#me impatiently waiting for a drive link for tonight's episode

[ghostlyg0ssip]

skelita music video soon!

[she-karev]

Trying to Get Pregnant (Andrew DeLuca x Alex Karev’s Sister)

Previous Part Here

Age Rating: 12+

Chapters: Two of Five

Fandom: Grey’s Anatomy/Station 19

Ship: Andrew DeLuca x Amber Karev (Alex Karev’s Sister)

Canon Episode: Season 18 Episode 17/Season 5 Episode 17

Summary: Amber volunteers at the station while Andrew helps Link with his patient.

AN: The GIF above is Amber's outfit for the Station 19 clinic

Words: 2075

February 18th, 2022

Andrew pulls the silver Honda Civic out in front of station 19 to drop off Amber who is looking at the statistics concerning clinics for low income or homeless communities in Seattle that aggravate her.

“You know there are only 30 free clinics in Seattle? And most of them aren’t actually free? In a city where homelessness has increased by over five percent since covid started there are still doctors who prefer patients with money instead of taking the time to treat those who fell under the cracks of this broken system. If you subtract the ones that demand insurance there are only 10 clinics that treat patients no questions asked.”

“And now there are 11 with the Station 19 clinic.” Andrew points out, “It’s baby steps babe.”

“I know.” Amber puts her phone away in her purse, “I just hope our kid doesn’t grow up in a world where people have to choose bankruptcy or death.”

“Me too. Hopefully your stubbornness and ambition will scare the world into buckling down.” Andrew leans over and starts to kiss Amber who responds. He opens his eyes and sees Jo Karev standing on the sidewalk in her casual clothes and lab coat by the front door looking impatiently at them. He regretfully pulls back, “You better go, Jo is waiting.”

Amber frowns and groans as she looks behind her to see Jo raising an eyebrow at her from her spot by the front entrance. She shrugs and turns back to her husband, “Well that just makes me want to keep going.” She kisses Andrew again, who is pleased.

“Mm.” He speaks against her lips, “You’re such a rebel.” They both chuckle as they kiss before Amber pulls back to her disdain as she knows work is waiting.

She groans with a smile at her husband before getting out of the car, “I love you, have a nice day.”

“You too, I’ll see you tonight.”

“You better.” Amber says in a low breath before closing the door and waving at her husband as he drives away. She goes up the steps of the sidewalk and greets her sister-in-law who has a grin, “Good morning.”

“It looks like it is for you.” Jo teases at Amber who shrugs unashamed before Jo motions to the door, “Shall we Dr. DeLuca?”

Amber nods eagerly, “Let’s save some lives.”

Later

Andrew is in his navy-blue scrubs and lab coat guiding a paramedic inside as he wheels a patient inside the pit. Link enters the pit surprised to find his friend there.

“Take her to trauma one, thanks.” Andrew tells the paramedic before going over the tablet.

“Bailey’s got you covering the pit too?”

Andrew shakes his head, “No Jo was supposed to but to prevent one of my in-law’s from having a nervous breakdown I offered to lessen her load. She and Amber and Carina are at the station’s clinic.” Andrew goes behind the station to input the chart, “Hey I want to ask you something, what restaurants do you recommend for a romantic date night?”

Link raises an eyebrow, “Seriously?”

Andrew is busy with the chart to look at the sour look on Link’s face, “Yeah I’m taking Amber out tonight, she’s at the station volunteering and I wanted to do something special for us.”

“Dude I am the very last person you want to ask about romance.” Link tells him bitterly, “Did you page me for this?”

Andrew raises an eyebrow offended, “No. Bed four and if you can help it try not to dim the lights around him.” He hands Link the tablet and walks toward the patient, “Patient came in with abdominal pain and vomiting. The wife says he's your patient.”

Kristen sees Link and stands up, “Dr. Lincoln.”

Link hugs Kristen and hears Helm recite his chart while DeLuca is busy with the patient in the next bed listening in, “Simon Clark, 38, status post synovial sarcoma resection four years ago, has been undergoing chemoradiation for recurrent lung mets.”

“We got this one, Helm.” The resident leaves them and Link speaks to Simon, “Thought I told you to take it easy.”

“Mm, so no 5k next month?” Simon jokes despite his state.

Kristen explains, “This morning I found him in the nursery barely able to breathe. He's nauseous, can't eat. I think it's his chemo, but he was adamant about trying to finish putting together the crib.”

“Would you let your mother-in-law build your kid's crib? I'm supposed to build the crib.” Andrew grins at that sharing the feeling already even when Amber isn’t pregnant yet.

“It's your job to stay alive, Simon.” Kristen tells him, “That's your job.”

Link decides the plan, “Okay, we'll get you some scans, we'll see what's going on, and we'll make you comfortable while we admit you. And no one will build any more furniture. Deal?”

“Deal.” Kristen demands and Simon relents.

“Deal.”

Link goes to Andrew and quietly asks, “I could use a general consult to see what’s causing the abdominal pain, are you free?”

“Yeah. I’ll get Hunt to cover my service.” Andrew pages Hunt and follows Link to radiology where they scan Simon. 10 minutes later they walk down the hall to see the scans in the screening room and Link explains Simon’s story to Andrew.

“Four years ago, he came in as a newlywed with stage two synovial sarcoma of the knee. And we tried every treatment possible while they tried to start a family. But between the chemo, radiation, and surgery, it took them until eight months ago to conceive.” Andrew feels bad for Simon knowing the feeling of wanting to be a dad but not the struggle that comes from his condition, “He made me promise he'd be here long enough to meet his kid.”

They enter the screening room and wait for the images to show up, “Okay well the symptoms could be chemo related.”

“I hope so.” Link says before adding, “Listen man I’m sorry for how I snapped at you earlier. I guess I’m still bitter over how everything went down with Amelia and you planning a romantic date with your gorgeous wife kind of brought that back. I can give you some lists if you want.”  

“It’s fine, Amber isn’t fancy I could lay out hamburgers on fine China and she’d think it was high class.”

Link grins, “You know you married someone way out of your league, right?”

“Oh, trust me I know.” Andrew agrees with a grin before the scans come up, cutting the moment short as it shows bad news.

Link looks at the scans sad, “Crap.”

Andrew looks at the scans closely, “Mass in the ileum, it’s almost obstructing his small bowel. I’m sorry.”

Link sighs at the diagnosis, “How am I gonna tell him it's progressing even faster?”

“We just do it.”

Link looks surprised by him using ‘we’, “It’s my patient.”

“Who has a mass in his small intestine which I am trained to operate on.”

Link gets worried due to his friend being a second year attending who barely did surgeries his first year due to covid, “Have you done this before? Solo?”

“Yeah, the one good thing about the backlogs is that you get to operate on anything in a short span of time. I can try to resect the tumor at the bowel segment, buy him some more time. You can scrub in; you’ve operated on him before and if this goes sideways you can step in.”

Link nods, “Yeah, let’s go.” Link and DeLuca exit the room to lay out their plan to Simon.

Later at Station 19

Amber sets up the exam rooms with Carina and Jo before the clinic opens. After the green card interview was scheduled Carina tasked Amber and Jo with asking her questions about Maya that she would have to answer to prove their marriage is legitimate.

“Favorite food?”

“Papaya.”

“Papaya?” Jo asks surprised, “My favorite food is anything with cheese and I’m pretty sure there’s no fruit with cheese.”

“Well, you’re not a gold winning Olympian who should be captain of a fire station if it wasn’t for bureaucracy and macho men.” Carina defends her wife to Jo who looks at Amber.

“Fishing for compliments.” Amber explains.

“You don’t need confirmation on how awesome your wife is.”

“Yes but I do need questions that will keep me here so I can keep telling you.” Carina reminds the sisters who nod.

Jo asks, “Favorite color?”

Carina thinks, “Um…red.”

“Cremation or burial?” Jo scoffs at Amber’s question both amused and horrified.

Carina chuckles, “What? Do you think ICE is curious on whether I know my wife wants her body in ashes or in a casket?”

Amber helps Carina set up a sheet on a gurney that serves as an exam table, “Hey you said to cover all the basis and ICE are a bunch of macho rednecks who want to keep America pure. And that includes kicking good doctors like you back to your home country.”

“Yeah, she makes a point Carina.” Travis joins in from the exam room next door, “And if you’re an American you can vote for anybody but Michael Dixon as mayor of Seattle. Unless you want your future kid taken from you because of some law he passes where gay couples can’t raise babies together.”

“Great start to an smear campaign Montgomery.” Amber tells him sarcastically.

“I’m sorry it’s just that it frustrates me that politicians like Michael Dixon are so focused on how they can flex their power instead of how they can use that power to tackle real issues like immigration or healthcare or literally every issue that Dixon makes worse.”

“He’s not gonna win.” Jo tells Travis who is still fuming.

“You don’t know that. I mean look at the guys we already have in the white house, I’m sure some of them have done twice as many crimes as Dixon and yet people voted for them.”

Amber nods in agreement, “This argument is exactly why I am apolitical.”

Sullivan chuckles a few feet from them joining in to Carina’s annoyance, “Yeah politics are too confusing for me, it’s why I hardly vote.” Amber and Jo look at Sullivan confused, and he steps forward to introduce himself. Travis sees a disaster coming and quickly walks away, “Hi, Lieutenant Robert Sullivan.”

Jo shakes his hand, “Hi I’m Dr. Jo Karev, this is my sister, Dr. Amber DeLuca.” Amber faces Robert with a sly grin remembering him in less than favorable ways.

Robert nods remembering her as well, “Right we actually met before at Maya and Carina’s wedding you went there as guy DeLuca’s date.”

“Oh yeah I remember you.” Amber says with a fake grin, “You’re the cutthroat son of a bitch who got Maya demoted at her wedding.”

Sullivan frowns at that in surprise at her bluntness as she continues, “My husband described you that first which is usually expected of me, so it is impressive you got my peaceful man that angry.” Carina grins proudly at her sister-in-law defending Maya out of view from the group while Jo stands next to Amber looking uncomfortable.

