"Everything does come with a cost."
"I assumed there would be. What is it you want?"
"Well, as I said, I have no need of possessions. All the same, there are certain… amenities that I'd grown used to that I find harder to procure behind these walls. Anthony's my usual supplier, you see, and with me stuck in here, he's out there shouldering twice the burden he normally does. I can't in good conscience ask him to do more than that right now. But you - you might be just the person I need to fill the gap. Assuming, of course, that you find my services worth the cost."
Harold tilted his head slightly. "What sort of amenities would you require?"
Elias's usual grin grew wide, and as he opened his mouth, Harold saw - for a split-second - his eye teeth lengthening into elegant, glinting fangs.
The next thing he knew he was backed into the wall - he'd somehow gotten out of his chair that fast, though the movement itself happened without conscious thought - with his heartbeat thundering in his ears, his breaths too fast to count. To the part of his brain that reacted to danger, there was no question of the reality, no doubting his senses or trying to logic away the truth: The man before him was a vampire, and Harold's understanding of the world had just undergone a shift so massive that even the room seemed to be spinning.
"Now, there's no need for that," Elias said calmly, from his seat at the table-
-and then, a blur faster than Harold's eyes could follow, he was beside Harold, mere inches away, spiking the adrenaline to another high so fast that Harold let out a whimper. But he was frozen in place - utterly helpless.
"I could certainly hurt you," Elias said, voice suddenly deeper, but only for a moment; "but I'm not going to. You came here to do business with me" - and just as fast as he had come, he was back at the table - "so let's talk business. Have a seat."
Legs barely able to support him, Harold stayed pressed against the wall - but his gaze darted toward his fallen chair. Elias looked, too, and chuckled. "My apologies," he said, and walked over - simple, human - and picked the chair up, placed it back near the table.
Then he calmly studied Harold.
Trembling, Harold felt trapped, at the mercy of forces he couldn't fight, could barely understand. There was a rushing sound in his ears; his head felt heavy, and his breaths were coming in frantic gasps. Like a child trying to hide from a monster, he wanted to squeeze his eyes shut, as if somehow that could protect him - but his gaze was locked onto Elias, his survival instincts telling him that the only way to live was to stay aware of the threat at all times.
It was futile, of course, and he knew it. If Elias wanted him dead, there was no way to defend against it; he would be dead before the guards could even get inside. Which meant, logically, that Elias did not want him dead. That knowledge was a tiny facet of his awareness right now, no defense against the panic, the terror that pressed in against him, suffocated him.
"That's enough of that," Elias said from beside him, firm hands taking him by the shoulders, turning him, pushing him backwards, off-balance, down - into a chair that hadn't been there a moment ago. It happened so quickly that Harold didn't even have time to react - and then his terror spiked anew as the chair lifted into the air and repositioned itself at the table.
When Elias walked out from behind him and headed back toward his own chair, Harold realized that he must have lifted the chair, with Harold on it - as easily as lifting an empty cardboard box.
"I'm sorry for the dramatics," Elias said as he sat down, "but now I know that your heart is in good condition - I can hear that much." He tapped his ear. "That was important to establish before the bargain I intend to propose. And now that you know what I'm capable of, perhaps you'll better appreciate it when I say that I do not intend to use my powers to harm you in any way. Even if we sometimes work at cross-purposes, I value the benefit you and John bring to this city."
It was a long moment while Harold tried to gather himself enough to even speak. "You- you-" he finally managed, and then, "You can't be a vampire. I- John- the first time we met- unless you're- when did you?" He stopped and blinked rapidly, trying to catch his breath.
Elias chuckled broadly, his eye teeth back to normal, and waited.
Harold drew in a breath. "Were you turned… recently?"
"Oh, no, decades ago," Elias said. "There are some fanciful stories about vampires staying in the form they were when they got turned, but I have far more control of my appearance than that. It would be rather odd to see a teenager never grow up."
Brows raised, Harold glanced to the side, trying to sort it all out in his head; he was still breathing hard. "But you were in the sun! And I've- seen you on cameras, that requires mirrors-"
"Ah, yes," Elias murmured indulgently. "All those little folk tales about a vampire's weaknesses and limitations. No sunlight, no running water, can't come in unless invited, allergic to garlic, shies away from churches and crosses. Needs to sleep on his native soil. Killed only by a wooden stake through the heart." He waved a hand. "Do you know where most of those ideas come from? The victim of a mob attack trying desperately to come up with some way to save himself."
