"And what are the primary rules for binding a familiar?"
As usual, nobody would meet the old professor's eyes. She glared around, trying to find the weakest link, the kid who was sleeping or not paying attention or wouldn't know the answer.
"Ezreal, would you mind not doodling? Stand up straight and explain to the class all the major rules of binding. In order, if you please."
Ezreal looked up from his anatomical study of a dragon wing, his eyes narrowed and his mouth curved down in an annoyed frown. He stood, just as she had asked, and fixed her with a piercing glare.
"Rule one," he began in a confident voice, making a show of counting it on his finger, "never bind a being with capacity for logical thought. The difficult magic or the offended party may kill you, and succeeding is black magic and forbidden," he recited, word-for-word, as it was written in the original text. "Rule two: attempting or succeeding to bind another person's familiar is black magic and forbidden." He ticked another one off on his fingers. "And rule three: the binding of any creature that feeds on humans without the express permission of the Institution will be ruled as black magic and forbidden; furthermore, using any familiar to attack another human without significant provocation is black magic and forbidden." He cocked an eyebrow and smiled faintly at the professor, daring her to find anything wrong with his answer.
"Yes very good," she waved dismissively, "you may sit."
Ezreal's annoyed frown came back in an instant. Had she not realized that he'd memorized the text? God, he couldn't wait to get out of this cock-and-bull classroom and do something worthwhile. He flopped back into his chair and started on a diagram of the moon phases in the margin of his notes. Luna Silens, Prima Phasis, Primus Sextilius Aspectus... and then the shapes and their associations. His notes for his reagents class were just as badly cluttered as these - his elementary ritual notes.
The curricula was boring and useless so far, the staff too preoccupied with making absolutely sure that every student wouldn't become some forbidden "black wizard" to teach them anything more complex than a healing potion. Anything that could be used in any way to hurt or inconvenience anyone was not taught until the staff had deemed each one of them "trustworthy." Ezreal hadn't seen a single student near his age be labelled as such. He'd been in classes for almost five years now, having been forced to enroll at the age of ten. And yet, he'd done nothing but mix potion bases, practice drawing circles, learn runic alphabets, and read endless theories. He knew his learning was much faster than his classmates, and he'd even been given permission to check out upper-level magic theory tomes from the Institution library, though he'd had to teach himself Latin to understand them. But it was all missing some piece, some small speck of information that made the spells work. Ezreal had tried a few; forbidden or no, he just wanted to do something worthwhile, but nothing had happened. He was frustrated, and he was painfully bored. That's why his ears pricked at the word "practicum."
"Your homework for this week is your first practicum. You must find a minor creature, in the same level of classification as an imp or salamander, and perform a successful binding spell on it. If you cannot find a creature such as these, at least bring in a common animal, something small like a rabbit. You will then be graded on your care of this familiar over the course of the class, so be sure to bind something hardier than a goldfish if you'd like to pass. I expect a full write up of your experiences. That will be all."
Ezreal threw his parchment and his tomes back into his rucksack, barely able to contain his excitement. An actual spell! He'd finally be able to show them. He was ready for more, he could be moved up to a class that challenged him. It was his time to shine!
As he ran back to the cottage his parents had constructed for him, his mind raced. What would he go and find? What would he impress the professor with? Settling for a rat or a songbird was out of the question. Perhaps he could bind a minor elemental? No, then the Institution would know he was using summoning spells he shouldn't know yet. Perhaps a salamander? That seemed like a copout, and fire salts were only so useful. And then it hit him, tomorrow night would be the middle of the decreasing crescent moon phase, and unicorn summoning only required a silver amulet, a virgin, and some patience. Unicorn hair was incredibly powerful, and could fill the role of many reagents. Horn shavings had immense healing properties. Unicorn blood was powerful, as well as unicorn tears. All of these products were so incredibly rare these days, as the remaining herds broke apart and became even more skittish than normal. So called "breeders" refused to breed in captivity, and were few to begin with. What better to show the Institute higher-ups that he was capable and gifted? He nodded, his mind made up. Tomorrow night, he would complete the perfect summoning ritual and the perfect binding spell, and impress everyone by riding to school on his new familiar. That would show them all.
