Chapter Text
Abolish sat in Legundo's clinic, and watched Avid sleep.
It had been two days, and while Avid's throat hadn't healed quite enough to be able to speak comfortably, it had healed enough that Legundo had finally been convinced to go and find rest himself. It was almost early morning now, gray light turned pinkish by the setting moon creeping below the tightly barred shutters, Abolish's white gloves looking luminescent in the retreating dark as he slowly worked on his weapons.
He had a newly forged sword across his knees, the blade rippled slightly from the inaccurate heat of the forge they had used. There were crucibles and molds left in what remained of what must have been a blacksmiths, unearthed as Pearl and Cleo had tilled soil for crops. They had found kettles, and cauldrons throughout the town— even chains of all things, in the very center of town, deep beneath a layer of dirt and charred wood.
And further beneath the town, in the mines through the crypt, they had found the books.
'Convenient,' Abolish couldn't help but think, already uneasy with everything that was happening in Oakhurst. Walls, pressing them all in like hens in a coop. The vampires, tossed in like foxes. The forge and crucible and silver laying unclaimed, the beacons shining, the books and tools to be sought in the catacombs, replaced every day by an unseen hand that sent shivers up Abolish's spine.
It was all just too… neat. He believed in God, but not in whatever was putting weapons in the hands of the frightened, and misguided.
Himself included.
No one but Abolish had known what to do with the books, at first.
The Organization had a few magical tomes tucked away, although anyone capable of using them were few and far between, and he had never tried to discern them himself. Magic wasn't something that interested him, in spite of how much Morcant pressed him to include it in his studies.
He knew how to read the runes, albeit slowly. There were ones that turned up often in scripture that were easy to recognize, but weren't much use here— 'Angel', 'End', 'Flame', 'Milk and love'. He had learned to read it at his parents side, following along in the small paper leaflets that they handed out at the church. It smelled of hot wax, and wood polish, and the dusty tattered scent of the old velvet cushions lining the pews. Picked bald and threadbare by many generations of little bored Veylockes, if his mother and father were to be believed.
(And the universe said I love you.)
Abolish had learned to decipher more of it in The Organization, but when he searched the dusty tomes it was the high ringing of bells in a stone cathedral that he heard, and candles burning low that he smelled. When he heard the shuffle of a page turning, and felt the whisper of paper on his fingertips, he thought of his parents first, and God after.
Abolish was thankful for the ability now, as he slowly etched the runes he had found onto the shining blade of his new sword. The other villagers had caught on to the meaning of the runes as well, and conveniently there had been etching tools left in the chests alongside the books. Worn, old tools, but not nearly as old as the town and forest would have you believe.
Abolish had practiced on the side of one of the old cauldrons before he had risked damaging the one sword he had managed to make, keeping his hand steady and his lines straight. Galactic was tricky to write in, and he didn't want to make any mistakes. Not when there was magic involved.
It was hard, painstaking work, but Abolish had time. There had been no sightings of Owen in the two days since Avid was attacked, and no more villagers had been hurt, or disappeared.
All except for Scott, Pyro, and Shelby.
They had left the day after Avid and Legundo had returned, and no one had seen them since. There was no sign of a struggle, and they had packed their things before they left. Pyro and Shelby had withdrawn slightly in the past week, seeming tired, pale. Abolish kicked himself now for not saying something sooner—
But they were already gone, and the beacon in the castle had gone cold, and dark.
It had not gone back since, and Abolish and Legundo both were having a hard time convincing the rallying villagers not to go over the bridge and demand answers. Not yet.
Martyn, Ren, and Sausage were all for charging over the bridge, to rescue Shelby or Pyro or both from whatever sinister clutches had them, and demand answers from Scott or Owen or whoever.
Apo was firm in her desire to fortify the town, rebuild the weakened sections of wall and defend their beacon.
Cleo wanted to build up their supply for survival before they started any risky excursions, and Pearl seemed to reluctantly agree, despite the restless way she stalked the town, and stared out over the fields and forest.
Cleo seemed sure that Scott had left willingly. She pointed out that the castle on the hill was his inheritance after all, although she looked tight lipped and disapproving as she said it.
(She was less sure about Shelby and Pyro, when pressed.)
Drift had sat with Avid until Abolish removed her to go rest, and Legundo had spent two days tending Avid and making medicine until Cleo and Abolish convinced him to take a break. Abolish with the flat nonjudgmental tone that Legundo seemed to respond well to, and Cleo with a disdainful scolding that he responded to even better.
Last Abolish had seen Legundo, he had been tucked into Cleo and Pearl's bed, snoring the way only a soldier could, bad leg propped up on a pillow and Pearl giggling at his glass eye set in a dish on their table.