"…What?"
"Say you're an innocent villager who happens to catch the ire of the local busybody, and they convince the town that you're in league with Satan, because how else could you have supernatural powers? But you think quickly and say, 'But if I were a vampire, then holy water would burn me!' And they pour holy water on you and you're fine and you get to live.
"Some other century, another victim doesn't have any holy water around, so she says, 'But if I were a servant of Satan, I wouldn't have a soul, and we all know that you have to have a soul to reflect in a mirror!' And so the lore gets built up over the centuries, and we still bear it today."
Harold paused, trying to wrap his head around the idea. "That… could explain a lot." It did seem to account for most of the odd ideas he'd heard, and how contradictory many of them seemed. Except - "Wait… how does it explain the wooden stake through the heart?"
"Far more tragic," Elias said soberly. "Used to be, the way to kill a witch was to burn them alive; that got extrapolated to other 'servants of the dark forces.' Some poor guy couldn't think of how to save himself, but he managed to cut down on the suffering by claiming that unless he were killed in a particular way, he'd rise again! And of course the way to 'really' kill him off was to ensure that he was truly dead before the flames - and stabbing him through the heart did the trick. Same with decapitation, by the way."
"I… suppose that makes sense." Part of him felt like nothing would ever make sense again, but it felt somehow grounding to know that there were actual, logical reasons for some of the details built up around the vampire myth.
Not a myth. The vampire reality, around which mythical details had been build up. It was a lot to take in, and he wasn't really done panicking, but at least the idea abided by some sense of logic, which made it easier for him to try to regain his composure.
"So no, I don't need to avoid the sun," Elias asserted, "or worry about crosses. And if I ever track down your residence, I won't need your permission to come inside. But I do have a few supernatural powers, and in order to use them, I need to have a certain reserve of strength… which I get from drinking blood. As I said, Anthony used to supply me with everything I needed in that area, but as the donation process leaves one a little… mmm… incapacitated, I really can't risk letting him do that right now. He's got enough on his shoulders."
Harold was sure that the blood had drained from his own face when he managed to take in a breath and confirm, shakily, "You want me to… feedyou."
Elias shrugged. "You want me to tangle with Massey. I certainly have the power, but it's somewhat more troublesome than I care to deal with at the moment. The fact that John saved my life - bullets can kill us, and I was low on energy at the time - makes me willing to consider your offer. The fact that I value your contribution to the city keeps the price low. On the other hand, I could get my needs met in a different way, whereas you would never have come to ask for my aid if you did not consider the situation unmanageably dire."
A shiver ran down Harold's back, but he drew himself up a little, trying not to lose all the ground in this negotiation. "And what qualities in me do you see as better able to meet your need than, say, any of the other inmates trapped in here with you?"
"Ah, but if I feed off the inmates, I reveal my nature to those who might want to harm me. It's a delicate balance, maintaining power while not displaying my full hand. We are both men of secrets, and so, in a way, we hold each other's secrets hostage.
"Beyond that," he said, leaning back in his chair, "the food here is hardly conducive to good health, and many here have other ailments; their various diseases can't affect me, true, but they do make the blood taste… sour. You seem to be in much better health, and, given your wardrobe, I'd expect your diet to be similarly discerning."
Harold narrowed his eyes at Elias. "I do take a number of medications."
"Again, that won't affect me. It may affect the taste of the blood, but hardly as much as a disease does. Or a high-fat diet."
"…Disabilities don't factor into this?"
"What, those pins in your neck, your bad back? Hmm. Are you more concerned with how they would affect me, or how my feeding might affect you?"
Suddenly I'm more concerned with how you figured out my exact injuries, Harold didn't say. It seemed unlikely that Elias had been able to research him ahead of time, but the vampire's supernatural senses were a reasonable guess. Could he scent titanium, even within the body? Or see the heat from Harold's body, and some change from the injuries? Work it out from his limited range of motion?