Robert frowns at that, “I see I have fans with Bishops extended family as well.”

“Trust me you don’t, along with the new fire chief we imagined your head exploding from your macho ego.” Robert opens his mouth to explain but Amber holds up her hand and continues, “And before you mansplain to get me on your side, I recommend you save it because I already hate you and I am hardly a person who changes their mind after one speech.”

Robert frowns at that and keeps quiet as Amber turns to Jo who presses her lips at the scene before facing Amber, “I’m gonna set up more exam rooms.”

Jo supports that wanting her not to cause a scene, “You do that.” Amber walks away from them leaving Sullivan with Jo and Carina who comes back to them with a satisfied grin.

Robert pops his mouth, “She seems nice.”

Carina chuckles at that knowing how her sister-in-law can seem to strangers and people she detests, “Trust me that was her being nice especially towards you.” Carina walks away from Sullivan to get more supplies.

Jo and Sullivan stand there for a moment alone awkwardly before Jo speaks, “I’m gonna…” Jo walks away from Sullivan relieved to be away from the awkwardness.

Next Part Here

[nosferatvpussy]

distorted lullabies [chapter IX]

Word count: 8,916

Warnings: vulgar language, and, um... things get heated. Read next to someone at your own risk. Sincerely, me. (This is valid advice to every single chapter).

Pairing: Dracula x female reader

AO3 link

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In all fairness to him, Count Dracula remained quiet during most of our trip but not without staring at me from time, as though he was waiting for me to cave under his gaze and explain myself for what I had said. 

I glanced at him as he made a turn towards Blackwall Tunnel and smiled when he immediately frowned at the row of cars in front of us. London traffic wasn’t something he was used to, I supposed. Blackwall Tunnel ran underneath the River Thames, towards Greenwich, and I began listing in my head all of our possible destinations since he wasn’t kind enough to tell me where we were headed. After little more than 10 minutes without moving more than a couple of metres, I heard him mutter in another language; curses, by the sound of it. As I drummed my fingers on my knee, I let out a chuckle.

“What's so funny?” 

“You, an immortal being, annoyed because you’ve been sitting in traffic for more than 5 minutes. I thought you would have learnt patience after centuries.”

A hand still on the wheel, Dracula leaned closer. While every instinct told me to meet him halfway, I shrank on my seat to save me the temptation. I met his heated stare with one I hoped was just as intimidating. His lips tugging up told me he didn’t regard me like that at all. 

“I only have patience for some matters.” His hand fell on my knee, overtop my own hand, as to clarify his words.

Thanking myself for choosing trousers earlier that day, I slipped my hand from his. If I had been wearing a skirt, things could have gone very differently. 

“I hope you mean it,” I started, dreading my next words. “Because Renfield says otherwise.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Dracula said as he removed his hand and swiveled his head to look in front of us, allowing the car to roll forward. 

I should’ve kept quiet if I wanted to harbour fear against him but I found no space for it inside me. 

“He said you’ll grow tired–”

“And I said not to listen to him, Y/N. He’s jealous.”

“Doesn’t mean he’s wrong, though,” I said. He simply shook his head, so I continued. “At the museum, you said you won’t kill me. Did you mean it?”

“Yes.”

“Will you hurt me–” I interrupted myself. Suddenly, I didn’t want to know the answer to that question. If he said yes then it would only solidify another reason I had to hate him. And what good would that do when reason couldn’t appeal to my attraction to him?

“Only if you ask me to.” His voice sounded thick, coated with nothing more but desire.

Startled, I blinked. 

“Not where I was going with this,”  I muttered while a tiny part of me added but good to know .

“The answer is no. I won’t hurt you if I become impatient, which I don’t think will happen, by the way,” he said. I opened my mouth but he was quicker. “I want you by my side and I want you to take the decision by yourself. I’ve taken what or who I wanted, when I wanted and however I wanted my entire life. It gets boring after awhile.”

“And I don’t bore you?”

“Not one bit. You’re not exactly predictable.”

“Is that the only reason you’re so adamant about–” I frowned, trying to pick the best words.

“Having you?” he offered in a low voice, gazing at me once he hit the brakes. I nodded lightly. “Not the only one, no.”

I stared at him, searching his face or posture for a tell that he was lying. After years of interviewing clients, cross examining witnesses and debating with prosecutions, I would say I was very good at picking up lies. Either Count Dracula rarely lied or I was too dense to pick up his tells from his years of practice. What mattered was that I believed him when he said that. 

I relaxed on my seat, satisfied that I was more to him than simply a distraction to soothe his centuries–long boredom. While I knew full well that I shouldn’t be pleased with that, I also knew that it was only human of me to feel glad that he liked me beyond my looks or my ability to entertain him. I almost asked him what were the other reasons but, running the risk of hearing something I wouldn’t be equally as pleased with, decided against it.

“Okay,” I settled for saying.

A knot in my chest untied itself and breathing suddenly became easier. We fell into silence, albeit a surprisingly comfortable one, for the rest of the trip. 

Greenwich Park made me lean forward on my seat and crane my neck to try getting a better look at it past Count Dracula. Light poles scattered here and there only alluded to the expanse of the green field extending at our right. Where light didn’t touch, it was pure pitch black. As the car kept moving, chestnut trees came into view at the very edge of the park illuminated only by tiny lamps hidden between brushes. I’d been there enough times to know that some days you couldn’t get more than 10 paces without bumping into someone. It was odd to see it utterly empty and enveloped by dark, like it was forgotten by all during the night. From this angle I could see nothing of the city and for a moment Greenwich Park existed beyond the touch of modernity, beyond the touch of people. As we slid to a stop, the gate that led to the park came into view as did a security guard, breaking the impression.

“I’ve never been in this part of the city at night,” I stated.

Dracula set the car in reverse and paralleled parked like he had been doing it for years instead of weeks. Presumably, he had picked up that skill from feeding on someone’s blood. Considering he had bought a car, he had most likely also bought his driving license since he couldn’t have completed driving lessons in less than 2 months. 

“Why not?” He asked after he was finished. 

“Never thought of coming here after dark,” I shrugged. “People usually stay to watch the sunset and leave,” I pointed at a group of people leaving the park, filing past the car, oblivious to us watching them. “I bet it’s quiet now.”

“You’ll see.” 

Before I could say more, Dracula turned off the car and left, disappearing in a blink. I spared myself from being surprised when my door was opened and he offered me a large hand. He’d moved that fast before, when we went to Camden, only then I didn't know how he’d done it. I slid my hand into his and he used his grip as leverage to pull me towards him and slam the door in one motion. I tipped my head to look at him, seeing the sly grin in his face, looking very happy with himself that he’d made my heart jump as I realised how close we were. 

I tried taking my hand back but all that did was make Dracula hold it tighter and raise it between us. My hand looked ridiculously small compared to his. He shifted his grip so his thumb rested on my palm and his fingers brushed my knuckles. There was a dragon emblazoned in the ring on his fourth finger; I tried to read the inscription surrounding it but was distracted by Count Dracula stepping forward. I staggered to keep distance between us, my back hitting the car and evoking the memory of him pressing me against my front door as he kissed me. 

“Let’s not fool around. The park will close any minute now,” I told him in a low voice, more out of need to say something in an attempt to keep my body from reacting to his presence.

“So I’m yours but you can’t be mine? Doesn’t seem fair to me.”

I frowned, waiting for my brain to catch up on how that was a valid reply to what I had just said, but then I remembered the episode with Chelsea and Sarah.

“I knew that would come back to bite me in the ass,” I muttered. Dracula arched a black eyebrow, seemingly interested in the idea. “It’s an expression! Don’t get it twisted,” I said quickly, fighting a nervous smile and feeling proud of myself that I was able to. I used my free hand to push at his chest, to no effect. “I only said that to keep them away from you. I imagine it would be a little incriminating if the people I know, especially the ones I don’t care much for, started showing up dead.”

“That’s it?” He asked, pressing his thumb to my palm. His nail needled my flesh and I gasped at the danger of it breaking my skin. A steely grip kept me from escaping but he relaxed the pressure on my palm. The tip of my fingers brushed his chin in my attempt to escape and I curled them down, choosing to wrap my hand around his instead of caressing his bottom lip like I felt the urge to. “Because, you see, I’ve gotten quite good at deciphering your pulse and I don’t remember it changing when you said that earlier.”

Cold fingers touched my waist through the thin fabric of my blouse, sending a shiver up my spine. His hand wandered to my lower back, touch light as a feather as he played with the blouse’s hem. I grit my teeth, staring defiantly at him. The only way to escape his touch was if I moved my hips forward, which meant I would be forced to fit my body to his. I stood stock still as his fingers found my skin underneath my clothing, trailing up my spine and building another chill.

“Don’t read too much into it,” I told him, emboldened by how much in control I was of my body tonight. “Ever heard that joke about lawyers? How can you tell a lawyer–”

“– is lying? Because their lips are moving?” he completed with a smirk. “No, no, no. You lie to yourself, darling. But never to me. Never–” his knee parted my legs, allowing a hard rock thigh to rub against my most sensitive part, prompting a throb to begin there “–to me.”

I could’ve broken his hand with how tight I clasped it. He grunted in response and I wondered if I had indeed broken something. If I had, it didn’t seem to faze him because he continued moving. I shut my eyes, wanting to ignore the triumph I saw in his face when my hips bucked of their own volition. Reminding myself that we were out in the open, mere feet away from a security guard, I pursed my lips to stifle a moan as pleasure spread slowly through my body with every move of his thigh. 

His lips touched my cheek briefly but what made my eyes fly open was the sudden emptiness between my legs. Our bodies were no longer moulded together, with the exception of our interlaced hands. Dark eyes regarded me smugly as Dracula licked his lips, a taunting smile coming to life when I stared back at him, mortified that I had let this happen and seething with rage because he had stopped. 