The soft scraping of the etching tool was the only sound in the clinic now, besides the occasional creak of wood as Abolish shifted in his chair, and the soft breathing of Avid on the bed. Abolish blew some of the silver dust away, looking in satisfaction down at the Smite, that had been etched in runes along the side.
There wasn't a shining light, or a chorus of angels singing. But he thought he might be able to feel a hum in his gloved fingertip as he ran it along the new runes, and felt the razor sharp edge of the blade.
Silver was soft, and unsuitable for weapons. But he didn't need this sword to last forever—
Just long enough to get home.
Avid stirred on the bed, his soft breathing hitching, and Abolish carefully put the blade back into it's scabbard. By the time Avid awoke the sword was sat next to Abolish's chair, and the knives had been returned to their sheathes at his ankle and beneath his coat.
Avid's purple eyes blinked open, dull with sleep still but thankfully not bright with fever, and he looked over at Abolish. There was only the slightest surprise there at seeing him, before Avid moved fitfully, sitting up and wincing.
His neck was bandaged, much neater than it had been before his injury. He was in a loose linen shirt that Abolish recognized as Legundo's, and nothing else, his hair greasy and limp, lips cracked and dry. He looked at Abolish uncertainly, eyes flicking back and forth before settling on his earring for some reason, wincing.
"Wh… what are you doing here?" Avid asked after a moment of silence, voice hoarse and cracked. Abolish leaned forward to hand him a waterskin, and after a moment of hesitation, Avid took it. He only took a few swallows before he stopped, eyes tight with pain, one hand raising to his throat until he encountered the bandages there.
Abolish couldn't help but think Avid was lucky that the beacon was here, or he would have been bedridden far longer. Legundo had seemed surprised at Avid's blood pressure when he had checked this morning, and he had taken Abolish's for comparison, as well as his own.
"Watching you, so Legs can get some rest," Abolish answered, only half truthfully, folding his hands neatly and observing Avid. Avid had woken a few times already, but it seemed that in spite of whatever accelerated healing the beacons allowed, it didn't change the need for rest.
Avid had slept fitfully, murmuring in his sleep, and crying out a few times. But he hadn't gone to remove his bandages, or get out of bed in his restlessness, so Abolish had let him dream. He had learned in the orphanage wards it was best to leave someone be, when sleep took them like this.
Avid seemed to wilt under his gaze, eyes flicking again to Abolish, and then to the door. "Wh- why do you need to watch me? So I don't— so I don't turn into a vampire?" Avid's breath quickened, eyes widening, but before he grew too panicked Abolish shook his head. "I'm not— I wouldn't hurt anyone."
"No— you're not turning. It would take far more than that wound to do it."
Avid narrowed his eyes, turning so his back was pressed against the clinic wall. He drew his blanket covered legs up, hugging them to his chest and setting his chin on his knees. "Yeah? How would you know that?"
"I don't. I'm guessing," Abolish lied. "What did the lumberjack say to you?"
Avid blinked in surprise, the irritated, accusing expression falling away. "What? What did he say— before, or after he bit me?"
Abolish shrugged, and continued staring at Avid until he groaned and dragged a hand down his face.
"He— I don't... I don't remember that well…" Avid dug his fingers into his hair, eyes shut, tugging. He still seemed half asleep, caught in whatever dream that had made him toss and turn.
"…You don't have to start there," Abolish said gently, hiding his impatience. "What happened with Legs? You were arguing, he said."
"Arguing?… Yeah!" righteous indignation seemed to bring life back to Avid, and he looked up again. "About whether vampires are real."
"Nobody is doubting you now Avid— some of us weren't exactly doubting you then," Abolish admitted, before shaking his head and gesturing Avid to continue on. "We can talk about that later, alright? You were arguing…"
"And Owen was just— just there in the bushes, like some kind of… of monster," Avid said, voice going slightly shrill in disbelief. "So I chased him of course—"
"Leaving Legs behind," Abolish couldn't help but point out, voice carefully flat and non judgmental. Avid seemed to hear the disappointment there regardless, and drew his shoulders up.
"Well— I... I thought he was right behind me…"
Abolish didn't say any more, although it was hard not to. His silence seemed to speak for himself however, as Avid cast his eyes down to where his fingers were wringing each other nervously. The nails were bitten to the quick, and bruised dark in the beds.
Avid said he was a vampire hunter. Unlike everyone else, Abolish didn't doubt it. But taking care of inept hunters were as much a part of the Organizations job as blood-crazed vampires. Often, it was hard to tell which was worse.
"I'm… I don't know, I guess I'm. I'm sorry," Avid said, miserably, giving a wet giggle. "I just… I just wanted everyone to believe me, and I almost got myself killed."
