The interior of the Breckenridge Mansion was even more grotesque than its crumbling facade. Ian felt himself being dragged across a kitchen floor made of uneven flagstones that felt like frozen teeth against his legs. The air here was stagnant, thick with the smell of old grease and something sharper—the metallic tang of blood-soaked history.
The thin wizard leading them was a jittery, gaunt man who moved with a frantic, spider-like agility. His wand tip cast a sickly green glow, barely illuminating the shadows that seemed to cling to the corners of the room like sentient mold. He kept hissing for silence, his head swiveling 180 degrees like an owl's, checking the pitch-black hallways behind them.
"Up the stairs," the man wheezed, his voice sounding like sandpaper on bone. "Madam hates to be kept waiting when the prize is so close."
Ian's heart was a drum in his chest. He felt every vibration of the spiral stone staircase as they ascended. It was a deathtrap—narrow, steep, and echoing with the soft, wet sounds of the two goons breathing behind him. If he fought now, he'd be tossed over the side into the abyss of the stairwell. He had to wait.
At the top, they reached a heavy oak door bound in rusted iron. The thin man pushed it open, and the transition was jarring.
The chamber was small, sweltering, and dominated by a fireplace that roared with unnatural, violet-tinged flames. There were no lamps. In the center of the room sat a woman draped in silks the color of a bruise. She was elegant in a way that felt predatory, nursing a long, slender lady's cigarette that produced clouds of silver smoke. On the table beside her sat a tall, crystal glass of something amber and effervescent, its sweet, cloying aroma filling the cramped space.
She didn't look up as they entered. Her voice was a low, magnetic hum that vibrated in the air. "I assume the transaction is ready for completion. Where is the Dragon egg?"
Ian squeezed his eyes shut, leaning into the grip of the wizards holding him, desperately maintaining the facade of a boy still trapped in a magical slumber.
"Still out cold, boss," the thin man whispered, his bravado from the garden replaced by a pathetic, cowering tone. "The Stupefy hit him hard."
The woman let out a dry, rattling laugh. She finally looked up, her eyes sharp and cold as diamonds. "You three are truly the dregs of the underworld, aren't you? The boy has been awake since he crossed the threshold of the garden."
Ian's stomach dropped. He opened his eyes, realizing the game was up.
"The egg," she repeated, her gaze boring into him. "Tell me where you hid it, and perhaps I won't have to peel the memories from your skull one by one."
Ian blinked, his confusion genuine. "What egg? I don't know what you're talking about! My uncle is Leonard Nox—if you touch me, he'll hunt you to the ends of the earth!"
The woman's expression shifted from lazy arrogance to a flash of pure venom. At a sharp gesture of her hand, the fragrant drink on the table vanished, replaced instantly by a tiny, obsidian vial containing three drops of a clear, odorless liquid.
"Veritaserum," she murmured. "The slow way or the hard way, little bird. It's all the same to me."
Back at the Nox residence, the atmosphere was thick enough to choke on. Allen sat by the window, his eyes scanning the New York skyline, when a flash of iridescent color caught his eye.
The Swooping Evil—or as Leonard called it, the Curl-Winged Demon—was a blur of green and blue, spiraling outside the glass like a frantic neon sign. It tapped its beak against the pane, its wings beating a desperate rhythm.
"Ian!" Jessica gasped, lunging for the latch.
The creature darted inside, circling Allen's head twice before hovering toward the open window, clearly beckoning them.
Allen's mind clicked into gear. This was the signal. "Jessica, get to the Woolworth Building. Now! Tell Leonard and Flitwick exactly what happened. Tell them the Demon found him. I'm going to follow it."
"Allen, no! It's too dangerous!" Jessica grabbed his arm, her face streaked with tears.
"I'm the only one who can keep pace with it on a broom," Allen said, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument. "If I don't go now, they might move him again. Once I get there, I'll send the creature back to guide the Aurors. Stay here. Don't you dare follow me—you need to be the bridge for the Professor."