As Ezreal sat in a clearing deep in the forest, all alone in the middle of the night, he wondered if he'd done something wrong. He'd been here for hours already, and no unicorn had showed up. He'd buried the silver amulet beneath a juniper bush by the light of the decreasing crescent, and then waited nearby with his reagents ready for a binding spell. Half an hour later, he'd decided to perform the binding ritual up to the last step, and have it ready when his unicorn came along. He'd spread the salt circle inside the ring which he had scratched into the black dirt. He sat inside, a small fire of yew branches and rosemary at his feet. The pile of dried branches he'd brought was dwindling now, and he was starting to hope he wouldn't need the spell promoter if a unicorn did show. He sat beside his small bronze bowl, filled with sage leaves, cinnamon sticks, and vanilla beans he had burned. In his hands, a black culter knife.
He was poised to press the blade into his palm, the final step of the binding ritual. All he needed to do to center the spell on a subject was touch it or mark it with his blood. Then it would be bound and would follow his every order. Now he just needed that unicorn to come along before he nodded off.
A branch snapped someplace in the darkness. Ezreal's back straightened, and he squinted into the darkness between the trees. He pressed the blade to his palm, ready to slice down at a moment's notice. Had there been movement? He craned his neck one way, then the other, his heart pounding in his chest. He waited for the length of five deep breaths. Then twenty five. Then fifty five. The only sounds were the rustling of wind in the leaves and the crackling of his tiny fire. It had burned down to cinders now. Ezreal shivered in the icy night air, but refused to take the blade from his palm to adjust his wool cloak.
He yawned hugely, then shuffled about to cross his legs. Was the moon even still out? Should he just pack up and go home? He rolled his shoulders a few times, trying to stay alert. But it was no use; his eyes closed for a moment.
Something snarled and sprang at Ezreal. In blind panic, he did the one thing he'd been concentrating on for hours. The culter sliced across his palm easily, and he threw a hand up in front of his face. Whatever attacked him collided with his open hand and the dripping blood.
It instantly dropped to the dirt as if he'd beaten it unconscious, its upper half across Ezreal's lap.
Ezreal's eyes widened in terror. It was...he shifted under its weight...it was a human. A young man. He wore rags made from what looked like burlap and wool, and possibly some scraps of animal fur and sinew. He was filthy with mud and blood and bits of dried vegetation stuck to him, scraped from running through thorns and branches and sharp leaves.
His hair was a strange shade, too filthy to properly decipher. It hung in a matted mess around his face. The man's skin was pale, unhealthily so, and he looked too thin around his bare ribs. Ezreal would have thought him a poor homeless boy who'd been driven into the forest for the sins of his parents if it weren't for his teeth.
Two fangs, bared in a snarl. His tongue poked from between his sharp teeth as he set to lap up the blood.
The blood Ezreal had smeared across his face.
The blood that completed the ritual.
Ezreal yanked his hand away in fear and disgust. A vampire. He hoped the ritual hadn't worked, he hoped he had failed for the first time in his life.
"Sit," Ezreal ordered, his voice shaking.
The man roared in anger, and after a moment of struggling, he leaned back and plopped on the ground with his legs crossed. His sharp nails dug lines across Ezreal's circle and he spat like an angry cat. But it didn't matter, the damage had already been done.
"Oh no," Ezreal whispered, staring at the dripping laceration on his hand. There was no way to unbind a familiar once the blood ritual had succeeded.
The words "this is black magic, and forbidden," drummed against his skull, stirring him into further panic. He would be driven out of town, left to fend for himself, or possibly executed so the bond would be lifted. His parents would suffer too, just by sharing a name with him.
He grabbed the ragged old tome he'd brought with to double-check the ritual before performing it. Maybe it would have some other information about binding and familiars that he could use. He flipped through the yellowing pages marked with feathers and dried leaves, trying to keep his breathing under control.
The word "familiar" caught his eye, and he jammed his finger against the page to hold the spot. He skimmed up to the beginning of the chapter, and then read.
"Theory on unbinding a familiar: a compendium."
There's a chance. Ezreal skipped a few lines, trying to find any relevant information.
"There have been a few cases of a familiar being unbound from its master. Most of these cases resulted from the untimely death of the wizard who bound it, a well documented process, but remarkably in these cases, the deaths were caused by the beast they tamed. Whether they were weak of will or poor of practice is unknown to the author of this book, though both options should be considered."
Well that's right out. Ezreal skimmed a bit further, until he found a list. It gave the species of every known creature that had been bound throughout recorded history, and after reading through it twice, he cursed. Vampire wasn't listed. There would be no theories on how to unbind one if none had ever been bound.
