Doug's pratfall gambit didn't do much, but obstructionism was all about perseverance, and he would persevere.

The bespectacled wizard walked over to Alister, somewhat gingerly for obvious reasons and seeming to favor his left leg, with an affected expression of anger on his features.

"What's all this?" he asked. "Are your toys fighting with each other?"

Alister Hollowred whirled on Douglas Prewett. There was sweat on his brow and it took him a moment to gather himself, but he did. He even smiled.

"Toys? Oh, I'm certain it's the elf got into something. I don't know why we put up with them." (A hardly plausible explanation for the elite wizard's reaction.) "But look at you, old chap, dismasted. Have a seat, enjoy the canapé."

Prewett was an eccentric, liberal but otherwise important wizard to get along with if one wanted to move freely at this level of society, so he earned gracious ness from Alister and Vanessa Hollowred, even when the burglar alarm was going off (and especially when the eyes of his other guests were upon them.)

...

It turned out that Mr. Hollowred downstairs had more reason to doubt his house elf Shrub than he could have imagined. For, instead of dispatching the vampiric invader with his own powerful magic, or even Apparating away to fetch his keepers, Shrub did not move even a finger in defense of his sworn household.

The head's screams were muffled in the bag under the pillow. Lazarus shifted.

"You're not going to tattle-tale on me, are you, little friend?" he ventured. Vampire glamour, such that it was, did not work on house elves, but Lazarus could be charming on his own. He patted the head in the bag. "I'm just taking him home."

The house elf called Shrub checked over his shoulder at the door, his keen ears listening for any progress of the wand-wielders up the stairs.

Doug continued in his delaying action, walking backwards as was necessary.

"It's really to be expected, isn't it? We treat them so terribly, we expect them to serve us, and then we're so surprised when they turn out all messed up."

A radical stance for the setting, but what care did Doug Prewett have for moderation?

"It really is high time to talk about emancipation, isn't it? Free elves seem to do alright."

Cuffe, nosy, had risen now to make sure he knew what Prewett was saying to keep their host from attending the now gone alarm. He arrived at the doorway in time to hear Alister Hollowred's dander rise.

"I see you have taken up with the radicals which is very fashionable these days," Hollowred said, and then insisted. "Regardless, you will excuse me, sir."

"Let the man tend to his $&@ing house, Prewett," Cuffe said and put his hand on the wizard's shoulder. "Or are you so starved for attention you'll hold the whole hostage?" Alister shrugged bodily past Douglas now, striding with haste into the interior of his mansion.

---

Upstairs, the apparent stalemate continued for only one long moment more. Then, the elf called Shrub slowly raised his hand, fingers poised to snap his olive-green fingers. Lazarus held out his own hand, a move to beg the Being hold, but Shrub did not.

He snapped his fingers. But he did not disappear, and Lazarus was not accosted by some invisible magic. Instead, the window behind the desk lost its glass and warding charms. A stiff breeze instantly flung the curtains around. Lazarus turned around at the noise, then back to the elf.

"Well, this is new," he said, perplexed but so deeply satisfied. He smiled, tipped his hat as he bowed low, then left through the window.

"I'm just trying to solve the problem," Doug protested, as it became clear Hollowred would not entertain his tangents any further. Cuffe, however, seemed to seek one out.

He had set Doug up wonderfully.

"Your newspaper has made a lot of money from my attention-seeking over the last 30 years or so," said the eccentric, referring to the point he had started writing his freelance columns. "Don't bite the hand that feeds, my friend."

And with that, he summoned his bowler hat. It drew attention.

It was true. With the host having left the large dining room, all eyes were on the tall strange Douglas Prewett and his outrageous hat and the tyrannical and profane Barnabas Cuffe. They could not have looked more dissimilar. Prewett in his colorful robes and with a charming patina of age, and Cuffe dressed in dark robes looking like he'd burned himself at both ends for decades.

"I'd sell as many papers with a Prewett in the obituaries as on the front page," Cuffe said back. It was certainly true that Douglas Prewett was an absolute inkwell in the politics and society sections, but Cuffe wouldn't give him the credit.

Persepolis Zephyr, former Minister of Magic, appeared again. She had a gift for diplomacy and a soothing voice and could not resist an opportunity to leverage her skills. The scuffle would sabotage the night's purpose.

"Gentlemen," she said approaching, her voice velvety and her wide-brimmed pointed hat all in aubergine. "Very bold of you both to make such a scene. Are you sure that's how you want to spend the evening? We're all friends here."

Whether they were or not was irrelevant. Zephyr loathed Cuffe and Hollowred, but it didn't help her at the moment to show it.

Upstairs ...

The house elf, whose true name was Pyr Samwine and certainly not the lowly diminutive 'Shrub' nonsense-name, watched the vampire go and with another snap of his fingers replaced the trappings of the window. Then, he dirtied his fingers from the fireplace. So that a few second later when Alistair Hollowred and his hired wand burst in, 'Shrub' could look up at them helplessly and point up the floo.

Outside ...

Lazarus had been nimble down the ivy and lightfooted down the street, sack over his shoulder. He'd find dangerous Douglas later down the pub, after the wizard had suffered the night and the vampire had given the head a safe place to wait. If Lazarus's heart could beat, it'd be calming now from the excitement and drama of nearly being caught. It would be warm and wondering, if it could, of what would become of the wily little elf.