“I believe we only have twenty minutes now, before the park closes,” he said, smoothing down his crumpled shirt with his free hand. “Ah, look what you’ve done to me.” He turned the hand still laced with mine to show me his thumb, now marked with several half–moons my nails had left on his skin and probably the reason he had grunted. 

I snatched my hand from his and, this time, he let me. The lingering throb between my legs made me avoid his hard stare. If I needed any more reason to believe he was evil incarnate, this was it. Teasing me with what I could have, leading me to the edge of bliss and then wrenching it away like it was nothing. I would have begged for more, too, had I not seen the smug expression on his face. I wasn’t granting him that satisfaction nor was I doing that disservice to my pride. 

“Payback for the museum?” I asked, collecting myself as I pushed forward, putting more force in my stride than needed. 

“If you want to see it that way.” He followed me to the gate. “I was thinking more along the lines of what you’re missing.”

“Your ego is extraordinarily, uh–” big? Like I hoped all of him was? 

Unsexy thoughts, that’s what I needed to get through this. Queen Elizabeth and Prince Philip having senile sex. The orcs from Lord of the Rings; oh, Viggo Mortensen was hot as Aragorn. Shit! It wasn’t working.

“You were saying?”

“Nothing,” I hissed.

Count Dracula grasped my elbow, keeping me from darting through the gate, and laced my arm with his in true gentlemanly fashion, placing a hand over mine. I shot him a cold look as he forced me to slow down to a stroll but he didn’t catch it, too busy nodding politely at the guard.

“Don’t take long, you two,” said the man, nodding back with a rather respectful yet amused gaze. 

I presumed that meant he had watched the show. Raising my chin, I cast him a derisive glance and he looked away.

As the Count and I walked, I tried regulating my breath and counting down from 10 several times to calm myself. We made a turn to our right, following one of the most lit paths, and were confronted with the famous Greenwich view. It was like seeing it for the first time, all those years ago when I’d come here as a kid. London’s skyline tipped in the horizon, the lights from Canary Wharf seeming tiny in the distance, nevertheless shining bright through the low clouds on the night sky and reflecting on the Thames. On this side of the river, yards down Greenwich Park’s hill, the Queen’s House, now a museum, and the Old Royal Naval College posed a stark contrast in all their symmetry and antique architecture, now softly highlighted by yellow illumination.

“That’s–” I searched for a word that felt appropriate but my brain was still slow after what had happened near the car, so what came out of my mouth was “–wow.”

“What do you see?” He asked me, tilting his head in my direction.

I glanced at him to see what he was doing but his gaze was focused on the view.

“Same as you.”

“No, I see more. Tell me what you see.”

Furrowing my brows, I did as he asked. He simply hummed in response when I was done. I waited to see if he would elaborate on that but his silence indicated that he wanted me to ask. 

“How is it different to what you see?” I inquired, trying to keep annoyance off my tone.

“I don’t see much of the night’s darkness, as you put it. These eyes”– he touched a finger to his temple– “have grown used to it just as yours have to sunlight. The night is as bright to me as day is for humans. For you the view is beautiful, isn’t it?” He looked at me and I nodded, wondering where he was going with this. “But not astonishing?” I shook my head in denial. “After centuries, I could have never dreamt of seeing something like this. I’m still not used to it… How ethereal modernity can be yet so utterly redundant to people who have seen it become what it is.” 

He gestured as he talked, beginning to walk again and dragging me with him. I was more than happy to follow his gait, trying to understand what he meant. He could be contemptuous and infuriating most of the time but, after that night at my house I’d also learned that he could be interesting company. I wouldn’t get another opportunity to talk with someone who had lived through most of humanity’s grand conquests and failures any time soon. Because of that, I put all of my resentment for him aside and simply listened. 

“Was it not the same way in the past? Didn’t people grow accustomed to new things as they do now?”

“Accustomed? Nobody had the opportunity to get accustomed to anything . They were too busy dying young in wars or from starvation. You must remember I lived in a time where most progress was made only decades before I sunk with that ship. Before that, Europe was stuck in the Dark Ages; I quite like the name people give it now. Suits it. I had just begun consuming modern, truly advanced knowledge when I ended up at the bottom of the sea. I woke up dying to meet this age through new blood but now, it’s too easy because of these things,” he showed me his phone, flashing it on for a second before slipping it back in his jacket. “Everyone knows everything. Hardly anything is surprising to them.”

“It’s easy for you, too,” I said, thinking about how he navigated London's streets with ease and his texts to me considering he had spent the last hundred years asleep. 

“Yes because I’ve learned how. I’d expect most things would hold the same fascination for me as it does for humans but the majority of people I drink from is so–”

“Jaded?” I offered and he nodded. “You sound like it. May want to think of varying your diet if you want some real joie de vivre .”

“Are you offering to help?” His grip on me tightened but I ignored it, choosing to let my eyes wander on the landscape around us instead of acknowledging his taunt. I’d walked right into that one, hadn’t I? 

“I don’t count. I’m jaded, like everybody else.”

“That’s not what I remember from your blood,” he retorted. Dracula’s words instantly slowed down my pace and I risked a glance in his direction. Eyes blazing red made me stop. I started averting my gaze but I knew he wouldn’t simply drop this. As I had learned from his teasing not 10 minutes ago, he rarely dropped a subject when he brought it up. Might as well face it. When I stared at his eyes, they were black again.

“If I’m not jaded, what am I then?” I asked him.

“Drained.”

“Really, vampire puns?” I rolled my eyes but I was smiling stupidly.

He chuckled, sounding more like a purr. 

“Tired, weary, spent, worn out– choose whatever you want to call it. You still manage to enjoy things but not as you once did, that much I know. From time to time something breathes new life into you and that’s what keeps you going. The promise of excitement. Even if it’s something you think it’s silly like a new book or a song that touches your soul. So, no, you’re not jaded, Y/N.”

I scowled, an unknown rage swirling inside of me.

“Excitement? That is silly. I’m not sixteen anymore. No, you’re wrong. My job is what keeps me going, my ability to–”

“Is it? Routine is pleasant to you? Wallowing in the very worst of what humanity has to offer everyday as you assist criminals?”

“I don’t always assist criminals,” I began, words lashing out in anger. “I’ll have you know–”

“I already know everything.” He drew his brows together, giving me a languid smile which faded as he proceeded. “Y/N, all you’ve longed for your entire life is excitement, something different from the usual. Why do you think you defend killers? You could’ve become a prosecutor, surely.” He clucked his tongue, like he was tasting something in his mouth. “You even had the opportunity but it wouldn’t be as fun, would it? Imagine that, being an average lawyer in London. That would be unbearable for you. But not even defending challenging cases fulfills you anymore. Nothing does.”

“Don’t presume to know me just because you drank my blood.” I raised my forefinger finger at him when he opened his mouth; for a second I thought he would bite it off but I didn’t cower. “And don’t interrupt me again. Listen, and listen to me very clearly now. Everything that you know about me, you know because you took it from me. So, what you don’t get to do is twist my– my memories, feelings or whatever it is you drank, into truths that suit you and then throw them in my face.”

“But I’m not wrong, am I?” He said, matching my anger with scary calm. “You want something more from life. It’s all so very boring that you had to make a deal with me. A vampire.”

He wasn’t entirely wrong. However, I didn’t like hearing truths I hardly ever thought of, so deep were they buried in the back of my mind, being voiced by the one person who had no business understanding them. After what he had just unveiled, he understood parts of me I hadn’t explored enough to feel comfortable with, yet. And while it was oddly relieving not needing to explain my musings about life, it was also despairing knowing Count Dracula was the only person ever who would be able to see the world through my eyes.

Was life so trite that I’d made a deal with him in a subconscious craving for excitement? If this was so, I should’ve tried rock climbing first; that would pose less danger than being involved with him. I would explore all of that later, preferably in the company of a very good therapist. Now, I had to drown that whirlwind inside of me or I would peel out of that park in tears. 

“Will my blood fade from your memory, in time?” I asked. 

Dracula’s gaze bore into mine with such intensity that I wondered how I managed not to fold under it. 

“If I don’t drink from you again, in a couple of weeks everything will be gone from here,” he said, tapping his temple with two fingers. Gone. Like I’d never existed. “But I’ll remember.”

His last words made my heart flutter and I sighed inwardly. I knew that feeling and it wasn’t the bond. It was by far more dangerous, which was why I had to get away from him. However, I was too far into this conversation to back down. 

“What does it taste like? Blood?”

His brows shot up for a second but then his features relaxed and only one eyebrow went up. 

“Not everyone tastes the same so it’s difficult to explain. Think of it like wine.” He made a flourish with his hand while he laced his arm with mine again, continuing our path downhill. “Yours tastes–”

“You’re not talking to me about how I taste,” I interrupted at once, acutely aware of how quickly he would be able to exploit that and turn it into a suggestive topic. “Do you need blood in order to survive or do you crave it?”

“Both. It’s not just the taste, Y/N. Although the taste is certainly appealing. It’s the sensation it provides,” as he spoke, a hand covered my own, fingers lightly stroking my skin. “The rush warm blood gives is unimaginable. Everything becomes hazy, as if I’m not here, in this world. Blood lulls me into dreams I haven’t been able to experience since I was human.” He sighed. “It’s a never ending chase for pleasure, for a glimmer of life … Constant desire.”

I almost opened my mouth to compare what he had described to hard drugs but it seemed reductive. I had never tried anything of the sort but I doubted it compared. To live with a blinding need at all times, that must be nearly unbearable. Dracula didn’t seem to think so, however. If his tongue licking his bottom lip was any indication, he was thoroughly infatuated by it. It wasn’t simply food or an addiction. I trailed my tongue inside my mouth, absently copying him.

“Would you like to taste mine?” He asked in a low voice.

I was so surprised at his question and how he managed to pick up on my thoughts, that I accidentally nipped my tongue in my effort to hide what I’d been doing.