"…I'm not here to judge you, or scold you. I'm not your minder, Avid, no one here is. I'm just here to bury my parents, and get out," Abolish said carefully, before hesitating. He reached out, to put a hand on Avid's shoulder. It was something he had seen done before.
Avid flinched, and drew back, looking frightened. Abolish frowned.
Avid inhaled shakily, and Abolish could feel his shoulder trembling beneath his hand. Thin— far too thin, and still feverishly hot although Legundo had said he had dodged an infection.
When Abolish didn't say anything else, Abolish prompted, "… You went after Owen…"
"I went after Owen," Avid continued, nodding unsteadily, and Abolish leaned back and removed his hand, now that the support did not seem to be needed. "I asked— asked if he had. If he had killed my partner," Avid's voice cracked, and he gulped a swallow of air that almost seemed to hurt him it was so desperate. But he soon released it in a rush, and continued before Abolish could grow concerned. "I asked him if he killed Elle, and he said, 'I've killed a lot of people,' which is…"
Avid giggled again, and Abolish suspected he didn't know he was doing it half the time, mouth twisted up in a grimace. "Which is crazy! He was…he…. and then he uh," Avid looked away from Abolish, at the wall, color high on his cheeks. "He pinned me down, and— and bit me."
"… That's it?" Abolish asked, and Avid turned his attention from the wall back to him, eyes glimmering with a hint of the same petulant irritation that had hounded Avid for over a week now.
"Isn't that enough?"
"… It better be," Abolish said, standing with a click of his knees. He gathered his sword from where it was leaned against the table, and gave Avid a nod. "Thank you. For telling me— I know what it's like to lose someone. I know it's… it's…"
Abolish tilted his head, searching for the words wishing he was better at this, as Avid's face went slightly blank, and uncertain. "It's hard, to keep going.
Avid continued staring. Abolish hoped Avid wasn't expecting some platitude, or anything else. He slightly regretted saying what he had. "I told Drift I'd let her know when you woke up. Do you need anything?"
After a moment of silence Avid shook his head, setting his chin back on his knees. He looked tired after all the speaking, shoulders bent, and eyes dark with exhaustion.
Abolish nodded, and opened the door to the wet, gray morning. He stepped out, and shut it quietly behind him.
If Avid made any sound further, Abolish was too far to hear.
Abolish was supposed to be gone by now. It was the only thing he could think of, days after speaking with Avid. He still didn't know what to do, and he was not used to the feeling.
If everything had gone according to plan, Sophie, and Gerard would be waiting outside of town, right at this moment. A carriage, a hot drink perhaps, and maybe Morcant if the man had pried himself away from his busywork.
Abolish had eleven cigarettes left after smoking the one outside the gates, waiting for Legundo. He could still taste it on his tongue as he stared out over the scrub and field that surrounded Oakhurst, running his tongue along flat teeth. He could still smell it faintly on his gloves when he drew a thoughtful thumb along his upper lip, despite the fact that he had washed his uniform just last night, and the cigarette had been days ago.
He wanted another one already.
There were occasional hillocks and short stunted trees in the fields around Oakhurst, twisted by the wind, their branches bare except for a few shivering leaves that slung determinedly despite the breeze and the oncoming autumn chill. Occasional protruding bits of stone among the grass showed where old buildings had fallen down to their foundations, shrinking Oakhurst from what had been a sprawling township, down to the small settlement barely suitable for the dozen people living inside. There had been Veylockes here, once upon a time, for however briefly.
Goldsmiths as well, apparently.
Abolish drew out another cigarette.
What used to be rolling green grazing field was now overgrown and thorny, passable only if you kept an eye out for mole hills that would break your ankle, or the openings to caves that had sunken in over the years like eyeless sockets.
Speaking of eyeless sockets, Abolish heard footsteps behind him, offset by the soft click of a cane striking small stones scattered through the packed down soil and paths of Oakhurst. From the sounds of things Legundo was already walking better than two days ago— no doubt due to his forced rest— but thankfully he still hadn't tried to leave town. Abolish didn't know what he was going to do if the man tried.
Stop him? It wasn't his business if any of these people wanted to go out and be mauled by vampires, in spite of his warnings. He didn't want it to be their only doctor however, especially with the barriers now keeping everyone in. Anything from a cold to a broken leg could happen, and while Abolish, Apo, and (surprisingly) Cleo, had some first aid experience, it wasn't enough. Especially since Apo couldn't do most of it on her own, turning pale as a sheet of paper at the mere sight of blood when it came time to slaughter a chicken, or goat.