The vampire was snarling now, trying to stand but forced to stay seated by Ezreal's order. His eyes were positively wild with rage and panic. Ezreal didn't know what to do.
"Stop that noise!" he snapped, and the vampire fell silent. His eyes opened wide as he put his hands up to his mouth. He tried to yell, but no sound would come out.
"Oh dammit what do I do?" Ezreal pleaded with the sky, pacing back and forth in front of the bewildered vampire and chewing his lip. His nails bit into his cheeks. He clutched at the skin there, hoping the pain would jog his memory or help him come up with a plan. Nothing. His mind remained blank with fear.
He couldn't rid himself of the vampire. And as a familiar, the vampire would try his hardest to keep Ezreal from harm. Ezreal had to keep him. But he couldn't be caught with a sapient, human-killing creature at his command or he would be exiled or executed.
Maybe there was something at his cottage. Maybe he had an old book with information he'd forgotten about. Maybe it would be okay. He just needed to get home and clear his head. He breathed deeply, and made up his mind.
"Okay, vampire. Walk close to me, and don't make a sound." Ezreal picked up his things, stamped out the fire, and dragged his foot across the circles in the dirt. He remembered to dig up his silver amulet; no use leaving that behind.
His new familiar stayed exactly five feet away from Ezreal as if being pulled by an invisible leash. He made it very obvious that he wanted no part of Ezreal's orders, but he had no choice in the matter. However, his eyes never left the cut on Ezreal's palm, which had scabbed over by the time they reached the city walls.
The stone walls stood about twelve feet high, just enough to discourage bandits and most kinds of monsters. It didn't work as well against wandering teenage boys, however, as evidenced by the practiced way Ezreal pulled a length of rope out from under a nearby bush and threw it over the side. When he was satisfied that the loop on top had caught a sturdy merlon, he hoisted himself up and over agilely. Before he hoisted himself over the top, he looked back down to see if the vampire had followed him. He frowned. The monster was nowhere in sight.
Ezreal sighed, heaved his body over the wall, and unhooked the rope as soon as he was safely on top. Who cares? If the monster ran off, that would solve his troubles. It would be problematic that the vampire was both bound to him and running wild, but at least Ezreal wouldn't be found out.
He easily lassoed the inner merlon, and gazed down at the sprawling farm fields all encircling the inner wall. Inside that wall lay the majority of the city's population: the Institution, the Courthouse, Parliament, and the buildings that housed as many people as possible crammed against the sides of the walls. His cottage was outside the main city, thankfully, but still a good twenty minute walk from here.
Something moved below him - a guard? He ducked under the lip of the crenellations, and peeked out.
His vampire, mouth turned down in an impatient sneer, was shifting his weight from foot to foot at the bottom of the wall. What the...? Ezreal boggled for a moment. He hadn't seen him scale the wall, let alone climb down the other side.
He clambered down the other side and unhooked the rope, taking it with him this time. He side-eyed the vampire, wondering how he'd climbed the wall in no time flat, but the beast wouldn't meet his gaze. Could they really climb that well? Ezreal made a mental note to read up on vampires just as soon as he figured out what to do with this one.
The sun was already poking over the horizon when Ezreal arrived at his tiny cottage. The vampire snarled at the beams and held his hand above his eyes, but didn't burst into flames or anything when the sunlight hit him.
"Get inside, hurry," Ezreal hissed as he wrestled the door open. It stuck a little against the floor, but Ezreal was used to forcing it open with his shoulder by now. Ezreal's nearest neighbor lived a few acres over, but he wasn't about to take any chances. His vampire made a face of disgust, but did as he was told.
He looked a bit more relaxed now that he was out of the sun, but grimaced at everything in the cottage. Sure, Ezreal wasn't the neatest person, but apart from his unkempt bed and the toppling stack of books piled on and around his desk, it wasn't that bad. If anything, this new familiar was the one making his cottage filthy. He scowled at his matted hair and grubby rags. Those would have to go.
"Okay, I'm going to run you some bath water, and then you're going to wash up while I find some way to fix this."
The vampire made no indication that he understood. Ezreal grumbled, and pushed open the bathroom door.
