31 August 2012
11pm, Full Moon
Seaside Bempton Cliffs, Yorkshire[1]

The sky was bright with a full blue moon and the vampire Lazarus Blackburn sat on a stone bench at the terminus of a hiking trail, overlooking the dark North Sea. One long lanky leg was crossed over the knee of the other, a meaningless cigarette burned down to nothing between his fingers. You could tell a vampire; even if you'd never met one before it would be plain you were speaking to something other than human. Even gentle Lazarus was a terrifying creature to anyone with sense, but so many witches and wizards had none. Some of them even agreed to meet him in the middle of the night on the jagged cliffs in remotest Yorkshire.

Lazarus was on the hunt, but not for dinner. For the last several months, he'd been scouring the British Isles for things that had been lost and taken from his undead brethren. His method was methodical, his business was businesslike, and he connected connections. He was not above congeniality with the wealthiest pureblood wizards as long as they were willing to part with anything ill-got - or betray the same from their fellows.

This is why he was waiting for the wizard Douglas Prewett. Or somesuch.

1.	Coincidentally where the body of murdered Azkaban guard Gilgamesh Shahidi was discovered. 23 Nov 2011 - Suspicions Surround Azkaban Guard Death

Doug never cared much for Yorkshire. It was too cold, and Yorkshire locals were too proud of being from there. He thought regional pride was very silly.

However, for the right reasons, the wizard could be drawn anywhere, even here.

And so it was that he rode in on a white horse, neon green cloak billowing behind him, until he stopped beside the... man? no, not quite, he remembered that much. Vampire, was it?

Suffice it to say, the horse stopped, and Doug apparated from the top of the saddle to the ground below. Under the cloak was a rather inconspicuous gray business suit, but the outerwear spoke for itself.

If the hoof-beats hadn't signaled the sorcerer's presence, the double-crack of an Apparition's nearly simultaneous departure and reappearance would have. Lazarus lifted a hand to shift his hat further to the back of his head so that he could see Prewett better. He struck Lazarus as either the worst or best of any room he was in, or any group he could be categorized into.

"Hi," he said in his gravelly voice. "You can bring a horse to a cliff, but you can't make it jump."

Or perhaps a wizard could. Lazarus would never. He was altruistic now, or at least was trying it out. It was harder and harder to care for mortal beings which suffered and died without his help, but animals and funny humans he was learning to appreciate again.

"It's not easy, but you can. There's a long story there. Involves a balloon full of marinara sauce."

Doug never could help himself, even in the company of a vampire, from alluding to his great adventures.

"Now, my good man, what can I do you for? I'm assuming you're not just in the market for cheese."

The old wizard took a block of cheese out of his jacket pocket nonetheless, because he did quite like the stuff.

Lazarus chuckled, a hoarse scraping sound.

"I don't eat cheese," he said with a fangy-grin. "Does nothing for me."

No earthly food did. No.

"Old Laz, we're in the market for something else," he said as he rose to his feet. His foot-falls made no sound. He struck a match and lit a cigarette. These also did nothing for him.

"There's a certain head, you see. It once belonged to one of our guys. We're looking to get it back. Nasty business, to peddle in heads."

Doug felt a bit wrong for the situation.

"A... a head?" he stammered. "Like, a head? A head, yes."

Slowly, the wizard caught on. He knew of a few people who kept heads around.

"I might be able to help. Never kept any around myself. As you say, nasty business."

This wizard in all his bright colors, he looked as if he'd never held a severed head in his life and for a moment Lazarus wondered if his information was incorrect. He tilted his head to this shoulder, having another long look.

"It's Prewett, isn't it? You look like one."

The Prewett line of wizards was one of the famous ones, or so everyone said. Lazarus, he wasn't from this place but had learned his way around the British way of estimating status and power.

"You know, from the stories." Lazarus waved a hand, the little orange end of his cigarette tracing a cinder circle in the night. "From the courts. From the long line of the long line of the wands and will and what."