No. Even if Legundo was a bad doctor he would be necessary, and Abolish had seen his work on Avid. The young man was pale, inevitably fevered— but he had lived. Doctor Legundo was good at his job, and that meant Abolish had to make at least half an effort in keeping him alive.
The others? If he could, he would. But… if he had the cure in hand, and a clear exit, he wouldn't hesitate.
He shouldn't have even been keeping watch after all night watching Avid— but Owen was an unknown element. Abolish didn't know if he would try to slaughter the town, come to finish Avid off, or even just try to pick off anyone who wandered away. Abolish didn't know if Owen was related to Scott, or Shelby, or Pyro and their disappearance. He didn't know what happened to Oakhurst two hundred years ago, and he didn't know why his parents were so determined to be buried here.
Either way, keeping watch while the other townspeople organized was the bare minimum Abolish could do while deciding how involved he wanted to get, and also gave him the privacy to finish his tenth to last cigarette, which he finally pulled out of the silver case kept in his vest pocket.
It also gave him the privilege of being the first person to talk to anyone who decided to venture up the path to town. He hadn't known at the time what he would do if it was Owen, but Abolish sensed it would be more productive than anyone else running into the vampire.
(The only confirmed or known vampire.)
"Good morning, Abolish," Legundo said as he approached, and Abolish turned only slightly to take him in out of the corner of his eye.
Legundo was tired, pale looking, carrying a small napkin wrapped package in the crook of his arm. He had finally shaved, and Abolish eyed the clean line of Legundo's square jaw and cheeks with a distant kind of approval.
Abolish wasn't an actual butler. But he had been raised by the servants, and Morcant had treated human social niceties as loose guidelines more than anything. Abolish had learned to shine shoes and buff brass doorknobs like a squire might learn to carry a lance and groom a horse. He still remembered being a child, and demanding solemnly for an amused Morcant to bend down, so Abolish could fix his tie for him.
His uniform was what he made of it, and if the rich pageantry of Oakhurst had mistaken him for a butler, then so be it.
"Doctor," Abolish greeted, turning back to his vigil of the fields.
"I come bearing gifts," Legundo said dryly, handing over the cloth wrapped package. It was warm, and still fragrant—
"Bread?" Abolish asked with real pleasure in his voice, unwrapping the small bun.
"Some among our number are handy with cooking," Legundo said, sighing slightly as he sat next to the gate, on the toppled remains of a fence post. Abolish didn't wait for the bread to cool, biting into it and letting the steam envelope his nose and face, fingers protected from the heat by his gloves and napkin both. "Yeast from the wild berries we've started turning to jam, and Sausage and Ren have turned up some casks that are still in working order below what might have been a tavern. Turns out Ren knows quite a bit about stilling, and Cleo has gotten the sheep into order. You know the books we've been finding?"
"Mm," Abolish made a noise of agreement. The self same berries had been dried and put in the bread, and he tried to keep from wolfing it down, deep instilled manners keeping him from being indecorous. They had been eating mostly hunted game and forage since being trapped, the food they had brought with them long running out. It was enough, but they were walking and working and burning a great amount of energy rebuilding the town. Abolish was naturally slender, and he had already lost a few pounds. He wasn't the only one.
Thankfully the land around Oakhurst was untouched by civilization for two hundred years, and it was bursting with things to eat and find. Apparently bread, somehow.
"One of them allows tools to work unnaturally quick, strike more effectively. A pick, a shovel, an axe— and a loom," Legundo smiled faintly even as Abolish looked at him in faint surprise.
"A loom?"
"It was Pearls idea. She's made the rough blankets we've handed out so far, and any other haste books we find are going to go to shears and spinners."
"That's very… domestic, of her," Abolish said carefully, and Legundo laughed out loud.
"She seemed very disgruntled about it. Martyn, and Ren know how to sew, and apparently Avid knows quite a bit of useful alchemy. Baking soda and powders, distilling— medicine."
"You think we'll be here long enough to need a cold remedy?" Abolish asked, and Legundo frowned out at the fields.
"I think I'd rather feel silly for making myself a winter coat and not need it, then be cold without one, if we're stuck here two months from now."
Abolish didn't agree. He did not plan on being here for longer than a month.
"…I wanted to talk about what you said in the mines," Legundo said after a moment of comfortable silence, as Abolish polished off the last of his bread and brushed the crumbs from his gloves.
"… What about it?" Abolish asked, casting his mind back. He had been trying to prepare the Doctor best he could, without sounding like a lunatic. He was never sure how he came across to people, but he had to say something.
"You knew there were vampires here."
Abolish hesitated. He couldn't help but glance around, noting Martyn, Ren, and Sausage having a discussion in the center of town. Apo was atop the center tower— she could see them, but unless the wind carried their words, she would not hear them.
