"Don't know," Tory mumbled around a mouthful of cake.
"I'm not about to ask," Ry shivered at the thought.
"But Griffin said Mom used to keep journals. Do you think those are around here somewhere?" Nissa asked.
"If they are, they're locked up. Can you imagine if those journalists got hold of something like that?" Toff blinked in surprise at Tory's words. He'd been recently initiated into the world of newsfeeds and vid-screens. He had no idea how things could turn out if sensitive information fell into the wrong hands.
"Toff, there are always unscrupulous reporters out there who can take even the most innocent material and make someone look like a criminal instead of who they really are," Nissa twisted in his arms to look up at his face. "Even we don't know the circumstances around Mom's turning. We don't need a stranger getting that information and then manipulating it for their own gain."
"They would lie?"
"Toff, there are universes of liars everywhere," Ry sniffed. "Thank goodness Tory can tell the liars from the ones who tell the truth." Ry smacked his taller sibling on the arm, knocking the half-eaten plate of cake onto the bed.
"Here we go," Nissa muttered, sliding out of Toff's lap and pulling him off the bed with her as her two brothers went after one another. Toff watched in alarm until he discovered they weren't really hurting each other. Then he started chuckling.
* * *
"Where are we?" Gren turned in a circle, his head craning back as he stared up at the high walls of an abandoned stone building. He stood in the basement, but the floors overhead and everything else had been stripped away, leaving a gutted shell behind. Fire had claimed it at one time, and anything left of value had been taken afterward until only the stone walls and a tile roof remained.
"On Mazareal. Know where that is, boy?" Zellar flung the insult at Gren. Gren stared at Zellar's face. Half of it was scarred and wrinkled from severe burns, the skin thin and red. One eye—the left one—was puckered and closed forever. Gren knew Zellar to be nothing more than an angry and vengeful warlock now, but that didn't keep him from worshipping at Zellar's altar. Zellar had knowledge and abilities that Gren longed for. Power that Gren hoped to obtain. Zellar would show him those things if Gren followed Zellar's instructions.
The other—well, Gren knew to stay away from that one. He appeared benign until he struck, becoming a monster that Gren could not have imagined in his worst dreamings. He devoured people in his other form—swallowing them whole, even while they screamed. Gren had no desire to disappear down that wide and scaly throat. Zellar called him Tandias and even he was wary around him. Tandias held power that neither Zellar nor Gren could ever understand or suspect. Zellar had made a deal with a devil even he failed to see clearly.
"No need to go outside, boy," Zellar went on. "There's nothing left on Mazareal. If we eat, we'll travel away from here to do it. This is a safe place to sleep and nothing more. Get used to being wanted by the ASD." Zellar's laugh sounded unhinged, but Gren didn't care as long as his ambitions were eventually satisfied.
* * *
"This is fun." Toff enjoyed operating the label machine. All he had to do was set the bottles on a conveyor belt wide enough to hold them and they were moved along automatically until they were spun around, coming out with a label beyond that point. Another two comesuli were taking the labeled bottles off and stacking then onto racks. Some would be packed for shipping, others would be hauled to the local casinos—it was a specialty to get oxberry wine at their best restaurants.
"Each bottle sells for six hundred Alliance credits here on Le-Ath Veronis," Roff smiled at Toff as he watched Toff operate the machine. "If it ships off-world, it sells for a thousand Alliance credits or more, depending on the year it was pressed."
"Is that a lot?" Toff still had difficulty wrapping his mind around the concept of wealth.
"Here, let someone else do this for a moment and we will take a trip to a local wine shop," Roff grinned mischievously. Roff motioned for another comesula—he'd been introduced as Dariff—to come over and run the rest of the bottles. Roff and Toff walked away from the bottling and labeling room and out of Roff's winery.
A little while later, Toff stared at racks and racks of wine bottles inside a wine shop in Casino City. All kinds of wines were sold there, holding Toff spellbound as he read label after label, printed in the common language of the Alliance.
"This is a good red," Roff lifted a bottle from an upper shelf and handing it to Toff. Toff read the label. This wine had come from Refizan. "Refizan is famous for its vineyards," Roff explained. "Their wines are among the best in the Alliance. They have good soil and good vintners there. This bottle sells for one hundred Alliance credits."
"Ah, Roff." The proprietor had come from the back as soon as his clerk informed him that the Winged Vampire winemaker was in his shop.
"Whilton, may we trouble you to see your exclusive stock? I am teaching my apprentice about the value of wine." Roff smiled at Whilton, who'd been selling wine for a very long time. He'd come to Le-Ath Veronis to retire and run a small shop in Casino City. He owned chains of wine shops across the Alliance, and Whilton appeared to be a round person to Toff, who'd never seen a Veridiali before. Veridiali were all rotund in shape, although their height, hair and eye color varied. Whilton had graying red hair, kind brown eyes and an infectious smile. He was also afflicted with a skin condition, which was aggravated by sunlight. Le-Ath Veronis with its constant twilight was the perfect place for him.
"Of course you may see my private stock," Whilton gestured for Roff and Toff to follow him. Toff was close behind Roff as they were ushered down a flight of stairs and into a dimly lit, climate-controlled room. He stared in wonder at the racks of bottles lining the walls, floor to ceiling, inside the small cellar.
"See, this one is worth fifteen thousand Alliance credits." Toff peered at the dusty bottle Roff pointed out on a rack. Toff's eyes widened in surprise as he stared at the bottle and then at Roff.
"I have other bottles worth more, but they are in storage elsewhere," Whilton said. "I keep telling Roff that I can get better prices for some of his, but he ignores me."
"I still have some from the pressing eleven years ago," Roff grinned.
"And I will trade you this bottle for two of those," Whilton pointed to the bottle Roff had shown to Toff.