We were only a few feet away from entering a path flanked by cherry blossom trees and that’s where I kept my eyes as I searched desperately for something to say. Although there were little to no flowers this time of year, there were still plenty of leaves secluding the path in stygian darkness. 

“I’ve sucked my fingers after papercuts enough times to know what blood tastes like to me,” I managed to say, only the slightest tremble marking my words.

“It won’t taste the same,” Dracula assured. 

I’d be a big fat liar if I said I wasn’t at least a tiny bit curious about that statement. A savage part of me wanted to take him up on his offer and drink from him like he’d done with me. I attributed that desire to the bond. But it was a rather rational part of me that suggested that this was a good way to lead him on until Zoe and I decided to advance with our plan; it soothed the worry over my unexpected curiosity about the taste of Count Dracula’s blood.

“What’s the catch?” 

“The catch?” He echoed.

Under the cherry blossoms, we were fully encased in darkness and I had trouble seeing much further than past the next row of trees. When I turned my head to look at Dracula, all I could see was the sharpness of his jaw and the accentuated profile of his nose.

“Yes, the downsides of drinking your blood, what’s written between the lines. That thing that’ll probably make me say ‘fucking hell’ when I find out about it and will, somehow, make you win.”

He laughed. 

“There is no catch.”

“Are you lying to me? I can’t tell in the dark.”

“I want you to trust me, Y/N. Lying would be counterproductive.”

A little too much to ask but I kept my mouth shut about it.

“How will it affect me?”

“It won’t have any effect unless you drink too much of it. How does a drop sound to you?” 

Hoping to God or whatever higher power listening that this wasn’t a mistake, I grabbed Dracula’s arm with both hands and forced us to stop walking. I blinked, trying to adjust my eyes to the dark and see his face above me. 

“ One drop,” I said, still blinking repeatedly until his features started to materialise. “Anymore than that and the date is over.”

The first thing I was able to make out was the carmine in his eyes, nearly glowing in the dark. I waited for the fear to come but when the hairs on the back of my neck stood up, I knew all too well that had nothing to do with being frightened. For a moment those eyes merely watched me. Then Dracula rose his hand, deathly pale even in the dark, and opened his mouth to give me a glimpse of fangs that almost touched his bottom lip. He pressed his thumb to one of those fangs until a dark liquid seeped out of the small wound. I started raising my hand to catch the drop before gravity decided to act but Count Dracula was faster. His thumb touched my bottom lip, applying the slightest pressure like he was enticing me to open my mouth and taste his blood. 

My heart leapt to my throat. While the thought that it wasn’t too late to stop this occurred to me, I knew wholeheartedly that I didn't want to stop. I matched his gaze with my own, although his was filled with unspoken desire that made something lower in me clench. 

Another prodding brush of his thumb made my lips part. My tongue flicked out to steal a taste but it wasn’t enough. I inhaled deeply and tried again. This time, Dracula eased his finger inside my mouth and I automatically sucked it, allowing my tongue to lap up his blood and drawing out more. Although it was unnaturally cold and viscous, what surprised me the most was how little it tasted like iron. Instead I was met with a far sweeter flavour, although sharp. A smirk came over me as he hissed through his teeth and his upper lip curled. I wrapped my lips around his thumb one last time, making sure I hadn’t wasted anything, and then stepped back, pulling his hand away as I did so. 

“All done,” I told him, more than happy that I’d been able to elicit a reaction to get back at him for earlier. 

“You’re not making it easy to abide by your rules,” he muttered through his unnerving jagged teeth, flickering red eyes to my lips as he rubbed his thumb with his forefinger.

“Comes with the turf.”

Dracula swiftly closed the remaining distance between us. For a moment I thought he would ignore the same rules he had just cited but then his gaze shifted to the magnetic black I’d grown to appreciate. He smoothed my hair back, burrowing his hands in it and leaning closer. My breath caught in my chest. Shouldn’t have teased him , I berated myself without a twinge of regret. If he kissed me, that was it; I was done for. I held onto his arms, unsure if I was preparing myself to shove him away or to be embraced by him. 

Dracula whirled his head to the side, a vicious yet low growl coming out of his throat. As I turned to see what he was mad about, a harsh beam of light struck us, making me squint and raise a hand to shield my eyes.

“Oi! The park’s closing! You gotta leave!” Shouted a heavily accented voice from afar, holding the light’s source, a torch. “Now!”

“That’s rude,” Dracula grumbled, eyes slowly acquiring a tinge of carmine again.

“He’s just doing his job,” I said, although I agreed that the man could have approached this another way. The Count didn’t seem to hear me so I poked his ribs. “No eating the security guard,” I whispered.

That got his attention and he glanced at me with a frown. His irises were somewhere between black and red, giving it a funny shade of brown.

“Y/N, once again, I don’t eat people,” he bit out only so I could hear but he kept his stare past the lightbeam. “I drink them. Slowly and painfully if they deserve it. He seems to be volunteering, wouldn’t you say so?” His voice gained such a petrifying tone that I hoped I would never be at the receiving end of his anger.

“Nobody is volunteering, Dracula,” I yanked his blazer as I spoke. I clasped his hands and stroked his thumb, trying to make him focus on me and not on the guard. His gaze settled on me, more precisely on my neck. “You want me? Then don’t kill someone during a date.” 

Dracula straightened, gaining his regal posture back as an impassive look came over his features. How quickly he shifted from hungry, merciless creature to a perfect picture of civility startled me. I wasn’t sure which part of him was real. 

“I’m not saying it again! Leave!”

“We’re going, officer,” Dracula affirmed, sounding collected but when he spoke again the tinge of threat marked his words. “Put the light away from our faces.”

“Please,” I added. 

The man shone the beam on the field, past the cherry blossoms lane. Relief made me breathe easier and I entwined my arm with Dracula’s as a guarantee that he wouldn’t attack the man. Futile effort, probably, but I wasn’t letting him go just to watch him tear someone apart because we’d been interrupted.

We made our way back towards the guard. As we started turning to go up the hill, the guard called after us. Dracula and I turned to look at him, and I noticed that wasn’t the same man who had greeted us on the way in. 

“That gate is already closed,” he told us in a much more temperate manner. “The one by the river is still open. I’ll accompany you there.” He said something else under his breath that I didn’t catch but Dracula’s hiss told me he’d heard it. 

“Ignore him,” I muttered. 

“Not an easy task when you’re hungry. You’ll understand once you’re my bride.” He flashed me a smile that managed to be both feral and seductive. It was a thin line between the both for whatever concerned him and yet the combination didn’t seem so odd. 

As we followed the guard down the rest of the hill, Dracula’s words rang in my head. Once you’re my bride , he’d said with such certainty that only confirmed that I couldn’t do this; I couldn’t surrender like Renfield had suggested. Drinking his blood was a step too far, one I knew I couldn’t take back. My tongue swiped at my cheeks, looking for a residual taste of that rich liquid but it had faded. I had a temper, alright, but it had never driven me to actually consider murder. For the Count, that option came all too easily. I didn’t want to understand his thirst for blood if I had to kill in order to quench it.

Zoe’s pill simply had to work when it was done. But, first, Count Dracula would have to agree to accompany me to the wedding in Berkeley. I peered at Dracula and saw that he was still stabbing daggers with his eyes at the guard.

“What are your plans next week?” I asked, craning my neck to look at him. He spared me a glance but I insisted. “For our next date. You usually plan things, don’t you?”

“Yes but I’m not telling you. I enjoy surprising you.”

“And I enjoy your surprises,” I said and he threw me another glance, though this one was wry with humour. “More or less. You’re not subtle but you know that. If you’ve got something planned, cancel it.”

Then he turned his head to really look at me. 

“Why?” 

“A friend– no, that's a lie. Someone I know is getting married next weekend. I’d like you to come with me.”

“You’ve never invited me anywhere,” he remarked and then grinned. “Oh, is it working? Am I actually bending that iron will of yours that now you want to spend time with me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I snapped. “You don’t stand a chance.” He cocked an eyebrow at that. “Renfield suggested I take you; I’m surprised he hasn’t told you about this,” I looked at the Count for confirmation and he shook his head in denial. “The bride and I… don’t get along, you could say. Basically, I want you to come with me because I’m petty when it comes to her and you’ll be excellent company to annoy her on the special day. ”

“So I’ll be” –he squinted– “ arm candy ?”

“Your words, not mine. Will you come?”

“Yes,” he said without thinking twice. Good. I didn’t know if he trusted me or if he simply didn’t regard me as dangerous but I would need more of that swift acquiescence so Zoe’s plan could work. “When is the wedding?”

“Next Saturday. It starts at dusk so I gather the sun will still be out. I have to be there for the ceremony but it’s fine if you arrive during the reception. I’ll find other ways to entertain myself until then,” I wiggled my brows at him jokingly and he glared at me. He didn’t need to know I intended to entertain myself with booze, and not the company of another man. “You’ll have to travel up north, by the way. The wedding’s at Berkeley Castle. I hope it’s not an issue.”

“A castle? Are we attending an aristocrat’s wedding?”

I laughed. 

“Evelyn wishes but no, she's not even remotely close to aristocracy. She rented the place, that’s all.” The look of disbelief on his face made me snort. “Welcome to the 21st century, people rent castles to get married and can divorce the next day if they want to.”

He muttered under his breath, something to do with this generation’s little regard for tradition. Considering he wanted nothing to do with christianity, I doubted Count Dracula held values about traditional marriage, so I took that as a critique towards the rented castle.

Ahead of us, the security guard waited with a hand on the gate, seemingly desperate for our departure so he could leave, too. If only he knew how lucky he’d been, he wouldn’t be scowling. Across the street stood the Queen’s House and past that, the imposing Old Royal Naval College.

“Let’s go over there,” I pointed at the College. “I’ve never seen it up close at night and I heard the grounds stay open until late. Will I ruin your plans for the rest of the night if we go?”

“I had a dinner reservation for you at 9pm but if you prefer–”

“I’m not hungry,” I interrupted. “There are tons of restaurants in London to choose from later if I change my mind. Come on.”