"I didn't," Abolish said, truthfully. "Doesn't mean they don't exist."
Legundo nodded, rubbing a hand down his face. "I don't want to jump to conclusions. I… there was a town," Legundo started, and Abolish could tell that this was something that had been bursting inside of him. Something he had been holding on to. "Backwards. Outside the reach of any reasonable government oversight— similar to how Oakhurst might have been, once upon a time."
Legundo shook his head, looking down at where his hands were folded together. "There… there was a child. Seven years old, maybe six. They were undersized. They hadn't started… speaking yet, and the people were convinced a changeling had taken them. That something had come out of the woods, and stolen the real child away, and if they… if they only hurt this one enough, then the real child would come back."
Abolish didn't say anything, but he shifted uncomfortably.
The matrons at the orphanage hadn't given a wit that he was a little noble boy. If he would not make eye contact and would not speak, they would smack his knuckles bleeding, and send him to bed without supper as many nights in a row as it took. It had been difficult, and now that he was older, he didn't know why he hadn't been able to just… just tolerate it, to get the attention away from himself. It was just looking at someone, counting to ten, looking away regularly during a conversation. It shouldn't have been difficult.
"They piled hot coals onto his chest," Legundo said, voice trembling, and Abolish couldn't help the way his eyes widened, and stomach lurched. "Forced him to drink milk, and herbs. I… they expected me to fix it. I don't know what they thought… I still don't. There are things that are still hidden in our world, in the corners, and I don't think it's faeries, or vampires. I think it's people being cruel, because they don't know any better."
"… Thinking like that might get you killed," Abolish pointed out, although he didn't disagree. Legundo simply had to know the stakes.
Legundo nodded wearily. "I know. I don't think we're there yet, just… we need to be rational."
Abolish didn't say anything.
Later today, the villagers were going to go explore the crypts, and try turning the beacons. See how it effected the barrier. Legundo wasn't telling Abolish anything he didn't know, but he would keep it in mind regardless. He owed the man that much at least.
Shelby had finally finished her turning sleep, but Pyro was irritated by how short her turning sleep was looking to be compared to his own.
As the castle rose achingly slowly around them, Shelby had put herself inside of one of the crypts down below the earth, and slept. For only two nights compared to Pyro's entire three days, but she had slept far more deeply.
At the beginning, Pyro had sat beside the slate gray marble casket, resting his elbows on the edge to observe her as she slept. The steps had been hard and unforgiving on his legs, and he had been hungry, wishing Shelby was awake to go hunting with him.
"Normal," Scott had said in amusement, as he stood over and behind Pyro, looking at the two of them with a thoughtful air. There were chests and store rooms still undiscovered in the castle ruins, and Pyro had been astounded all over again at the casual bits of magic on display, in the enchantments laid into the wood and locks that kept the contents safe and preserved. Silk, and brocade, coats and jewels. The cushions that had held priceless gems now served as a pillow for Shelby, her dark red hair spread around her like a pool of blood, her hands tucked under her chin like a child. "Every turning sleep is a bit different— you didn't feel safe. Presumably because we were in town, and as a result you didn't sleep as deeply."
Without breath or the flush of blood beneath the skin, she had looked dead, and Pyro couldn't help the small chirp of concern he could not hold back, ducking his head when Scott turned his amused gaze over to him, instead. Shelby's glasses were folded and tucked into Scott's front coat pocket, although Pyro knew she was growing not to need them any more. "It is also normal if you'd like to keep her company. I'd like to get my work done anyway, and she would probably sleep better."
"I didn't have company," Pyro had pointed out, and then held perfectly still and uncertain when Scott came forward, tilting his head and smiling fondly.
"Didn't you?" Scott murmured. He'd bent down, putting a hand on Pyro's face where he was sat. He'd leant in, and Pyro shut his eyes, let Scott's floral scent wrap around him. He… he had awoken a few times, during his turning sleep. Had even walked around, at Scott's prodding so no one in Oakhurst would think anything was amiss, eyes burning with sleep and muffling chirping complaints in his chest.
Scott had been there. He. He had— he had killed him. But Pyro recalled now, in the dark of the tomb, and the smell of sleep from Shelby, that he had been… comforted, by Scott being there.
He returned Scott's purring, stuttering, and then Scott was taking his elbow to lift him up, and gently guided him down into the nest next to Shelby. Pyro was self conscious for a moment, with someone pressed close— he was tall, nearly a head and shoulder taller than the doll-like Shelby, and took up a large portion of space inside the silk and cushion lined coffin. But Shelby just snuffled in her sleep, as if she had sensed him come near, and in only a moment her arms were wrapping around Pyro, as if she were alive,, and simply sleeping.