Thankfully, living in a cottage so close to the largest magic university in the world meant that water at any temperature could be transported to his home in a matter of minutes. He remembered the old days of hauling and boiling pump water, and shuddered. Magic was so convenient when learned properly. He plugged the drain, cranked the temperature knob to hot, and pressed the valve in. The pipes rattled, and a steaming spray burst out of the spigot. He squirted in a copious amount of soap, because that vampire sure could use it. The foamy lather filled the small cottage tub within a few minutes.
"Hey you," Ezreal called into the other room, "get in here so you can take your bath."
The vampire shuffled in, teeth clenched and hunched over as if ready to spring.
"Okay, take off your, uh, those things." Ezreal motioned at the rags strapped over the beast's hips and shoulders, marvelling at how little they really covered. He turned to the side and looked away. He wasn't quite ready to find out what kind of anatomy vampires had, and he especially did not need to stare at a naked man of all things. "Just put them on the floor and get in the tub."
Ezreal heard him sink in with a loud splash and an angry hiss.
"Lay back far enough to put your hair in the water," he instructed, and heard the water splash accordingly. "Don't drown, and just soak to get the dirt off. I'll be back in a little while."
Could vampires even drown? Oh well, he'd have to look that up at some point too. The binding was obviously strong enough where he wouldn't drown himself now, so he would have to satisfy his curiosity later.
He escaped the steamy bathroom and closed the door behind himself. There, now his house wouldn't smell like mud and cooked... whatever it was vampires smelled like. Blood, maybe? What did cooked blood smell like?
Ezreal pulled out the chair at his desk and flopped into it. His body was starting to slow with fatigue, but his mind was still sharp. He tugged a few leather-bound books he'd borrowed from the Institute library onto his huge desk. They seemed promising. He cracked the first open, the blue spine cracking with age. "An Encyclopaedic Look at Sub-Human Creatures" read the header in crisp, small lettering. Ezreal flipped towards the back, looking for the Vs. "Undead...Undine...Vaettir...aha, Vampire." He stabbed the book with his finger, amazed at how short the entry was compared to almost every other creature. He muttered aloud. "Vampires are known to subsist on human blood for sustenance...Vampires will kill without hesitation...It is not known how or even if vampires reproduce...They have an aversion to sunlight, garlic, fire, can't cross running water, and will be forced to count small grains of sand or rice thrown at them. ...Huh, that's interesting, I'll have to try that out. Can be found in most forests, solitary, blah blah. Wow, not a whole lot is even known about them," Ezreal commented to himself and slammed the book shut. He dropped it to the floor at his feet, and started on the next one.
"Log of Tesgore. If I remember correctly, he encountered a vampire on his thirty-eighth day out." He flipped to the appropriate page, and skimmed across the handwritten words. "There we go," he murmured when he found the part he thought would prove useful.
She attacked with eyes of red, glowing in the gloom. She was as beautiful as she was deadly, with skin of ivory and fangs of pearl. I knew that night was to be my last, curse my clumsiness in the darkness she revels in! But alas, she fell as I struck her breast with my sword. A pity. I studied my blade but could find no reason for her to be slain by my ordinary steel. I will have to chalk this one up to my remarkable reflexes and capacity for luck.
Ezreal closed that book too, and sighed. Did anybody have any idea about how vampires actually worked? It didn't seem so. This wasn't helping at all. He grabbed the next book, a thick, dry legal tome. If his life was about to be over, he wanted to double-check how over it was and plan accordingly.
It took him four read-throughs to understand the extent of his crimes. If it hadn't been for the uncomfortable pangs of fear-adrenalin running up his spine, he was sure he'd have fallen asleep. He sighed, trying his best to bury the anxiousness, and grumbled out loud: "To sum up, I'll be hanged for dominion over a sapient creature that feeds on humans. The vampire will be drawn and quartered at best, just to keep it from communicating any flaws in our security to other vampires. My family will be exiled to keep them from raising any more dark wizards. All my belongings burned. My name blotted from history. Just to make sure nobody replicates my mistake?! Well guess what, Institute, I don't think anyone could fuck up as badly as I have, even if they tried! Who would want a pet leech anyways?!"
Ezreal threw the book to the ground and laid his head in his arms with a pained moan. What could he do? What were his options?
Should he run now, before they caught on? But he was useless in the forest by himself. He wouldn't last a week out there. He didn't know the first thing about surviving in a wilderness filled with predators who would love nothing more than to feast on his flesh, blood, and soul. He couldn't complete the simplest of wards or summon a spark of heat. And running from civilization was the same as being exiled. You could not return to your home, as it was akin to admitting guilt.