Count Dracula allowed me to drag him along. After passing the Queen’s House, we had a full view of the staggeringly large assembly of buildings that was the Old Royal Naval College. A thick veil of fog hung heavily on the riverbank, swallowing everything around us in its gloom. I’d expected to visit the place in all its splendor and to glimpse the glittering lights reflecting on the Thames but London’s weather wasn’t agreeable to my wishes. Still, it didn’t take away any of its beauty but added a weirdly inviting sense to it. In horror movies, people always died when they went into the big scary places, which was what Old Royal Naval College reminded me of right now. If I’d been alone, I would have turned back and left, but arm–in–arm with a vampire, it felt nothing short of appropriate. 

“It’s half museum, half university,” I explained as we entered through the East Gate. “Greenwich College holds a few courses here.”

At our left, two buildings etched in white stone rose over our heads, identical in their baroque architecture, each of them bearing a domed tower that faced towards a large symmetric square with a single sculpture in the center. A few yards beyond them stood the Queen’s House, centered between the buildings, with an unobstructed view of the River Thames, were it not for the heavy fog.

“I think most of this side is the museum,” I pointed at the buildings to our right, smaller in stature and much less imposing than the ones to our left but still fairly beautiful. “It used to be a training facility for the royal navy a long time ago so the museum is solely focused on navigation. You might like it, you’re very acquainted with life on water,” I teased.

“I’m staying away from ships for the next hundred years,” Dracula grumbled, making me laugh. He glared at me but I shrugged, not making any effort to mask my amusement. “You didn’t study here.”

“No. It was too far from my home to be an option but I liked coming here as a child and pretending I was–” I eyed him, suddenly feeling foolish. I’d almost told him I enjoyed pretending I was a princess. What would my childhood memories matter to him? He stared at me expectantly but I’d gotten a look at a plaque behind his head and immediately forgot about my concerns. “They reopened the Painted Hall!”

Dracula turned around to our left, walking slowly towards the sign hung next to a huge door carved in wood, leading inside the baroque tower from one of the symmetric courts. A photo was stamped next to the announcement that the restoration was done and I gazed at it, fighting the urge to close my eyes and try to recapture from memory the fresco ceiling and walls. 

“I’m definitely coming here tomorrow,” I told him, squeezing his arm so I wouldn’t jump up and down in excitement. “It was gorgeous before, so I can only imagine what it looks like now.”

Dracula smiled at me, eyes gleaming mischievously. 

“Does this door lead there?” 

“Yes,” I said, furrowing my brows when his smile grew bigger. He started pulling me up the steps. “What are you doing?”

“Going inside. The sun hampers my opportunity to come here along with everybody else, and I want to see it now.”

He placed a powerful hand on the door’s handle and I grabbed him, trying to pull him away from the door but he didn’t budge. 

“It’s closed. What’s with you and places you’re not supposed to go in?” I asked, looking around us to see if there was anyone watching us. The misty white blanket surrounding us made me strain my eyes to see past a couple of metres. If there was anyone around here, they wouldn’t be seeing much of anything. “V&A Museum, that night at my house and now this. Can’t you behave?”

“Nobody has fun if they behave all the time, Y/N,” he leaned his weight on the door. “I do my best to misbehave. You should try it more often.” 

A slight push with his shoulder and there was an audible crack before the door creaked open.  

“We’re going to get arrested,” I shrilled, staring at the open door in shock. I wasn’t sure if I was more surprised at how easily he’d opened it or that he actually did it.

“Aren’t you curious?” 

Of course I was. Much like the date at V&A, this was a once in a lifetime opportunity, but contrary to that, Dracula had just broken inside a building that was almost as old as him. No bribery, nothing; just because he felt like it. His words from earlier flashed in my mind. He took what he wanted and when he wanted, and apparently that applied to anything. A touch of inhuman strength combined with immortality and irreverence, that put the world at his feet to do as he liked. Although becoming his bride was out of the question, it made me wonder if it would be that terrible, living forever. Starting over. Being completely free, not bound by societal rules. Having to fear nothing. 

Dracula pushed the door open slowly and I flinched, waiting for an alarm to ring but I heard nothing except the howling of the wind. His arm flashed inside in a movement too fast for my brain to comprehend, then I heard another crack and a zzt! that sounded a lot like a lamp exploding. A small device now stood in his grip, crushed beyond recognition.

“No alarm,” he said, sticking its remains in his pocket. Well, that was taken care of.

I bit my lip, anxious to dart inside and have not only a glimpse of what I knew was stored inside but also of the freedom I guessed the Count experienced in doing forbidden things like this.

“We’re trespassing a world heritage site,” I said, trying to ground myself. “Do you have any idea the implications of this for me? At best, I lose my license to practise. At worst–”

“Quit worrying. It’ll be fun!”

“What about cameras?”

“They’re not on, or I would have heard them. Nothing can beat a vampire’s ears. The British should be less trusting and set up better security, then again, not much can stop me,” he grinned. My internal conflict must’ve been stamped on my face because he stepped towards me and grabbed my arms, leaning down to level his eyes with mine; with his height that didn’t mean much, I still had to tip my head back to look at him. “There is not a beating heart around here, except for yours. You won’t get caught, and if the police suddenly decide to come, I’ll get you out before they so much take a step out of the car. Nothing will happen to you.” When he spoke his voice was unusually gentle but still held a tone of persuasiveness. 

I exhaled harshly. When he put it like that...

“Fine,” I conceded. 

Dracula flashed me another grin and then stepped back, fully pushing the door open and gesturing for me to enter first. 

Soft lights shining from beneath the dark stone columns in the vestibule instantly drew my eyes up to the soaring domed ceiling, adorned with a myriad of intricate designs made of what appeared to be gold. I twirled, admiring the newly found brightness that I didn’t remember from my last visit two years ago. When I finally stopped twirling, I was so dizzy that the winged women painted on the wall above the door seemed to be moving. 

“Y/N,” the Count called, voice echoing from behind me. “Come see.”

He sounded as marveled as I felt, and I rushed up the staircase’s shallow steps. It took all of my self control to keep my eyes down, saving the surprise until I had gone all the way inside the Painted Hall. 

“Oh!” Such a simplistic sound for what I was met with but no other words would suffice. 

Tipping my head back until my neck hurt, I walked slowly trying to encompass all the contents of the fresco on the high ceiling. I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going and I yelped when I bumped into something. That something was Dracula. He smiled at me briefly before tugging me towards a row of red leather cushioned benches at the center of the room. We lied down side by side, and for once I wasn’t worried about being so close to him. 

The shades of maroon and yellow, muted reds and blues, and blissful white and grey were so easily distinguishable now, even in the little light coming from small spotlights on the floor. Years ago they all appeared grey and dingy, uncared for. But everything seemed so… loved now. The warriors depicted in the fresco were renewed with strength and fierceness, and the figures on the losing side all the more desperate and helpless before them. 

“I feel so small,” I whispered as to not break the spell of wonder. “Do you?”

His only response was a grunt, and I chose to take that as yes. 

We stood in silence, simply gazing in awe at the masterpiece above us. I knew from my previous visit that the walls in the long hall were also painted but we were busy trapped in the ceiling’s beauty to pay any attention to the rest. Slowly, I became aware that high windows allowed a milky light caused by the fog to seep in, casting timeless shadows inside the room, detaching it from existence and wrapping me in a blanket of tranquility. 

I wasn’t sure how much time passed but when Dracula finally spoke, I was catapulted out of heaven back to the world around me.

“Britain’s Sistine Chapel.”

My chin grazed his shoulder when I turned to look at him. He laid with his hands over his chest, eyes intently focused up. The men in the paintings seemed chaste compared to him, even in their battle stance. 

“I’ve never been to the Sistine Chapel.”

“Me neither. I wager it wouldn’t be a pleasant stroll for me, with all those crucifixes ruining the place,” he snorted. “I’ve only seen it through the eyes of other people but this” –he made a wide gesture with his arm– “is fair competition.”

I was still staring at him. His sinuous profile, the shape of his mouth when he spoke, the shallow wrinkles on his temples, the sharp line from his jaw to his neck. But I really knew I was in big trouble when his voice reverberated inside the room and coalesced in my chest with warmth, causing my heartbeat to increase. 

Damn this stupid bond. A few days ago I could easily differentiate the bond from my feelings but now I wasn’t sure where the bond ended and my true self began. Had to be the bond acting up, and the opulent surroundings working its magic; had to be .

“Is there anyone else like you out there?” I questioned, seeking to explore the subject to remind me of his monstrosity. I’d already put on my courtroom face when he looked at me.

“Like me? Impossible,” he rolled his eyes as if he was baffled at the suggestion. “All this can’t be replicated easily, I imagine,” he swiped a hand over himself, smiling deviously. “Not to mention my phenomenal wits and–”

“Shut up,” I said, shaking with laughter. “You're the only person that can make cockiness charming, I swear.” Realising I had just paid him a compliment, which was not at all what I intended when I began this conversation, I hurriedly continued. “I meant to ask if there are more vampires.”

“No,” his smile diminished at the word. “As far as I know I’m the only one that still remains. I’ve tried making more, over the course of decades–” he sighed, “but all of them maintained only a shadow of their former selves. Husks that paid no mind to the world around them, except to feed– they didn’t possess much intelligence,” he paused, apparently in thought. “I was successful once but this… progeny of mine… proved to be too emotional to be of any use. So I disposed of him.”

The nonchalance in which he spoke about killing the very thing he’d made caused alarm bells to start ringing in my head, not to mention how worried I suddenly became for myself if he turned me into a vampire against my will. Would all of me disappear and be substituted by mindless hunger if he failed? What bothered me the most weren’t these remarks, though.

“Too emotional?” I asked, watching him intently.

“Yes, tiresome things– emotions,” disgust marred his words as he waved a hand. “They’re distracting, which was the case with Johnny, you see. He–”

“You’re so full of shit.”