The smell of her hair and the soft confines of the casket made Pyro's eyes blink slower in sleep, looking up at Scott, who was knelt where Pyro had been, brushing Shelby's hair back from her face, and purring.
It wasn't a human sleepiness. It had felt like a drugging almost, and Pyro was so alarmed it almost kept him awake. But Scott had set a hand on his chest to keep him pinned down in the silk, and Shelby had started purring too, where she had tucked her nose against his shoulder, and he had simply slipped off into sleep shortly after. That frightening, dreamless sleep that felt nothing like before he was a vampire.
Now he was awake, listening to the distant sound of stone moving against stone, and the the soundless shuffle of footsteps about the castle over their heads. It was pitch black— logically Pyro knew that if he had been human, he would not be able to see the hand raised up in front of his face. But as it was he could see silver bright even in the dark— his fingers, ending in short, powerful claws whose roots ran far deeper than a human nail bed. The skin, so pale it was almost luminescent. It didn't crease or fold like human skin did any more— it felt different, and Pyro continually had to fight off thinking too hard about it, or else the revulsion would drive him mad.
"Good morning," Shelby murmured sleepily, purring, and shoving her face against his neck. He could feel the air moving from her purring, against his skin, ticklish and cold.
Pyro blushed slightly at the intimacy— he had liked a girl, once. Not… not his fiance, although his parents likely wouldn't have given a single solitary shit either way. He had liked a girl from school, with long silky brown hair the color of ash-brushed wood. Slightly grayish, pastel. She had freckles, and a thin almost elfin face, and she hadn't ever made fun of Pyro.
Everyone did. It was simply the fashionable thing, although Pyro didn't think he had ever done anything to deserve it. He tried desperately to fit in, to join in on the jokes, to even turn it around on other, easier, less rich targets. Poor students on scholarship, more… more obviously inverted students, with foppish ways. Pyro had never done anything to draw attention to himself, besides the misfortune of being born a Pyroscythe, and with parents who didn't care a whit about him besides what he could do for them, and their legacy.
Pyro's family dealt in spices and cloth, iron and salt. They had been on the leading edge of ships, and trains, and carts for generations, and built enough wealth to afford lands and titles that they held with just as much of a vice grip as they did their legacy.
They had tried and tried for children for ages, and only had Pyro. The disappointment. They had told him they would rather have had a girl if he wasn't going to even be someone worth carrying on the family name. Too bookish, always saying the wrong thing, uninterested in the other noble families and the odd games they played. The only good they had found him to do for them was to marry into the rival merchant family in the capitol, and consolidate their wealth. A neat bow on four generations of antagonism, one they hoped would cause both companies to flourish.
Czeslaw had dislocated his arm when he found out.
"You're going to marry my sister, and you're going to put a baby in her," he had said coldly into his ear, kneeling on Pyro's back, Pyro's left arm wrenched behind him at an unnatural angle. It was worse, with his sobbing, as he tried to twist and alleviate the pressure, but every time he did Czeslaw only pulled harder. He tried so hard not to vomit from pain, head swimming, face pale and prickling and trying not to faint— if he did, he didn't know what Czeslaw would do to him, and no one at school would move to help. Even if they did stumble onto the two of them where Czeslaw had dragged him, behind the grounds-keeping shed.
"Once she has your ugly fucking whelp, I'm going to kill you, do you understand?"
Pyro had shaken his head in denial, and Czeslaw had beaten him until he couldn't stand. He had left Pyro, rage simmering in his chest, limp arm cradled to his chest as he leaned against burlap sacks of garden soil and wood chips, nose bloody, throbbing all over. His clothes were ruined, his schoolbooks trampled in the mud.
He had killed Czeslaw two weeks later. He had never married.
"What are you thinking about?" Shelby asked, yawning a wide jaw-cracking yawn, showing her fangs. Pyro turned over onto his side, so he was facing her, his back pressed against the walls of the coffin. She blinked large yellow eyes at him in the dark— the pupils were wide, to drink in what light there was. This was what children at sleepovers probably felt, although Pyro had never had one. He was twenty four— he had never been kissed. Never had a sleepover, never had a friend, never made his parents love him.
And now he was dead.
"Blood," Pyro answered, truthfully. Even with all the thoughts simmering in his mind, he was hungry. Always hungry, enough so that he would feel occasional twists of pain in his guts, like there was something living there that was clawing at his insides, sated only for a few hours after eating.
