Immediately following this post.


Riordan would certainly never say as much, but he was glad to be free of the House Atreus and the Almasy shadow--whatever the circumstances that allowed it. That didn't mean, of course, that he was disinterested in Mihai's fate. It also didn't mean he was going to let him slip away.  The abruptness of the Apparation--the location would have to be one Mihai could envision in a dash. Home. Mihai was the sort of arrogant bastard to think that his fortress of a home, large, elegant, expensive, and well-fortified, would save him.

People like Mihai always thought that.

Riordan had gathered his cloak calmly, spoken to no one, and, within three steps onto the gravel walk outside, had Apparated to the doorstep of Mihai's private stronghold. It wouldn't keep him out, however.  Riordan rapped with a closed fist on the door. When that did not avail, he kicked. There was a sound on the other side of several latches being released.

In time, Riordan saw just a sliver of face--Alia, the sister-in-law--through the crack in the door. "Let me in," Riordan ordered.

Alia's face grew grim with disapproval.

"Dammit, Alia!"

"Say 'please.'"

Riordan's eyes narrowed. "Please," he growled, too angry to bother with fighting.

The door was thrown open and Riordan brushed past, wasting no time in scouring the ground floor.  He crossed the antechamber. Entered the grand salon. Tore open doors. Prowled through the dining room. How was he even going to find a body in this? Alia appeared, quiet and calm behind him, blood on her hands. She folded her arms.

"He is upstairs," her tone was straightforward. With a signal to follow, she climbed the staircase up to the second story. Riordan followed, desperately wanting to outpace her, to get a chance to talk to Mihai alone--only didn't know where to go.

He was led into what must have been a study. Mihai was there--pale and stretched out on a sleek chaise-lounge. Wonderful--leather. The better to wipe the blood off of. About him were scattered various apothecary bottles, supplies... a house elf was rushing in behind them with a brimming armful of bandages, the cloth spilling over and dragging on the floor.

Riordan reached down to grab a loose loop, lifting the item from the elf. The help seemed to object, giving a subdued scoffing noise.  Riordan began to wad it up tightly before throwing it at Mihai's face.

"Carnem dehisco," Riordan said with a bit of a sneer. It was a butcher's curse. He was no better than Ira, really, he supposed.  The only moral advantage was that, presumably, Almasy had started it.

That, and he liked Mihai. Justice was blind, of course, but tolerance and mercy were not. And besides. Suffering a splinching was, if anything, an ironic--and fitting--turn of karma.

"You fecker," he followed, unable to muster the proper amount of malice in his voice.  He stepped aside for Alia to resume her work.  He began to look at the bottles with a new interest. He'd never been keen on healing or herbology or even Defense Against the Dark Arts. He'd always liked History of Magic. Charms. Runes.

As far as Mihai knew, splinching was a brand new personal experience for him. He was applying pressure to the wound while waiting for Alia to find some dittany. Or something. The last thing he expected was for her to come back with company instead. Riordan, of all people. Why hadn't she denied him at the door?! He had the security precautions for it. It was too late, now that Riordan was in the house it was unlikely that he'd leave without being judgmental first.

That was the least of Mihai's worries. His mind, his heart, was set on revenge. Justice wasn't always satisfying, and it wasn't always possible. Vengeance was.

Alia examined his shoulder one more time, muttered something under her breath. Before leaving the room she gave him a direct look, "Pressure." Yes, yes, he knew. Keep the pressure on. He didn't bother to ask where she was going-- maybe back to her potion stores for some dittany. That would be more ideal than drinking blood replenishing potions until the bleeding stopped. At least that was in good supply.

The last thing Mihai wanted to do was explain. He gave Riordan a long-suffering look. So what if he had used Carnem Dehisco? It was an efficient curse. Easy to go back to. A faint memory of interrogations left his mind as quickly as he recalled it. Fleeting, like many of them were.

He took a sharp breath and compartmentalized. Pushed his grief to the side the best he could. "You do realize," Mihai couldn't keep his voice even, "She fed us Emilian."  Eating human was one thing, but eating your own brother was another.

Riordan's expression was schooled and unsurprised. Of course he realized. He'd guessed at it, at that first mention of the butcher. And he'd suspected something equally foul the moment that dinner invitation had arrived with the post. It was why he hadn't touched a morsel that entire night. But Riordan wouldn't sermonize at the present moment. It was one of the only things he was willing to spare Zamperia from in this particular situation. His expression clouded, he ventured a sympathetic frown for his friend. Riordan hadn't known Emilian, but it was painful to see Mihai like this. And the wound wasn't a great help, either. He'd worry about that once the man wasn't bleeding to death.

"Here," he muttered, stooping down to grab a wadded, bloodied rag. He pulled up a desk chair beside the chaise lounge and leaned forward.  Planting his feet firmly, he braced himself, pressing firmly against the wound. He looked at Mihai's face. Did that hurt? he seemed to inquire.

Mihai's expression was a restrained grimace as he bit down. Good. What the hell had he even been thinking going to Ira's in the first place? Even Riordan knew the families were caught in a bloody feud that probably ranged back centuries. Purebloods.

"We need to get you to Mungo's." Absolutely the thing to do. Ira had assaulted Mihai. It didn't matter that he'd started it, in a way. It was enough to bring her in for questioning, if he'd press charges. She'd started it, with Emilian, and if they could get him to Mungo's to flick the dominos into motion, then they could get to the bottom of the murder, get her behind bars.

Zamperia was too impulsive and too bull-headed to see what was good for him, but it would be. And what was more, it'd be good for him, too. Good for Level 2. Good for everyone who had been in that banquet hall tonight to be gone and rid of her.

Mihai winced as Riordan applied pressure to the wound. What was taking Alia so long? As much as he appreciated his sister in law, there was something distinctly aggravating about the way she was handling everything. Maybe it was the pain making him testy and impatient, but he wasn't in any condition to analyze the 'whys' of anything. There were very few coherent thoughts and ideas stuck in his mind, and one of them was an absolute refusal to go to the hospital.

"I will not go to St. Mungo's," He insisted, accent thickening as he made no effort to conceal his irritation. "I will be taken care of here. No healers." Not unless they were healers who were able to keep a secret. This was a family matter, not auror business. If it became the business of healers, it became the business of law enforcement. "Alia is getting dittany. I have potions--" Dark liquid in glass bottles. Blood replenishing potions looked an awful lot like actual blood. "I will be fine."