as the Americans say, play ball. And you will know nothing but suffering for it."

Poor, pathetic Hannah Bombay. Squirrelled away in her quiet little habits and expecting for life to leave her alone - the malcontent, child's excuse of a shrew should have been grateful for the world Ira had opened up for her.

"We hunted your kind when I was a young witch. Younger than you..." or at least it had begun when she was younger than Hannah was now. A frown wrinkled her pale brow. "Calmer than you. It takes calm to kill a werewolf. They turn human when they die - when you die."

Ira raised her hand, brandishing a wand in it but without no obvious violent intention. Although she said nothing, the mirror behind her shimmered. Its reflection shifted, grew warped, glimmered with subtle light to reveal a very different kind of view. Almost as if it were a window to another room. A study.

"So we must take the head before, and enchant it."

The other room was dark, partly thanks to its furnishings of rich ebony and partly as a result of dimness. Like this one it also had a hearth of fire - and by its flickering illumination, the heads of five mounted Werewolf heads could be discerned. They were mostly dark brown canines, with the exception of a single black were high above a wide desk.

Dark glass eyes glimmered from inside their taxidermy skulls. Shame, that a white wolf could not yet add to her collection.

Ira was not looking at the trophy room, looking only at her guest for a reaction. "I don't need anything from you. Only your obedience."

Ira Almasy made it sound as if Hannah remembering her pleases and thankyous could have saved her from the hell she’d endured at the crazy bitch’s hands. If Almasy’s presence didn’t make her so nervous and angry, Hannah would have possibly laughed. The only thing that would have saved her from this witch’s unwanted attention would have been to have never been bitten. So much, over the past months, had Hannah wished she’d never taken Ira up on the offer. By signing the parchment she’d lost any control over her own life that she’d previously help onto.

Ira Almasy was the mistress of Hannah’s fate and as the mirror changed to become a clear window through to the next room, Hannah’s stomach dropped as she saw her possible fate. Bright brown eyes scanned the room behind Ira, her gaze sweeping over the heads of fellow werewolves. The innocent humans who the Almasy family had preyed on. Any colour that had been in Hannah’s cheeks vanished and her gaze finally turned back to Almasy as the witch spoke once more.

"I don't need anything from you. Only your obedience." Almasy’s gaze was intently watching Hannah and the younger witch found herself wanting to retreat under the icy blue scrutiny.

Hannah didn’t move. Instead she let the witch’s words sink in. Her obedience was required or she would end up in the trophy room? Not if Hannah had anything to do with it. Her hand balled into a fist, anger and irritation at what control Ira thought she had over the healer.

“Or you’ll take my head as a wolf?” Hannah’s brow rose as she considered the words. The voice was calm. “You forget your side of our contract, Ira.” Hannah had stipulated they were not to come anywhere near her on the full moon.[1] She was safe for at least one night a month. Trying to feign boredom, the witch stood and stared down at Ira. "Is that all?"

1.	Collecting Cubs

“Or you’ll take my head as a wolf?”

A faint, almost affectionate smile at this accusation disguised as a question. Ira shook her head softly as she leaned back in her armchair, mannerisms relaxed, and eyed the other woman with condescension. "No, you would hardly qualify for the collection."

Even though her niece had defected from certain Almasy traditions, Ira still held some hope for someday ensnaring Zel Trumble's albino hide. It would compliment the black Werewolf mount she had once hunted down in South America with the aid of Jebediah Layton. Two sides of the same monstrous coin.

No.... Hannah Bombay's death would be most pleasurable to witness but her head was not destined for that particular honour.

"That is all I desire of your company tonight." Only a reminder not to be complacent - and of the fact that Ira did not view Hannah's breed as being human at all, irregardless of what forms they took. "Go home, Miss Bombay. There is work to be done in the coming months"

Of course the bitch felt the need to continue belittling the werewolf. Hannah had long ago learnt that some people didn’t see her as an equal. In fact, a large number of the wizarding world saw her as inferior. Ira Almasy saw her as a beast, a pet, an animal. As Hannah straightened herself up and considered the potion in her pocket, she considered how perhaps Almasy was right. She’d changed. She wasn’t completely human. There was something inside her that was stronger. She was a fighter. A strong willed and indomitable fighter.

Almasy had won the previous round. There were no doubts.

But Hannah would win this one.

Stood before the monster, she considered any words she might want to speak to her before the deed was done. Yet it seemed so cheesy to have her final say before disfiguring the bitch. The acid would be message enough and she needed to get out as fast as she could. That bastard Layton would be skulking.

So Hannah didn’t speak as she nodded slipped her hand into her pocket. Her movement was quick with the grace and speed of the wolf within. The stopped didn’t need removing as she’d charmed the glass to shatter on even the slightest of impact; a risk but one worth taking. So the vial went hurtling towards Almasy’s face, glass shattering and acid burning into her skin, melting it like burning plastic and sending the aroma of burning flesh to fill the air.

Ira made no attempt to further acknowledge her guest besides standing up to join Hannah, whose imminent departure signalled a possible return to other thoughts plaguing the Russian witch - more important concerns besides little puppets of undecided allegiance. She realised the mistake too late.

For an instant the dark, marble foyer was nothing but hundreds and hundreds or minute surfaces reflecting glimmers of light: broken glass filled her sight as she flinched away. And then there was pain.

A hiss fought through her throat and past her lips, which stung worse than any hex might whilst acid sizzled the tender flesh of Ira's mouth. The liquid had barely missed maiming eyesight. She bared her teeth and tossed her comely head back like a wild creature on the brink of howling - already one pale and clawed hand was reaching for a wand.