Rather than focus on that issue, Harold went back to Elias's original question. "Both."
"Implants won't affect me, and if yours would prevent me from feeding off of a particular part of your body, well, there are plenty of other donation sites. Again, it's not my intention to harm you, or to cause you any pain beyond the unavoidable, and I see no reason we couldn't work around your particular injuries."
Harold swallowed. "How… how much would you need?"
"Well." Elias steepled his fingers under his chin. "Blood donation centers err on the side of caution; they take a certain amount of blood based on weight, no more than every three months for men. I would take more than a blood donation, but, during a feeding, I have a quite accurate awareness of the body whose blood I'm connected to, and could stop well before any permanent damage. The amount would not be enough to kill you, but it would make you weak for a while. My powers would, mmm, encourage your body to produce red blood cells much faster than normal."
"You said it's not your intention to harm me, but - would the feeding process, in fact, do me any significant harm?"
"Not at all. I'd hardly feed off Anthony if it were hurting him. After the feeding, you'd feel weak, and by the next morning you'd feel fine, but perhaps get lightheaded during strenuous activities. That effect shouldn't last more than a day or two, and within a month you would be ready for the next feeding."
Staring at his hands, Harold felt his shoulders tensing up. "How m-many feedings are you asking for?"
"Given the hassle of dealing with Massey, who is, after all, a rather big name in crime around here… and the chance that I might have to have Anthony make an example of anyone who ignored my countermand… I think that three feedings would be sufficient, and four would be ample." His lips jutted out in a brief moue. "You could go up to five, if you like, and have me in a much better mood to negotiate the next time you seek my help."
Harold nodded slowly. "I see."
"There are other bargains we could make. Still, unless I'm misjudging the way things sit between us, this may be the most advantageous for you and your team."
"I see that," Harold murmured. "Mr. Elias… I can't say that we put much stock in your word anymore, but… swear to me that you do not intend to harm me, or… t-turn me."
Elias's eyebrows shot up. "Make you into a vampire as well? Well, that would run counter to the idea of getting blood from you - vampires can't feed each other, you know. But it would give you the power to cure those pins in your neck. You'd have the ability to transform your body in any number of ways - and greater ability to work the cases you're working. It's not that we're evil, either, so you needn't worry about losing your soul or any of that nonsense. Are you certain you wouldn't like to change?"
"Quite certain, thank you."
"Then I pledge, on the life of my dear friend Anthony, that I do not intend to harm you or turn you into a vampire. Or a thrall, for that matter. When our business is concluded, you will not be significantly different from what you are now. Physically, you may be somewhat healthier: In addition to your blood, I'd be removing a certain amount of impurities that are coursing through your veins even now. Your human nature will be intact, as will your free will.
"As far as informed consent: The feeding process would establish a certain bond between us. I imagine that your primary concerns would be privacy and coercion. The bond has no effect on your free will, or your ability to resist my powers or my desires. It will attune me to your scent, and, more notably, let me sense your presence without the use of my more human senses - when you are fairly close to me, somewhat less than a city block away. This could certainly make it easier for me to find you, but I would like to point out that even without the bond, if I cared to track you down, it would hardly be difficult for me to do so. When in proximity, I would be aware of your health and, to some degree, your emotions."
Stomach queasy, Harold clutched desperately at logic. Since Elias could have just stayed quiet about the bond, pointing it out indicated a somewhat higher level of trustworthiness - even if the thought of bonding with Elias made Harold want to just bolt from the chair and run away. What was he risking, here? He wouldn't be able to hide his emotions from Elias; negotiations would be harder, but that might be off-balanced by the goodwill from having fed him. Letting Elias track him down more easily meant exposing their base of operations, his safe houses… it might even compromise their allies, revealing their connection to Carter, Fusco, Zoe. Still, Elias was correct: Given his powers, it seemed unlikely that their secrets would stay secret very long.
He could hide from Elias, of course, move his base outside of New York City and still help John from afar - but so long as he remained active in the field, he was accepting a certain vulnerability. The bond wouldn't change that… much.
The idea of Elias being able to sense his health issues troubled him, but that was just his private nature asserting itself. Aside from possiblytracking down his aliases through medical records - which would require a little more than merely knowing the extent of his injuries - he couldn't think of much that Elias could do with the information.
