Bartok pounced, this time successfully.
Rasputin watched in a bemused manner as his bat devoured the mouse, but not without a little pity. He knew he was starving.
Now that he was little more than a walking corpse, he could barely cross a room without falling apart, let alone feed his familiar. No bones, no blood. Bartok was just about getting by on the odd mouse, and Rasputin knew he missed the regular meals he was accustomed to.
"Won't be long now, Bartok," he murmured.
Bartok released the small animal from his teeth and looked up, wiping his fur sheepishly. "What's that, sir?"
"I've been thinking," he said.
"Yes?" Bartok said hopefully. "About forgetting the killing of the girl, right?"
"No," he said emphatically, and then amended, "Well. Postponing it, I suppose."
"Great!" Bartok said happily. He licked the last of the blood from his chops. It had only been a young mouse. He still wasn't full. Never the less, he struggled to stay cheerful. "So what do you wanna do?"
"Tonight is Hallow's Eve, Bartok," Rasputin told him, steepling his fingers, his eyes narrowing slowly. "The night of Satan himself."
"Oh yeah," said Bartok distractedly, licking some blood off his claws. "Pity we can't do any trick or treating, huh, sir?"
"Compromises can be made," he went on, ignoring him. "This is the one night when all favours, all offers are listened to and, more often than not, accepted." He sat in silence for a moment.
"What did you have in mind, sir?"
He said slowly, "I could get my human form back."
"That's great, sir!" Bartok left the mouse's body and flew to his master's side. "But uh, is it possible? I mean, you already sold your soul, you can't really offer a better deal than that."
Rasputin didn't seem to hear him, but a moment later he slowly pulled his reliquary from his robe.
Bartok gasped. "You'd give them that?" He paused. "But sir, didn't they give that to you?"
"This reliquary is not as it was when it was first given to me," he said dreamily. "Over the years I have been able to add to it my own power and sorcery. Whilst killing the Romanovs, I have made this almost twice as powerful as when I first received it. It took time, patience, and was far from easy. Over the decades I have laboured over this wonder, and it is now quite possibly the most powerful instrument to ever trace a man's hand."
"Woah," said Bartok, staring at it with new respect.
"I can offer them some," he continued. "It isn't much, but it's all I can give."
"But sir, if you spent so long working on it, won't you be sad to lose it?"
"Of course," he said. "But I will be left with enough. I'm sick of falling apart, Bartok. I'm sick of being nothing but rot. Having to eat, drink, sleep and all the rest will be a minor inconvenience, but you can't have everything. It'll make it so much easier to get to that Romanov brat, and I'm sure you would like a decent meal," he eyed the mouse's mangled remains as he spoke. "I can't go on like this, Bartok. I'm a sorcerer, and yet I can't even feed my familiar in the traditional way."
"Oh, that's okay sir, I don't mind. I know it's not- "
"That's not the point!" He snapped, and then went on unhappily, "Sacrifices must be made. I'm sick of being this way," he smiled ruefully at the dead mouse. "Desperation makes savages of us all."
Bartok followed his gaze a little guiltily, embarrassed. "Uh, do you want me to clear that up, sir?"
"No, no, leave it for the others."
Sure enough, disfigured little creatures were already poking out of their hiding places and eyeing the debris. Bartok shuddered and looked away.
"Yes, I'll get started now," Rasputin said decisively, and got to his feet with a determined air about him.
"What, now?"
"Halloween will be over before long, and it is a difficult procedure. It usually takes some time." He walked through the archway towards one of the largest caves. "Stay here, Bartok, I don't want you getting in the way."
"Charming," he muttered, and then, louder, "Okay, sir, I'll just, uh..wait here..shall I..?" He glanced at the grotesque creatures nervously, but fortunately their attention was taken up by the corpse and they paid him no heed.
Relieved, Bartok flew up to a corner in the ceiling and hung there, as far away from the creatures as possible. Wrapping his wings around himself, he closed his eyes and tried to ignore the rumbling of his stomach.
--
Bartok was hungrier than ever when he woke. The mouse was young, little more than a pup, and hadn't come close to filling him. He raised his wings and swivelled himself upright, noticing a green glow flashing from one of the caves. Was his master still in there? Bartok hovered uncertainly. He'd been in there an awful long time. Surely it would have worked by now? Nothing could have gone wrong, could it? He went to call out to his master, but changed his mind. He'd said it'd take a long time. Bartok didn't want to bare the brunt of his wrath if he distracted him.
He licked his lips and looked around. He was so hungry! He glared at ugly creatures morosely. Why couldn't they have blood in them? A few bristled threateningly, as if they knew what he was thinking. Bartok looked away.
He flew round the room silently, scrutinising every corner and flaring his nostrils for a glimpse or scent of a mouse. Or anything with blood. He was about to give up when noticed a small movement below him. He swooped by reflex before he even realised it was a mouse and dived after it.
He was so close, so close he could smell the blood and fear of it. His mouth watered in anticipation.
Inches from death, the mouse managed to swerve and shot into a hole. Unable to pull out of the dive in time, Bartok crashed into the wall. He let out a howl of pain and frustration, ignoring the snickers behind him.
He could still smell blood.
I've gone crazy, he thought to himself. I'm so hungry I've gone crazy with it.
"Bartok."
Suddenly the smell was stronger than ever. He raised his head towards it deliriously.
"It worked, Bartok," Rasputin said clearly, and without further ado held his hand out to the bat, in the familiar position of his thumb and forefinger at either side of Bartok's cheeks. "Drink."
Bartok needed no further encouragement.
Rasputin smiled at the sharp bite of his familiar, and a wave of nostalgia came over him. It didn't hurt. It fact it was rather enjoyable, once you were used to it. It was how most sorcerors fed their familiars, the only difference being that Bartok was alot more enthusiastic than most as, being a vampire bat, he actually needed and appreciated warm blood.
Bartok drank til he was full, and climbed to his master's robe sleepily and hung there. Rasputin left him be.
He took out his reliquary and gazed at it sadly. The loss would be worth it, though, he'd make sure of it. He placed it back in his robe and turned his thoughts to the destruction of one bratty little princess.
I do know Bartok is actually a fruit bat, but I decided to make him a vampire one just for this story xP