"Oh my god, right?" Shelby groaned where her face was pressed to him, stomach growling as well. He felt her mouth bite gently on him a moment. Again, he was struck by the intimacy, although it didn't… feel like how he would feel, with an objectively cute, comely girl biting him on the intimate part of his neck. He supposed it was the intent, since Shelby was tangling her feet with him, and pulling her head back to look at where she had bit, frowning. "Man I'm hungry… do you think Scott has anything to eat?"
"I hope so," Pyro said, resisting the childish urge to bite Shelby back.
He got out of their nest and extended a gentlemanly hand to help Shelby out, making her giggle as she took it. They climbed the steps of the crypt together, blinking in the dark night time, and looking around at the walls and paths that had been repaired.
Pyro didn't know what the castle had looked like before Scott's sleep— none of the records had mentioned the color. Or, they had referred to it as that 'dark, cursed castle upon the cliffs.' Pyro was beginning to suspect that had been more than just a statement of superstition, as he looked at the newly laid deepslate walls, the elegant cornices of diorite and polished basalt.
The frames of the windows were dark shining oak, unweathered and fresh, and as he and Shelby approached the large door that led to the main hall, he could see the occasional bobbing bit of wood or stone that indicated the unseen servants were still working.
"You're up," Scott said fondly as they came in, and Shelby went running across the hall towards him. Her footsteps rang out against the walls— Pyro could see some of the windows still empty, and the doorways left unfilled, leading to nowhere. But the main hall seemed enclosed and finished enough, with the beacon beating at the center of it like a great, pulsing heart.
Scott was sat at the head of the table below it, books and scrolls spread about him, a few open bottles on the table that Pyro could smell from here. Heavy, dark rich blood, stinging his nose with fruit and alcohol. Scott was sipping from a dented goblet, dressed in a new outfit. A dark coat, and a shiny silken crimson vest, brocaded with gold. He drew Shelby to him and they hugged, Shelby laughing in faint disbelief as Pyro followed much slower.
"The castle looks great!"
"Thank you. Keeping the spell up is very tiring," Scott said primly, and now that Pyro was closer, he could see faint bruises beneath Scott's eyes. The open bottle on the table was half depleted, and he could smell the richness of it on Scott's breath when he spoke. "I suspect the beacon is helping things along, but I still haven't done this since we put the East wing in."
"What did you put in the East wing?" Pyro asked, hopping up onto the table to let his legs swing down off the edge. Scott didn't seem to mind, leaning back to put his own feet up on the table, lounging in the tall-backed chair as if he was a Lord in his keep. Which was seeming more and more true by the day.
"New servants quarters, kennels, a third kitchen— things that were needed for a very long time. My sire kept the servants and the kennels one and the same, but I thought the coven needed some more modern renovations. He had been… slightly out of touch."
"He died?" Shelby asked, taking a seat near him, her head turning to follow a long piece of lumber, being carried by what appeared to be two invisible servants. "You took over from him?"
Scott smiled strangely. "Yes, you could say that. At least, I certainly hope he's dead. He got turned into dust and put inside an urn, and as far as I can tell hasn't tried to reconstitute yet. Last I saw it, it was on my mantel. I suppose it's been smashed and scattered to the winds now, and I wish the man luck reforming from that."
"…Did ya kill him?" Shelby asked with a hint of mischief, letting her hair pour over one shoulder and narrowing her eyes playfully at Scott.
Scott theatrically pretended not to hear her, pouring a glass of wine, and sliding one to Pyro first, then Shelby. Pyro brought it to his lips and smelled, the way he had been raised— it was rather more enjoyable to do so, as a vampire. The red clung to the sides of the brass cup, far thicker than just wine might be. It was pungent, and Pyro hummed in pleasure as he took a sip. It was amazing how good blood tasted now— he kept being pleasantly surprised. His stomach growled, and he sipped as much as was decorously possible, watching Scott pour Shelby a drink and hand it to her with a gentlemanly flourish.
"I wanted to go hunting," Shelby said, sipping her glass and pulling a face. She set it aside instead, and looked expectantly at Scott.
"… well what do you want me to do about it?" Scott said after her long pause, turning back to his books. "I'm busy. Pyro knows how to hunt now— don't you Pyro?"
Pyro startled. "What? You only showed me how to hunt twice."
"No better way to learn than to show!" Scott waved a hand dismissively. "Don't go too far— I've only been checking the castle grounds for nosy humans. I I can't say much for the surrounding forest."
"What will you be doing?" Shelby asked, peering over Scott's shoulder, and then frowning when she appeared unable to read the text. Scott tapped her nose with one long claw, causing her eyes to squint. He unfolded her glasses from his pocket, and slid them onto Shelby's nose.
"Researching. Now off you pop— enjoy yourselves! By the time you get back, hopefully I'll have figured out something about these damned barriers."