"Is the bond permanent?" he asked, finally.
"It will last for several months beyond our last feeding. Without that renewal, it does fade away over time."
"Would you be able to sense me through walls?"
"Yes. No physical matter can block the bond-sense."
Harold raised his eyebrows and looked away; despite his best efforts, his chin was trembling. "Anything else I should know b-before I…" He stopped short and sucked in deep, shaky breaths. Unless Elias's next words were somehow worse than a bond… the issue had already been decided. John's life was at stake - and Harold had come prepared to agree to any number of unsavory deals, just to get Elias to call off the bounty. By all rights, this would be comparatively mild.
If he could only get his system to calm down enough to believe that.
Elias tilted his head to one side. "I believe I've told you everything you need to make an informed decision. As I've said, there are other ways I could get my needs met, and other bargains we could make; you don't have to agree to this if it's that distasteful to you."
Sucking in a breath, Harold raised his chin. "The bargain is acceptable: five donations. Do you require the first today?"
"It would be a nice show of faith. Do you have any reason not to provide it today?"
"No," Harold said, feeling the finality of the decision. "No, let's get this over with." He reached up and slid his tie free, then unbuttoned the top of his shirt with cold fingers, and pulled loose the collar - not failing to notice Elias's smile growing wider as his fangs grew in again.
Neck bared, Harold sat there, still and trembling, as Elias calmly got to his feet and walked around the table. The crime lord moved behind Harold, fingers brushing along his shoulders, the nape of his neck.
Closing his eyes, Harold took in shaky breaths until he felt cold air on the side of his neck. He couldn't help letting out a whimper.
"Adrenaline is a flavor most vampires enjoy," Elias murmured in his ear. "It's too sharp for my taste. But then, it took Anthony a few sessions to calm down and appreciate his role; I can hardly fault you for finding it difficult to relax. Perhaps next time I'll find a way to keep you calmer, but for now-" and his mouth dipped low, brushed the juncture between neck and shoulder.
The cool dampness registered a second before the pain, sudden and sharp; and then Elias was drawing out the blood in slow, insistent pulls. Harold kept his hands on the table, clenched, trying to focus on letting this happen, not fighting it, not trying to bolt. He'd agreed to the deal; Elias wasn't going to kill him, wasn't going to turn him. That is, if he could actually trust Elias - but it was too late now for second thoughts.
His body felt heavy, first too warm and then, progressively, colder and colder. His hands slipped from the table, dangled limply at his sides. Elias's hand moved up to cradle his head as his body lost its tension, the world condensing down to that small point of pressure, of movement, as it drained away strength and fear and even pain, leaving nothing but a quiet lassitude. At one point he took in a sudden breath, only to realize that he'd somehow been holding his breath, but it didn't seem to matter; nothing did.
The slide of Elias's teeth as he pulled out brought Harold back to himself, just barely. If the movement had hurt, he didn't really feel it - and then Elias was licking at the wound, and Harold's eyes fell closed again at the sensation.
Existing in a fog, without fear or pain or thought, barely even aware of his own body, he felt… calm. He couldn't even compare it to anything; there was no sense of past or present, time or memory.
The world moved; he blinked and found Elias lifting the chair, with him in it, and setting it away from the table. Too drained to wonder or protest, Harold sat there gazing vacantly at Elias as the vampire lord knelt in front of him, staring intently into his eyes.
"You didn't bother to ask what other powers I have," Elias murmured, the grin slowly growing across his face. "But you're about to find out what I can do while you're in a thrall state."
Harold blinked at him, his mind incapable of making sense of the words.
And then there was nothing in the world but Elias's deep brown eyes, and he was drowning in them.
Harold didn't remember leaving Rikers, and the ride home left him a bit muzzy. He was just walking up the stairs in the library when he realized that he ought to call John. Stopping short, he leaned against the railing - feeling more winded than usual - and pulled out his cell phone.
It was off. He turned it on, wondering why he hadn't done so immediately after leaving Rikers. There were three messages from Fusco, but he didn't have time to worry about that, either; he dialed John.
John answered quickly. "How'd it go, Finch?"