He set his jaw and turned his head with leaden slowness to face me. If he was trying to intimidate me, it didn’t work. I smiled confidently at him, like I had just heard a judge announcing a winning verdict for the defense.

“What did you say?”

“You are full of shit,” I repeated, marking each syllable. “You expect me to believe that you’ve been trying to make a companion for centuries but don’t have any feelings?”

“I don’t expect you to believe anything. Those are hard facts.”

“Are they?” I challenged and Dracula narrowed his eyes. “It sounds to me that you’re lonely, Count. Why else go to such efforts to make someone else like you? Someone to share eternity with, someone that’ll understand everything–”  I remembered how I felt earlier at the park, that sense of unspoken comprehension and how much it hurt having my thoughts hurled at me by him. I forced myself to lay a hand on his cheek. “Someone that will see the world through your eyes.”

The thin line that his mouth had become softened. My victory only lasted a second before an insensible mask assumed his features.

“Darling,” he said, placing a hand upon mine. His eyes were blank, like he was seeing through me. “If you need to believe that I’m capable of feeling something to make eternal life in my company seem bearable then, be my guest. Honestly, I expected you were smarter than that.”

The coldness and cutting tone in his voice made my confidence fault for a moment. His denial to set Renfield free as I begged for him was proof that he could be an insensitive bastard. Maybe the Painted Hall’s beauty made me imagine things and seek things I couldn’t have. But I hadn’t hallucinated the painful sorrow in his eyes when he spoke of his wife only a few nights ago.

I smiled again because I knew something about him that he couldn’t hide behind his big scary vampire pose; Dracula learnt to see past my façade but he wasn’t the only with that skill.

“I am smarter than that,” I told him, sliding my hand from his and staring up at the ceiling with newly found eyes. 

Dracula stared at me for another moment but I resisted him, making conversation about the gods, kings and queens portrayed in the fresco until he lied down again and listened in gravely silence as I rambled about the details I remembered from my last tour. 

Not long after that he stated with no small dose of indifference that he had to take me home because his hunger had escalated and couldn’t spend any more time in my presence if he was to respect our deal.

I was still smiling triumphantly when I went to sleep that night.

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Taglist:

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[drgnsyr-blog]

Forget-me-not

So I was sitting around thinking about Wayward Sisters and what characters they might bring back and where there stories might go. And I came up with an idea. But I didn’t have time to write the whole, long fic that would be the actual Wayward Sister’s episode, so instead I wrote up the opening of what I imagine being the following week’s crossover with Supernatural. Here ya go: “Hey, someone’s at the door.” Sam sits down in front of his laptop and enlarges the screen showing the footage from the security camera by the front entrance. A distinctive tangle of blond curls fills the screen, followed by a scowl and a dainty hand flipping the bird as their waiting guest looks up at the camera impatiently. “It’s Claire!” Sam says, surprised. “Claire?” Dean asks, leaning over Sam’s shoulder to look at the laptop screen. Sam turns the laptop so Dean can get a better look, gesturing impatiently toward the screen. “Were we expecting Claire?” Dean asks as he pulls out his phone, checking to see if he missed any calls that might have warned him about the young woman’s arrival. “I mean, I wasn’t.” Sam says. Looking back at the screen he sees Claire, still on the stoop, impatiently waving a bottle of what seems to be Johnny Walker at the camera. “Huh, I guess we should let her in?” --------------------------------------- “Not that we aren’t happy to see you, Claire, but what brings you? I mean, without any sort of heads up?” Dean clearly tries not to sound accusatory, but is still clearly somewhat off-put by Claire’s sudden arrival in their normal routine. “Yeah, sorry about that I just … it’s not something I wanted to explain on the phone.” Claire doesn’t sound sorry. If anything she sounds frustrated, bordering on angry. Dean sort of shrugs and dismisses it as normal Claire, but Sam looks at her a little harder. “So yeah, I’ll get to that, but first …” She holds out the bottle and Sam reaches for it. “Thanks. But you know you don’t have to bribe us to open the door, right?” “Oh, that is not a gift, Sam. I fully intend to drink my share of it. I just thought it a good idea to wait until I wasn’t driving anymore before I started.” “I don’t think so -” Dean began, switching to his protective big brother voice, but he didn’t get far before Claire cut him off. “Oh no, not tonight, you don’t. I have friggin’ earned that drink so you -”  she declared, an emphatic finger pointing at Sam, still awkwardly holding the bottle “are going to pour us a round and you-” the finger, and accompanying glare shifted to Dean “are going to sit down and listen to why I need a drink.” Dean openshis mouth to protest, but a look from Sam shuts him up. Clearly, Claire has something she needs to get off her chest, and telling her she can't have a drink to help her deal with it involves being more of a hypocrite than he is willing to be in his own home. With a sardonic half bow, he gestures Claire toward the dining room and follows her to the table while Sam grabs a set of highballs. “So …” Dean begins, after they've all had a chance to sip their drinks, Claire maintaining spiteful eye contact with Dean as she sips the harsh liquor without a cough or sputter, “I’m pretty sure you said you were gonna tell me why you were here?” “Oh, I am,” Claire said, jaw clenching as she looks down at her drink and then back up at Dean. Her irritation with the man radiates off her and Sam looks confusedly between the two. Dean also had no idea what he’d done to piss the young woman off, but he meets her glare with his trademark vicious calm and she breaks her gaze away with a sigh. “So, I started college a few months back - “ “Congrats!” Sam says, his genuine enthusiasm for the news interrupting the story Claire had been gearing up to tell. She rolls her eyes at him while a small smile tugs at the corners of her mouth as she talks over whatever questions he was about to ask in order to continue. “Yeah, well, it’s just a state school, but it’s still got it’s urban legends? School is stressful and 18 year olds are unstable whether you’re going to Yale or KSU, so every college campus probably has its share of ghosts and summoned spirits and the like, right? Well, I was in the basement of one of the dorms investigating some suspicious drinking related deaths when I stumble across a fellow student who had also decided that the deaths seemed suspiciously ghost like.” “Wait, really?” Sam chimes in. “You met another hunter … at school?” Dean asks incredulously. “Well, I wouldn’t go so far as to call him a hunter,” Claire continues with a smirk. “His lore was sound, but I’m pretty sure he’d never fired a shotgun before I shoved one in his hands. Still, we ended up getting along pretty well on the case. And we got along really well once we hit the post banishing, hey-we-didn’t-die adrenaline rush, if you know what I mean.” Sam blushes slightly as Dean throws up his hands in protest. “Hey now, that is more information than I think we need. I could do without those kinds of details. Thanks.” “Oh no,” Claire replies, an almost vicious smile on her face. “No, you get all the uncomfortable details. I want you to be as uncomfortable as possible right now so that you can fully understand just how uncomfortable I was later.” Dean puts his hands down, his expression serious as he looks into Claire’s accusing stare. After a confused glance at Dean, Sam gestures for Claire to continue. With a small sigh, she returns to her story. “So anyway, after we had … relaxed a little, we are lying there and we start talking. You know, the typical getting to know you stuff. I explained how I got into investigating the Supernatural after my dad was abducted by an angel and then murdered during the apocalypse.” Dean and Sam both wince at the reference. “Turns out, his dad went missing, too.” “Really?” Sam asked, his interest caught. “Yeah, and in a way, his story is as weird as mine. Cause, the guy apparently was around as recently as a few years ago, but he has no memories of him.” Claire looks at Dean again, less angry now and more inquisitive. She watched his expression intently as a sinking feeling starts to grow in his stomach. “Wait, I don’t understand” Sam said, his focus on Claire, missing --or perhaps just ignoring-- the growing tension in Dean’s body. “That’s ‘cause I haven’t explained yet. See, all his life, he thought he just didn’t have a dad. Raised by a single mom in the suburbs; life was pretty good and he didn’t really stress about it. But when he was getting ready to go off to school he was poking around, looking for things he could back stuff up in, for mementos to take with him, that sort of crap.” Claire pauses, gathering her thoughts. Looking at the two men she shifts the conversation. “You know when you lose someone, or they leave, or you break up? And you can’t stand to see their face or the stuff that reminds you of them, but you can’t bring yourself to throw it away either? So you shove it all into a box and stick it in a dark hole where you can just pull it out when you feel like sobbing yourself to sleep sometimes. I have a box like that for my parents.” Sam looks at Claire, sympathetic, but Dean’s eyes skate away as his jaw clenches. “Anyway, when … my friend … was poking around the house, he found a box like that in his mom’s closet. It was filled with pictures of him, and his mom, and some guy he has no memory of.” “So, was he like, a baby?” Sam asks, casting another confused glance at Dean who is now gripping the arms rests of his chair tight enough to leave gouge marks. “No, that’s the weird thing. They were from, like, Middle School or something. From ‘right before we moved’ is how he described it. And it wasn’t like just one or two, like maybe he’d met the guy but it wasn’t that important and he forgot. It was like, tons of them. Even a couple from when he was younger.” Claire looks over at Dean, who can’t make eye contact with her. He stares over his shoulder, but she can still see the tears glittering in his eyes. She doesn't seem angry anymore, a sort of calm resignation settles into the other emotion’s place as she works to wrap up the story. “Anyway, I asked if he talked to his mom about it and he said he meant to, but he always forgot whenever they were together. This thing, that was so important to him that he had a near encyclopedic knowledge of memory spells and monsters that could mess with your thoughts, but he would just … forget about it when his mom was around.” Claire shakes her head. “Anyway, I told him I knew some people who might know more about memory spells than he could find at the local library, so he gave me one of the pictures in case it was useful as a sympathetic link or something.” As Claire reaches into her pocket Dean pushes himself out of his chair. She pulls out the folded photograph as Dean paces around, placing both hand on the back of the chair as he leans over it for support. His breath is ragged and he can't look at what Claire wa holding out to him. He manages to shake his head slightly before dropping his chin to his chest. Sam leans over and take the picture from Claire’s outstretched hand. He leans back in his chair and carefully unfolds it, being careful not to tear the worn photo paper.