"Have you tried to go through?" Pyro asked, sliding off the table to join Shelby. He finished his wine, resisting the urge to lick the cup clean as he set it at Scott's elbow.
He was able to look over Scott's shoulder and read what it said, and— unlike Shelby— Pyro knew how to read galactic.
He caught the words for 'bloodline', as well as a branching sort of graph with titles, before Scott very slowly and pointedly shut the book, looking up from under his lashes at Pyro.
Pyro looked down at his boots, and blushed.
"…I haven't tried to go through beyond pressing a hand against the barrier— it stung me," Scott said, with an air of feigned petulance. "I'll do a little more research first, and see what our options are. Either way, nothing for you all to help with until you've fed. See if you can turn a beacon while you're at it— we only have two, and it's starting to make me… agitated."
"Yes sir," Shelby gave Scott a mock salute, and then frowned. "Or is it sire?"
Scott grinned a fanged grin at her. "Oh, I called my sire that out of respect, and fear. He was very old, and very powerful. You don't have to do that if you don't like, I know your feelings for me quite well Shelby."
Shelby gave him a shy smile, and Pyro thought there was sincerity in Scott's smile, when she leaned forward to put her arms around his shoulders. After all, Scott had chosen her. Shelby had never been chosen, just like Pyro had never been chosen, and Scott laid his chin in her hair and purred.
(Shelby's blood was rich in his mouth— Shelby had run was the thing, and Pyro felt his heart kick alive in his chest again, in a way he had never felt for rabbits, or deer. He had felt like a puppet, pulled along so quickly everything was a blur as he leapt after her, drove her down into the sand of the river bank so hard he felt a rib snap below his knees. Their fishing rods were cast aside— none of them had even caught anything.
Shelby screamed, and she had been crying. Czeslaw hadn't cried— hadn't screamed either. He had let out a soundless shocked gasp, as his skull caved beneath Pyro's hand, beneath the stone clenched in his fist. His blood had been hot, but Shelby's was burning against his dead skin.
Pyro bit into her shoulder, through her clothes. It was like drawing water through a rag and he snarled and ripped the cloth away, revealing her slim neck and back, freckles sprayed across beneath the sheet of blood pouring down, and over the shredded strap of her underclothes. Into the divot of her spine, like blood down the center of a sword. Being wasted.
Shelby tried to drag herself away, sobbing, crying out for help. Martyn and the others had been here just moments ago, but they were long gone. Nobody was coming. Nobody ever came.
Pyro grabbed her arm to bare her shoulder, and sank his fangs deep. The blood pushed into his mouth, driven by her terrified heartbeat, and he hardly even had to swallow.
He drank. It was so good, he couldn't imagine a world where he stopped. He felt like one of those degenerates by the docks with black opium packed into glass pipes, he felt like a drunk being drowned in an ocean of whiskey. He felt like this was what he was meant to do.
Until Scott wrenched him away.
He dragged Pyro by the hair, and threw him to the side. He had taken a good portion of Shelby's neck with him, and snarled in outrage, throwing himself at Scott, who kicked him in the stomach and nearly broke his back with the force of it. Ribs snapped and crunched, and he went tumbling down the shore like a skipped stone. When he came to rest, his ears were ringing, and his jaw was askew.
By the time he was able to get up again, and felt his organ re-knitting inside his abdomen, Scott was bent over Shelby, drinking, and cradling her like a broken doll in his arms. She was crying still, pushing him fitfully away from herself, begging,
"Scott, please, don't…"
But Scott did not stop, even as Shelby struggled. She tried to turn her head away until Scott forced her still, tried to push off and out of his grip. Scott took her hand, and pinned it beneath his against her chest, and from here Pyro could hear him purring deeply in satisfaction. By the time Shelby's heart had stopped beating Pyro had managed to crawl over, jaw aching, fingers scraped raw and belly roaring with hunger.
"You take a meal from me again," Scott warned quietly as they listened to the last echoes of Shelby's life disappear, and the faint crackle of Pyro's ribs resetting themselves. Scott lifted his bloody face from the ruin of Shelby's neck to look at Pyro. He looked ancient then— his eyes were larger than they should be, the pupils deep and fathomless, only the faintest hint of red in the corners of his eyes, where the iris's had been chased to. Pyro felt the same way he had when he had looked at the beacons, as if he was looking at something very large that was being seen through a pinhole too small.
"And it will be the last thing you do.")
Scott looked at Pyro pleasantly over Shelby's shoulder, raising an eyebrow.
Pyro looked about the castle, at the walls, the books spread across the table and the blood stained goblets on the table.
"We should get going, before it gets light out," Pyro swallowed, throat bobbing. "Sire."