Without waiting for a reply, Allen grabbed his broomstick from the corner. He kicked off from the window ledge, the biting winter wind whipping his hair back as he dove into the night.
The Curl-Winged Demon was a master of the slipstream. It led Allen away from the neon glow of Manhattan, toward the dark, jagged silhouette of the Hudson River. As they approached the Breckenridge estate, Allen saw the signs of a struggle near the garden walls—a discarded trunk, scuff marks in the patchy, frozen snow, and the lingering residue of dark magic.
He landed softly, his boots crunching on the ice. He looked at the creature. "Go," he whispered, pointing back toward the city. "Find the Professor. Bring the light."
After several confusing chirps, the Demon seemed to understand. It banked hard and vanished into the clouds.
Allen drew his wand, his heart hammering. He traced the footprints to the kitchen entrance, his footsteps light as a cat's. He slipped inside, the silence of the mansion pressing in on his ears. He climbed the spiral stairs, stopping just outside the iron-bound door.
Inside, he heard the woman's voice rise in a shriek of frustration. "Legilimency!"
Allen winced. He knew the mental toll that spell took on the victim.
"I told you! I don't know!" Ian's voice was slurred, the Veritaserum making his tongue heavy. "I... I was at a party. There was no egg. Just... just boxes."
The woman cursed, the sound of a chair scraping against stone echoing through the door. "You idiots! You absolute, brainless clods!" she screamed. "Look at him! Look at his face! This isn't the one from the shop. This is the Nox brat. The one we wanted—the one with the egg—his name was Allen. You grabbed the wrong boy!"
The two male wizards stammered, their voices trembling with fear. "But... the hair... the description..."
"Get out! Go back to the city! Find the right one or don't bother coming back alive!"
Allen pressed himself against the wall as the door flew open. The two thugs stumbled out, their faces pale with terror. They didn't even notice the shadow tucked into the alcove as they sprinted toward the stairs.
Allen hesitated. He could hear the woman inside muttering to herself, pacing like a caged animal. He had a choice: save Ian now or stop the goons from heading toward Jessica.
I can't let them reach the house, he thought.
He slipped down the stairs behind them, trailing them into the garden. As they reached the center of the lawn, Allen stepped out from behind a frozen hedge.
"Petrificus Totalus!"
The taller wizard went stiff as a board, falling face-first into the snow with a dull thud. The second one turned, his hand going for his wand, but Allen was faster. He stepped into the man's guard, delivering a sharp, practiced chop to the carotid artery. As the man buckled, Allen followed up with another Body-Bind Curse for good measure.
He dragged their frozen forms into a dense thicket of thorns and raced back to the mansion.
He crept back to the chamber door. The woman was standing by the fireplace now, her back to Ian, who lay slumped on the floor. She looked rattled. Ever since Henry Jones had been hauled off to MACUSA custody, she had felt the noose tightening. This egg was supposed to be her ticket out of the country.
Allen eased into the room, his wand leveled. He checked Ian's vitals from a distance. The boy was alive, just heavily drugged and mentally exhausted from the intrusion.
"Where are those fools?" the Witch hissed, checking a gold pocket watch. "They should have Apparated by now."
She turned toward the door, and for a split second, her eyes met Allen's.
Before she could utter a curse, the entire mansion shuddered. The windows rattled in their frames as a dozen cracks of Apparition sounded simultaneously in the garden below.
A silver stag burst through the wall—a Patronus—followed closely by the Curl-Winged Demon.
The door was blasted off its hinges. Professor Flitwick and Leonard Nox charged in, followed by a phalanx of Aurors in grey coats.
The Witch whirled, her face twisted in a mask of desperation. She raised her wand to Apparate, but Flitwick was a blur of motion. With a flick of his wrist that was almost too fast to follow, he cast a Disarming Charm.
" Expelliarmus! "
The Witch's wand spun through the air, landing neatly in Flitwick's hand.
Realizing she was cornered, she lunged toward the floor where Ian had been lying, her fingers clawing the air to grab him as a human shield.
She caught nothing but cold stone.