Ira laughed once, abruptly shrill, bringing her gaze back down to Hannah Bombay. Oh the nerve of this pup! The skin still dripped and curdled down the mask of her face; vivid with glistening blood, the white and pink musculature beneath raw and red. Even as her countenance defiled itself, she was already forcing it to grow back new skin.

All she felt was the keen discomfort of a fire simultaneously dying and burning.

A flick of the wand sent a ripple of magic through the air, a visible shield between the two witches - Ira clasped the armchair behind her and stumbled back in vague disorientation. This mostly resulted from the effort it took to exercise her skill as a Metamorphmagus, her shield, and the mental warning in Layton's direction.

“Never touch Johann again.” Hannah practically spat as the potion began to burn through Ira’s skin. The strench of burning flesh was putrid, offending Hannah’s nostrils as she stod rooted to the spot to watch the effects of what she’d just done. Ira Almasy wouldn’t recover too easily from this and by the time she did Hannah would be out of the country. She’d made the plans.

But the plan was already failing. It was only a moment after the acid began to melt her enemy’s skin when it started to heal slowly.

The bitch was a metamorphagus!

Before she could react any other way, Hannah’s wand was out to attack. But Almasy was faster, casting a shield between herself and the wolf she’d been taunting.

The decision was a split second one. She needed to run. It only took a moment to be clear of the apartment and at the elevator door, her heart beating hard against her chest, she could hear it, her veins pumped with adrenaline.

No buttons! The witch scanned everywhere near the lift. Nothing! So she pushed against the door to the staircase and began to sprint down the spiral stairs. Feet nearly tripping under her, she made it down a level just as a door to her left opened. She sped up, nearly flying down but something flew towards her and wrapped around her neck, hauling her back and burning intensely.

She yelled out in shock, in pain as she was yanked back by the agonising thing wrapped around her neck.

The elevator descended, Ira Almasy its only occupant at this late hour of the night. Her reflections brooded sedately from its mirrored walls - each wore the same face as her but there was a strangeness in their shared countenance. A glossy sheen across the white skin and a contained anger in the clench of her angular jaw.

Ira's skin was newly grown but the flesh beneath was still healing when the doors slid open to the fifth floor, whence Layton had communicated his location to her. He'd caught the she-wolf. No doubt he still thought Hannah Bombay was better off dead.

"You look a treat," said the wizard as she pushed open the door to the stairwell. Marble steps gleaned in yellow light and spiralled around and around with hypnotic evenness but Ira only had eyes for the sight of the other witch, laying across the landing at Layton's feet.

He had thrown a silver chained bola to garrotte her around the neck; the chain itself was loosened slightly to keep Hannah from being all at once strangled. Its metal emitted a hiss against her skin.

Layton's wand was out - he held it with ease, a body bind charm cast around his victim's small frame. With his plain clothing and expression he looked as if though he were simply stood around loitering.

Ira smiled down at Hannah, faint and not somewhat weak. It was a shame that matters were so precarious with Spectre, or she'd have been tempted to deliver Johann Storm's dead body in response to such a threat. "Now what did I tell you about manners, Miss Bombay?"

"You look a treat."

Layton watched his employer walk across the glistening landing towards the woman he had just incapacitated.  He flexed his grip on his wand, sighing restlessly whilst Ira did her little show and dance of gloating at the other witch, like a street cat whose impossible pride had previously been injured.

       "Now what did I tell you about manners, Miss Bombay?"
"Not to play with your food?" he remarked tonelessly and raised his eyebrows without a smile when she glanced up at him.

Hannah was still trapped inside the bind from head to toe - he held it with steely constriction, knowing it would compress her lungs and make it difficult to speak or cast charms. Internal bruising to make the girl think twice later, although Ira preferred it when they talked back.

Layton maintained that while corpses do not speak, neither did they throw acidic substances in one's face.

He blinked, his fingers twitched. The invisible body bind weakened just enough around Hannah's mean mouth to give her wheezing room for breath or speech.

She was lying on the ground, the body bind holding her still and stiff while the silver burned into her neck, hissing painfully against the now raw skin. The silver around her neck and the bind tight was making it hard for the young witch to breathe and she found herself struggling to stay alert, struggling to focus on her noises around her.

But the noise she did here was the arrival of Ira Almasy who asked her a question. She couldn’t respond. She couldn’t move a mere inch to properly breathe. But the bastard kept the restraint, standing, as she could barely see, near her head, wand pointed.

When it loosened, Hannah took a big inhale of breath, desperate to fill her lungs. Tears were rolling down her face in pain but she hadn’t given up. She wasn’t about to.

“Fu-fuck you.” The witch wheezed painfully. “Let me go and…” Her breathing was hard but her words held true venom, true hatred. “I will show you my manners.”

       “Fu-fuck you.Let me go and…I will show you my manners.”

Droll. Bombay was filled with too much fury for them to hold conversation of any interest to Ira - and the older witch was developing a mother of all migraines just this instant, flesh still throbbing from the injury inflicted upon her by the potion. She would need to lay down alone in a dark room.

Later, Ira sent the thought into Layton's head and felt the tiredness of its tone. Put her to sleep.

"Misbehaving mongrels need to be taught a lesson," she said out loud in a patronising voice. "I think I'll brand you."

On cue, despite his disinterest in dramatics, Layton obliged his mistress and cast a quick tenebris somnus. He relaxed the body binding charm once Hannah was unconscious and turned to Ira in a casual manner. "I told you we should have simply killed her."