[alexanderwrites]

Thoughts Roundup - Twin Peaks: The Return, Part 7

                               “There’s a body, alright”

A note: From here on out, i’m going to be rounding up my thoughts on new episodes of Twin Peaks: The Return week by week. I wrote a review of the first two episodes, but given my love for the show and the complexity of the episodes, typical reviews might be tricky, and it’d be a lot more fun to write in a looser format. So, i’m going to bullet-point my thoughts, which I promise will get boring and erratic.

. I’m really glad to see Jerry Horne again. He’s always been a favourite of mine, and even if this is pretty much all he does this season (which I imagine it will be), that’s good enough for me. Interesting that he mentions his car being stolen - there seems to be a lot about stolen cars this season. Whether they’re linked or just a common theme is open for debate. Maybe Frost or Lynch got their car nicked around the time of writing the series. 

. I absolutely adore Hawk having such a big part this series. It makes such logical sense that he’d have larger responsibilities within the department, and seeing him with the pages from Laura’s diary was immensely satisfying. The reference that Laura makes in the diary to the ‘dream’ she had of Annie is further reference to Fire: Walk With Me, which, if you haven’t seen it yet, is pretty much essential to this season so far. 

. I found it really interesting that Truman wasn’t surprised or confused at the mention of Cooper being trapped in the Black Lodge. He didn’t even ask what it was, so i’m guessing this was a chat the folks in the department had with him when he took the job. “Oh, b-t-dubs, there’s a gateway to what might be hell in the woods. Ask your brother about it And always make another pot of coffee if you finish it off”. I also found Truman, who until now hadn’t done much for me, pretty moving in his scenes tonight. His expression during his call to his terminally ill brother (we miss you, Harry! Kind of!) was rendered painfully on Robert Forster’s face - and I was really moved to see Doc Hayward, even briefly. He’s so visibly frail and old, and seeing all these old (and I mean OLD) faces really hits home the passing of time. There’s an everyday tragedy and pain in seeing it, made particularly poignant that Warren Frost (and several other cast members) passed away not so long ago. I keep wanting the Log Lady to come in with words of beauty and comfort about time passing and the world changing, but i’m not sure we’ll see her again (the actress, Catherine Coulson, passed away in 2015). It’s both saying hello, and goodbye, and the acknowledgement this show has always had that everything must pass is deeply affecting. I wasn’t expecting this series to make me ruminate on the nature of life and death so much. Thanks, assholes. 

Hayward talks about Cooper the morning he comes back from the Lodge - It’s so strange to hear the events of the morning that Cooper rammed his damn head into the mirror get discussed. It really drives home that the moment you’ve been thinking about for the past 2,000 years is getting some context and elucidation. It’s very, very cool. 

. Sheriff Truman pulls a small log-shaped handle and a computer monitor emerges from his desk. If you have a better example of old Twin Peaks merging with the modern world, i’d like to see it. Then i’d like to install it in my house.

. Harold Smith, that sad flower dweeb from season 2, got a mention! Again, it’s odd hearing references to smaller plot points in the series, but then again Doug and Duane Milford got a lot of attention in The Secret History of Twin Peaks. Turns out Doug was a flying saucer chaser, and with the amount of words he gets in the book, i’d be surprised if he’s not even passingly mentioned this season. 

. As well as not crying anymore, Andy has a new Rolex to go along with his new Michael Cera. I’m not sure where the story will go with the no-show guy who said he couldn’t talk to Andy, but I feel like its probably related to the drug story that seems to be running in the background. 

. Laura Dern, we love you. All of us. Every last one. Even with the most difficult to please of viewers, I doubt there’ll be a single complaint about her because she is the fucking best. It’s interesting that Diane’s so seemingly broken, leading us to wonder why - there were never really any clues about her personality, but you get the feeling that she was friendly, from the mere fact that Cooper talked to her via tapes so kindly and openly. So what happened? Bad Coop happened, is what. 

. I was pleasantly surprised at how swiftly the plot developed in this episode -  right after agreeing to meet Doppelcoop, they’re jetting off to see him. If this had been a few episodes earlier, it might’ve taken a while for them to get to it, but this episode knocked it out pretty efficiently. I didn’t think the show was too slow before, but it is a nice change of pace to get an episode with so much development.

. The windows on the jet disappear and reappear, right? I mean, I rewound that several times and they surely do. It’s not the light hitting them funny - they flash. I’m sure of it.

. Tammy hasn’t been given too much screentime yet, despite doing fairly important work - even though it seems Gordon has already sussed out the tasks she undertakes. He seems to be testing her abilities, which is why he assigns her to take over the research of the dossier, which makes up The Secret History of Twin Peaks. The scene where Gordon touches her fingers and says “I’m very, very happy to see you again, old friend” is funny, weird and ingenious. Gordon feels a lot like Cooper, but then, he always has. With his love of food, nature and coffee, and being filled with an affinity for everything, Gordon is an older Cooper and I hope he gets to see his old friend again. 

. Dern’s performance when she meets Doppelcooper is phenomenal and all registered in her fearful expression. It’s a gorgeously framed scene, with her head floating in the darkness of the room, looking at the man who is Not Her Friend. Her reference to that night is certainly ominous, but it did cross my mind that she was feeding him false information to see if he’d take it. Her reaction in the car park afterwards seems to suggest that it was true, though. Everyone seems to be in pain both from the absence of Cooper and from the presence of Doppelcooper. And it leads you to wonder again: what the fuck has Doppelcooper been up to these 25 years? And once again - both kudos and screw you to Kyle MacLachlan for being so utterly brilliant and frightening as Doppelcooper, especially in this prison scenes, where his voice seems to be slowed to a possessed and deep slur. This new season keeps offering up the chance to use such weird sentences: Kyle MacLachlan is terrifying and Matthew Lillard is scene stealing. 

. Of course the body was Garland Briggs. It had to be. Or did it? Who knows! It’s decades younger than it should be, and Briggs supposedly died in a fire a long time ago. We know he was taken by one of the lodges back in season 2, and has experienced the white lodge. We might wonder that if, after that, he gained some sort of...power? How else was his head floating in space those episodes back? And again with the bodiless heads! The nightmare bastard roaming the halls in this episode is the same ghoul whose head floated away in the first episode, and Josie Packard’s headless (or faceless, at least) body was, in an original script, supposed to be seen in a black lodge scene. People losing their heads seems to be a common theme again. Would it have been too on the nose, and i might add, awful, if Where’s Your Head At? had played in the morgue scene? It’s hard to be on the nose when you haven’t got a head! Wahey!

. This episode is very light on Cooper (i’m not going to call him DougieCooper because he’s not Dougie! He just wears his bad clothes sometimes!), but he came along almost as soon as I thought “Hey, where’s Coop?”. Naomi Watts kills it again with her impatient anger, and I love that she’s written as someone at her wit’s end (or should that be Watt’s end? Nope, it shouldn’t) but that still cares for her dumbass husband. And then we get maybe our clearest answer that Coop is still Coop: he kicks a bit of ass. It’s a very satisfying and well choreographed fight, and the Arm popping up to give fight advice was kinda cool and kinda funny. It seems that the lodge dwellers, or at least some of them, are helping Coop. Mike, The giant, and the Arm have all advised him, and seemingly given him some special insights. I think they want Cooper alive so he can, to paraphrase GOB Bluth, return Doppelcoop from whence he came. He was due back in, as that call in episode 1 told him, so maybe the lodge spirits are getting utterly fed up on waiting on his ass. They’re letting Coop live so he can go and sort it out. It has been 25 years after all. Stop hogging Bob, bro. 

. Some interesting stylistic choices in the news coverage scenes after the fight which felt like they were from another show, but I kinda dug it anyway. Will someone in Twin Peaks see Cooper in the news footage and put two and two together? I’m not in a massive rush for Cooper to wake up - but it will be spectacularly rewarding once he does.

. Is Josie haunting the hotel? Last we saw her, she was trapped in a doorknob, and Pete (we miss you Pete! Really!) was seeing her face above the fireplace (the nonchalance of that moment always really freaked me out), and now there is a sourceless humming sound throughout the hotel, which kind of sounds like the mystical ringing sound that we hear whenever The Giant rocks up. It really is happening again, isn’t it? Great to see more Ben, though his P sounds are less Plosive than they used to be, and he hasn’t eaten ANYTHING yet. But he’s still a lot of fun to watch, and i’m hoping - because i’m a softie who likes goodies - that his humanitarianism lasted. And i’m also beginning to think - with all the references to Audrey’s condition after the bank blast (bank blast sounds like shitty video game) - that Audrey will have been physically effected long term by what happened. I’m beginning to really look forward to seeing her, though I dread the idea that Doppelcoop is the father of her awful bastard son.

. It’s so uncannily Lynchian to drop in on someone like Beverly’s life, someone who we know next to nothing about, and give her a fairly substantial scene. It even feels like it might not go much further than that, and that dropping into her soap opera life (Twin Peaks’ soapiness is still there!) for this scene is just Lynch giving us a little look at domestic turmoil in Twin Peaks. But who knows. Who knows which characters are a one-scene deal, and which will fit into the larger narrative. Where is goddamn MATTHEW LILLARD???

. Jacques Renault’s identical brother(?) got some lines! And surprise surprise: he’s a scumbag! The sweeping scene was weirdly engrossing, especially with Green Onions playing in the background. And my god, how warm and cosy did the Double R look tonight?? With Sleepwalk by Santo & Johnny playing, and the lighting as warm and oak-tinted as ever, it’s maybe the one place in Twin Peaks you’d want to hang out. Especially with lovely, lovely Shelly and Norma working there. They’re such likeable and instantly welcoming people to see, and it’s hard not to wish they were your friends. And, I don’t like to focus too much on how the actors look - but Madchen Amick literally has not aged a day and it’s very confusing how she’s managed that. I guess there is something special in Norma’s family pie recipe. Also, i’ve heard people say the guy who pops his head in asks if anyone has seen “Bing”, but on re-listening, it’s 100% Billy and not Bing. There is someone named Bing in the credits - whether he’s any relative of Chandler’s is present is yet to be seen. It could be something, or it could be another version of that “It’s a boy? It’s a boy! It’s a boy!” bank security guy from Season 2. Just someone yelling some dumb shit.