"I believe our… bounty hunter problem has… has been neutralized," Finch said, finding it a little hard to catch his breath enough to talk.
"You actually got Elias to help us out?"
"We were able to come to… an arrangement," he said, hesitant to inform John of exactly what that arrangement had been. "He's made Massey's bounty forbidden fruit. Anyone going after it will have to answer to him."
"Looks like somebody didn't get the message," John retorted. "Annie's been taken; we're heading to a place called The Emerald Pearl. Riley thinks that's where Massey's goons would take her. Can you get surveillance up?"
"Certainly," Harold said - "just give me a moment." He finished his way up the stairs and started limping toward the computer table.
"Oh, and Finch?" John said, just as Harold slid into his seat. "I hate it when you go off the grid."
"Needs must, Mr. Reese," Harold retorted, choosing not to point out how helpless he felt each time John's comm went dead and he was left to sit there, useless, all too aware that one of these missions would be John's last and wondering if they'd finally hit that end point.
He maximized the open browser and quickly typed in the name. "I'll have that information for you momentarily."
"Don't mind the radio silence; we're gonna be dodging cops for a while."
Not caring to speculate on how well John was getting on with Riley, Harold started skimming through the search results: advice about healthy living, and a list of… blood donation sites.
Wait.
Blinking, he peered at his search criteria: What do I do after donating blood?
He erased it and tried again. How much water should I drink after donating blood?
Was this a… hallucination? A quick photo of the screen showed the same words; it didn't eliminate the possibility of a hallucination - or a dream - but certainly made it less likely. He checked his watch a few times, and counted his fingers. The time stayed consistent, and he had the right number of fingers each time he counted: no dream.
Was he subconsciously worried about the feeding? He'd have to deal with that later. The idiom about "eating like a bird" may have been co-opted for the wrong concept - Harold fondly recalled his father teaching him a bird's true eating habits, a quarter to a half of its body weight daily (and for a hummingbird, up to twice its own weight in nectar) - but it did accurately describe him: It was normal for him to eat sparingly throughout the day. At the moment, he was feeling a little dizzy, but not too weak; he needed to get to work.
He typed in: What should I eat after donating blood?
Three for three. Harold erased the search and, letter by letter, slowly started to type-
Don't over-ex
He froze, a sudden rushing noise in his ears. Then he continued typing:
Don't over-exert yourself either, Harold.
Elias… was sending him messages. He'd never heard of a vampire who could do this, but then, a lot of common knowledge about vampires had turned out to be nonsense. Who knew what all Elias could do from Rikers?
He tried to type Is that you, Mr. Elias? but it came out In case you're wondering, I just implanted a few suggestions earlier.
The words flowed freely whenever he tried to type anything at all, and stopped only when he fought the effect - which, thankfully, wasn't difficult. But it did seem that he'd keep doing it until the messages were complete.
You need water, protein, iron, sodium, and potassium. Drink a few extra glasses of water today and eat some extra fruits and veggies: melons, broccoli, berries, onions, peppers, and leafy greens. Also meat (particularly beef), fish, or beans. Vitamin C increases iron absorption; calcium decreases it, so don't drink milk with your meals. For a couple of days, cut down on coffee, tea, wine, grapes, chocolate, and peppermint.
Harold paused, his stomach roiling. Elias had basically hypnotized him into writing pre-planted messages. What else could the vampire do to him? Hypnotize him into coding something? Going somewhere? Make him into a sleeper agent? Force him to reveal information? Had he… had Elias already gotten information after the feeding? Before the bus, Harold's last memory was his hands slipping off the table; he didn't recall leaving Elias, or Rikers, or even getting on the bus, although he must have managed to do so.
Wait. Elias had definitely gotten information from him. One piece of information: Harold's name. Harold had gone in as Mr. Crane, and… well, 'Mr. Crane' was a traceable alias, but when would Elias have had the time to research it? Or have his allies research it, if he couldn't do so himself? Still, it was at least possible that they'd done it through normal human means, instead of digging through Harold's brain to get the info. But he couldn't shake the horror of being that much at Elias's mercy, all his secrets laid bare - it was a threat, a very clear and obvious threat, and going back for a second session was out of the question-
Stop that, he told himself firmly. There was no denying that Elias posed a threat to their operation - there were many nefarious ends that Elias could use his powers to accomplish. Yet here, he had used them to ensure that Harold's health was attended to. True, Harold had already pledged himself to four more sessions, and Elias could hardly get his full payment if Harold weren't able to stay healthy, so perhaps it was particularly self-serving.