Doug was, naturally, no stranger to leaning on his distinguished family name and all the status and power it conferred. However, he didn't expect to see it brought up here, in this odd meeting with a vampire by the cliffs.

"Yes, yes, the very same, although they'd never put me on the courts. I'm too funny for that."

He patted the horse, not forgetting the steed that had gotten him here.

"Every wizard wants to be the one who has the odd artifacts sitting around the house, but no one wants to be the wizard that gets them."

"Do they, do they?" Lazarus wondered with a trace of contempt. He wasn't normally a contemptuous creature, but he'd come to really resent the collector culture of the magical elite. If it was in reach, it could be grasped, and oh how a wand extended that reach.

"And which of them wants to be the wizard who leaves a window open for Old Laz? I can help along whatever doesn't belong. Help it fly right home."

He began to walk now, his posture a little hunched. The horse shifted uneasily; Lazarus didn't approach it. "Or there's cold cash."

Doug thought for a moment, watching the vampire pacing, all the while the wizard himself stood tall in his prominent cloak.

"Cash isn't really interesting. I have that."

But that wasn't gonna be the end of the conversation.

"But a head, well, I think the head collectors are just a bridge too far. I wouldn't be above forgetting close a window, for the love of the game. For revenge, even."

There were many wizards who Doug had a complicated relationship with. He was a complicated guy like that.

"Revenge!" Lazarus barked and snapped his fingers. He spun round on his heel, delighted. The horse did not care for the sudden movement.

"He's about to let the right one in," he said, delighted. "No one ever offers. Such a shame, such a shame. Because we know..."

He paused to make more filling gestures with his hands. "..heads don't just come off on their own."

Lazarus was emphatic now. The whole affair rankled him. But this strange wizard was apparently happy to be helpful. The old bit about vampires having to be invited inside, it was more tradition and fair play than some cosmic imperative. No, locks were much more effective against vampires than a cold shoulder.

"There was some business with the Hollowreds, many years ago, not very far from here actually. Mrs, Hollowred ruined a tie I was quite fond of."

Doug had the features and the voice of a distinguished wizard, but the personality of a boy. He was so easily distracted, forgetting his horse's discomfort.

"Yes, yes, they'd be far too nice to turn me away from a dinner party, and I wouldn't feel sorry at all if it cost them more than just the extra food."

He stroked his chin. Once, 30 years ago, he'd grown a goatee, and found it wasn't any more fun to stroke, so he'd shaved it off.

"It was a wonderful red tie. Silk, too. Made by muggles in northern Italy, quite a curiosity actually."

Lazarus regarded the odd wizard a moment. Even walking this earth a hundred and fifty years, they kept coming up with entirely new persons. Oh, some were all alike which was to be expected. Others spoke about flayed skulls and Italian ascots in the same breath. How charming.

"Guess it won't be a chore for you," he said, pleased that there'd be no more pushiness needed. Lazarus didn't like applying pressure - that was Terry's talent. Oh, Old Laz could coerce with the best of them, but he'd rather read a book. "When you love what you do, and all that."

"So so so so," he hummed and grumbled, hemming his way to a plan. "When's dinner?"

Flipping his current tie, Doug smiled approvingly.

"Next week, more than likely. In this case, I need to be invited."

The irony of it all, that the wizard needed the invitation more directly than the vampire, entertained the bespectacled man.

"I'll send word to some location, wherever you'd like, once I have it. It's best not to just send my owl, so no one knows too much too easily."

He wasn't as good at subterfuge as he thought he was, but he could and did try.

Lazarus's weightless pacing brought him in a sudden rush, like a silent teleportation, to the living wizard's side. The horse had enough at this point and began trotting back up the way he'd come.

"Find me down in old Camden Town," Lazarus said and passed to Douglas Prewett a crisp little business card with the information for their coven, the one led by the charming and dangerous Terry Hooker. He was so pleased to be so close to getting that head back. Perhaps he was more pleased that it would be humiliating.

"Mmm," he hummed again, almost a tune. "Mmm, no locked doors, no locked doors, mmmm."