. Some great music in this episode too, both new score and old. With the ominous shots of the foggy woods set to the opening notes of Laura Palmer’s theme playing (the scary bit, not the sad bit) I genuinely got chills. 

. Doppelcoop is on the loose and you can feel the story pushing forward now he’s out. I get the feeling we won’t see the Prison Warden again, and that everything they talked about has a backstory but one that is not necessarily important for us to learn about. Just know that Doppelcoop is loose, and where he goes now is an open question. To kill Cooper? How could you kill a man your exact double? It’d be so surreal. And would make for a weird, bad-wig-wearing stunt double fight scene. And the idea of unawake Cooper being hurt makes me even sadder than the idea of Lucid Cooper being hurt, somehow. He’s a sympathetic thing really, and he needs someone outside the black lodge to help him. He’s called for help though, and either Gordon or Hawk are on his trail, thankfully. 

SUMMARY

This episode, more than any other yet, felt like Twin Peaks of old. We spent more time in the town, and the atmospherics of the town felt more prevalent too. It does feel like we’re being eased back into the town which is great fun, though I love everything set outside too. A narrative cohesion is coming about as the story’s 2nd act clicks into place, and there’s some real momentum going in this hour. Whether or not that keeps going next week (I think it will), i’m happy to let the show do its thing because this episode has shown that patience does pay off. We will get there, and we should probably learn to enjoy the journey as much as the destination. Remember, Lynch and Frost have pretty big hard-ons for Mysteries, and that always has been, and always will be the core of the series. But goddamn it if it isn’t fun seeing that mystery chipped away at in tonight’s episode. 

    “Keep working the sunny side of the river, doc”

[mellicose]

The Sea Inside - Act Four, Part 4

Fandom: Broadchurch, Alec Hardy

Rating: Mature, for extreme angst, violence, sex

Word Count: 9300

Read previous chapter | Read on Ao3

Summary: Hardy rushes to Sandbrook to fetch Grace, but a number of unpleasant surprises await him at the police station - surprises that will change his perception of Grace, and his life, forever.

She was cold.

Her whole body ached, but her chest most of all. She touched the pinpoint burns the Taser left and winced. Of course. Tess put her down like a bag of bricks.

She sighed.

She was thankful she’d let go of the bat to attack her with her bare hands before she zapped her - if not, she’d have much more than a couple of burns and some muscle aches to contend with.

She was surrounded by antiseptic white, and lying on a metal shelf. There was a heavily armored door with a small window opposite her.

She let out a rusty chuckle. Hello old friend.

She sat up and groaned. Her muscles still twitched with the electricity that had coursed through her body. Her mouth tasted like she’d licked metal. And yet, she wasn’t angry. It was just as well. She would’ve killed Tess with her bare hands if she got to her.

Good job, Clara, she thought. Brilliant fucking job.

Alec might’ve been confused before. Now he’d be sure.

You’re a bad news bear, little birdy, Frank’s voice echoed in her head.

“You ain’t lyin’,” she said out loud, swallowing dry. She went to the water fountain and drank. She rubbed her temples and sniffed the air. There was something off. Way beyond the obvious, but she couldn’t quite place it.

There was a boom and and grind, and a bobby opened the door.

“Doctor Grace Lastra?”

“Wha-? Oh yeah,” she said. Even her speech had changed, gone full midwestern drawl again.

“Please come with me,” he said.

She looked down at herself. “Aren’t you supposed to cuff me, kid?”

“Don’t worry about that. Come quick,” he said. He led her to an empty interrogation observation booth. She felt fear, but it faded quickly. The kid was unarmed. She could put him down in seconds.

“What are you after?” she said, leaning against the audio equipment.

He nodded toward a long box tied with a red satin ribbon. The thickest, silkiest satin. Her lips parted.

“Dress quickly. We don’t have much time.”

She read the card that was tucked underneath the bow.

I’m breaking you out of your life, little bird. Listen to the kid. I’ll be waiting. Daddy.

He’d found her. Again. And this time, she knew she couldn’t just shed her skin and run. She was filled with a heady mix of fear and exhilaration as she put on the tight red silk dress he picked out for her.

He liked her in red.

“You got a pen I can borrow?” she said to the policeman. He stared at her, openmouthed. She had not turned around to undress. He handed it to her.

Alec-

You were never strong enough to love me. It was a pleasant fiction. Now it’s over. Don’t look for me - Grace is dead. I killed her. C.

PS. Tell Daisy I’m sorry - I never meant to scare her.

She folded the card and stuffed it into the young bobby’s pocket. “Make sure this gets to DI Alec Hardy, okay?” She traced the shell of his ear, then licked it.

He whimpered.

“What’s his name?” she said.

“D-DI Hardy,” he said.

“Good. Did he send a car?”

His brow furrowed. “He did. It’s been outside for 20 minutes.”

“Like clockwork.” She slipped on the red bottom heels that he put in the box and smiled. He remembered everything. She put her hands on her waist and smiled at him. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

He led her out of the back of the station, through the hallway where the surveillance camera had been disabled. A black Mercedes limousine sat on the curb at the end of the street.

He pointed. “Go.”

Her heart lurched. She took off her shoes and ran.

Ellie stopped in front of the police station.

He ran up the steps two at a time and burst inside. People looked at him, then looked away. Tragedy was written all over his face. They hoped it wasn’t contagious.

He walked up to the first officer he saw, a young woman who had not been there when he was.

“Where is Doctor Grace Lastra?”

The woman almost screamed, but a familiar face came around and prised his hand from her elbow.

“Hardy, why haven’t you answered your bloody phone?!” Zed hissed, pulling him into his office.

Hardy waved the comment away impatiently. “Where is Grace? I will speak for her.”

“Will ye now?” he said, loosening his tie and sipping his stewed tea. “Then you have a lot to answer for.”

He threw down some photos.

He flipped through quickly. Grace’s tub, now a burnt out crater. The wrecked bedroom. Grace’s car, a blur clocked at 200 km/hr on the carriageway near Sandbrook. Her police issue jumpsuit and cloth shoes in a messy pile in an interrogation observation booth. A long white garment box, now empty. A wrinkled ribbon, in deepest red.

“Well?”

“What is this? Where is she?”

“That’s the point. She’s gone, mate, and we don’t bloody know how.”

The young officer knocked on the office door, then cracked it. Zed waved her in. She held an envelope in her hand.

“Um, a PC left this for you. You’re DI Alec Hardy, right?”

Zed walked around his desk and snatched the envelope. “PC Ostanova, right? He’s the one on duty.”

The young woman’s eyes grew. “No. It was another man - young. Stocky. PC Wasser.”

His face screwed up. “Wasser? We don’t have a Wasser here.”

She wrung her hands. “I checked his credentials on the database. He was clean. A new hire, from London.”

Zed sat down and typed quickly on his computer. Hardy walked around slowly. His muscles were stiff, and everything was acquiring the acid colors of a nightmare.

“Nothing. There is no PC Wasser. Not now, not ever,” he said to the officer. “Arnold, how could you fuck up so abysmally?” he said, pulling his hair.

She was bold enough to pull the computer monitor around to see it.

“I swear, it was here. Police constable Nathan Wasser, 26 years of age. Graduated with honors from university and went on the Bramshill for training...” she turned the monitor around again and rubbed her face. “With all due respect, sir, do you think I’d make all that up to cover my own ass? It’s a bit specific, to say the least.”

“I don’t know what’s going on,” he said.

“Call Ostanova,” Hardy said quietly, sitting down. His body ached.

“Good idea!” He dialed him on his cell and put it on speaker.

Ostanova answered almost immediately. “Sir.”

“Where are you?”

“At home, recovering from a massive booze up,” he said groaning dramatically.

“Didn’t you have the overnight shift tonight?”

“I did, but this new kid said you wanted him to take my place. For training and all. I looked him up and he checked out, so I didn’t think anymore of it.”

She gave Zed a pointed look. Ostanova may like his drinks, but he was as straight arrow as they got on the job.

Someone else looked in. “Can I have a moment, sir?”

“Sure. Why not,” he said.

The slim man was in cargo pants and a t-shirt, but his tag said he was a detective. He was part of the fledgeling IT crimes division.

“You were asking earlier how they might’ve gotten out of a police station without being seen. I think I figured it out.” He held up a USB stick. Hardy’s lip curled with displeasure. The detective stood there, posing with the drive in his gloved hand.

Zed rolled his eyes. “Get on with it, Sandburg.”

“The perpetrator plugged this baby into the mainframe, and they had access to everything.”

“But we have surveillance cameras. And an independent system - no one in, no one out. Who did the plugging?” Zed said.

“That’s the point. Once they were in, they cleaned up the evidence. They must’ve also implanted PC Wasser’s ID into the database. Easy peasy.” He looked impressed. “This wasn’t hacking, it was high art.”

He threw the drive on Zed’s desk. “You can analyze it for prints. It’s not much good for anything else.”

“What d’you mean?”

The detective made a face. “The program destroyed itself after a certain amount of time. There’s nothing left but an old episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Hush. Really scary.”

“That’s why you couldn’t find Wasser in the database,” Arnold said. “Once the program was destroyed, he disappeared, with Grace in tow.”

Everyone’s eyes drifted to Hardy. Whether he realized it or not, he was now their most valuable piece of evidence.

“Dr. Lastra is just regular woman, yet she walked out of a very well-guarded police station after aggravated assault on a peace officer as if she were a royal. No one saw anything. No one heard anything. Who is she?”

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