But there was another facet of this situation: Elias could have kept his powers secret, but had instead revealed not only their existence, but the sort of uses they could be put to.
In a way that was difficult to articulate, this act was almost like an olive branch: I could have done so much to you, but I chose to leave you in peace.
He put his hands to the keys again.
No alcohol for 48 hours. I don't imagine that you smoke, but avoid that as well.
And Harold? Next time you plan to visit, drink a few extra glasses of water the night before, get some good protein, and maybe eat some pineapple; it improves the flavor.
Pineapple. Harold couldn't help but let out a half-hysterical snort of laughter.
Just so you know, the only piece of information I pulled from you was your given name. It's a breach of privacy, I know, but I did want to give you a taste of my powers. And given that you know my whole name, it seemed fair for me to know something more authentic than the name you came to me under.
I don't tend to use these powers except on my enemies. And whether or not you consider me to be your enemy, I don't consider you to be mine. Different methodologies, to be sure, different boundaries of acceptable behavior, but still working toward the same goal: a safer city.
Hope your cases go well this week. I'll see you in a month.
After that line, his typing went back to normal; that seemed to be the end of it.
Collapsing backward into his chair, Harold let his arms hang loosely as he tried to cope with the implications of this kind of power. Before the revelation, Elias had been worrisome enough, when they'd thought he was merely another human like anyone else - when he wielded guns, bombs, and human agents, and a keen intellect employed in patient strategy, extortion, subterfuge. But now?
Elias was a vampire; Marconi was his thrall. The traditional defenses against vampires were useless - though it was somewhat heartening to know that they weren't immune to bullets. Among the vampire lord's tricks were inhuman strength and speed, some form of mind control, and possible telepathy - all of which raised his threat level tremendously.
And yet… even given all that, Harold would go back to him. In a month. Surrender himself once again to the donation process, and to the vulnerability; no defenses, no caveats. The deal had been struck, and it would be the height of foolishness to anger Elias by failing to uphold his end of it - especially now that Elias had made good on his word.
John was not going to like this.
Of course, that assumed that he could even convince John of the reality of it, which would hardly be easy. Harold's own doubts had been overcome in an instant: You couldn't look a vampire in the face, witness a glimpse of their true nature, and not believe that they were real. But having someone try to convey their reality through words… especially given the paradigm shift that had to happen to accommodate that reality… well, from an outsider's perspective, Harold could think of half a dozen more reasonable explanations, starting with drugs and brain tumors.
John's ignorance was a potential liability, but, then again, it didn't seem likely to cause problems in the near future. Behind bars, Elias was contained… or… was he, really? Perhaps he had managed to keep his operation going because he could come and go as he pleased. Could he fly? Turn into smoke and waft through the bars? There was no way to tell where the line was between reasonable possibilities and nonsense. But even so…
Resting his forehead in his hands, Harold breathed deeply, turning the facts over in his mind, but it didn't seem to help. Generally, he was able to come up with contingency plans for each new threat they uncovered, but this… this was so far beyond him right now. For the moment, he'd have to let it go; maybe his head would be clearer by morning.
As to the question of informing John… if John were convinced of the reality, what would happen then? He'd hardly appreciate Harold turning himself over to Elias this way. Maybe he'd try to interfere with the deal, which would just make matters worse. Harold could see John trying to kill Elias - likely impossible, and definitely bad - or trying to negotiate to take Harold's place. But even if Elias would accept the trade, John needed to be in the field, unhampered by blood loss. Harold's skills were far less necessary on a day-to-day basis, and he did most of them sitting down; feeling woozy wouldn't impact his work too much. Not that John would see it that way, or accept the necessity: He didn't mess around with Harold's safety.
No, informing John was far more likely to harm the operation than help it, at least for the moment. That made the calculation far more simple.
Harold opened up a new tab on the browser, and got back to work.