Should he turn himself in and explain that he'd made a simple mistake? They would have to listen to reason. It had been a slip of his blade and a reflexive block, it's not as if he had gone out looking for a vampire to bind. Of course, thinking back, he never should have gone that far in his binding ritual without the unicorn present. He wasn't even supposed to be out looking for a unicorn. In fact, there was no way he could prove he hadn't been out there for the sake of binding a vampire.
So, what then?
He sighed loudly again, and heard a slosh. Oh right, he had to clean that...thing. Ezreal pushed himself out of the desk chair and headed for the bathroom.
The vampire had one leg out of the tub, splashing the muddy foam onto the cottage floor. His grin was evil with amusement at his own cleverness.
"Stop that!" Ezreal snapped irritably, and the vampire returned his limb to the tub with an offended frown. "Now sit up, I need to get the gunk out of your hair."
The vampire did exactly that, making sure to turn his back to Ezreal with a huff. Ezreal could now tell the color of the creature's hair. Silvery white, like moonlight. The mud had soaked out for the most part, but his hair was still thick with tangles, burrs, and what seemed to be small plants. Ezreal pulled one out of his hair, and recognized the scent. Spearmint? How odd. He pulled a few more limp sprigs out, and tossed them on the flooded floor. He had to clean it anyway, it didn't matter.
He tried to card his fingers through, but only tangled his hands in the mess. The vampire's hair still felt gritty, so he pulled the plug and let the first layer of filth drain. He drew a second bath, and pushed the vampire over into the water again. The monster didn't fight it, and simply let himself fall.
Ezreal fished in the cabinet beside the sink until he found his shampoo and a washcloth. It was the roughest cloth he owned, which would be perfect for scrubbing off the vampire's layer of grime. He poured more soap across the man's body, dipped the cloth in the water to wet it, and then started to scrub. The washcloth came away from his body colored brown with dirt, so Ezreal flipped it over and scrubbed on the other side. When the rag was too filthy to continue, he wrung it out in the tub and started again. Soon, the vampire was pink on one side of his back.
"Okay, sit back up again," Ezreal ordered. He scrubbed the other half of the vampire's back until it was a matching shade of raw pink. "Now do the same thing and clean yourself while I wash your hair."
The creature growled with displeasure, but picked up the rag and scrubbed himself to a matching shade of pink. Ezreal dumped a handful of shampoo into the vampire's hair and tried his best to massage the lather into his scalp. When he pricked himself on a twig or burr, he plucked it out and dropped it to the floor with the spearmint. He combed his hands through the vampire's hair, one pull at a time.
It took nearly an hour, but the vampire's hair was finally clean enough to brush. That was no easy feat, however, and Ezreal ended up ripping through several tangles in impatience. The vampire kept growling at the rough treatment, but couldn't do anything to stop him.
Ezreal drained the tub again and drew clean water for a third time. With the soap gone, he opted to turn his back.
"Rinse yourself off, make sure there's no soap left in your hair. Scrub your face one last time with the washcloth. Stand up once you're sure you've scrubbed your whole body, I don't want any of your dirt in my house." He groaned. Lack of sleep was catching up to him.
A splash. Ezreal also stood, and grabbed a towel out of his towel cabinet.
"Dry yourself off," he grumbled. "I'll get you something of mine to wear."
Ezreal escaped the cloud of muck-scented steam and dug through his wardrobe for something too big for him. The vampire was better built than he was, and a bit taller. He'd have to wear pajamas, they were the only garments Ezreal had that might stretch enough to fit him. He pulled out a pair of old, worn, gray sweatpants and a flannel shirt, and tossed them into the bathroom.
"Try to put these on," Ezreal ordered. It was already becoming second nature.
The vampire wandered out of the bathroom in the provided pajamas, the sleeves and pants comically short on him. He couldn't button the shirt or it wouldn't fit around his toned chest, and the waistline hung dangerously low on his hips.
Ezreal rubbed his forehead with one hand. He was too tired for this shit.
"Look, I'm going to sleep. Just...lay down somewhere and rest if you can. If not, don't go wandering around. If you get caught, you die, so don't go standing in front of windows or anything of the sort."
The vampire stared at him blankly, and then his gaze flicked to Ezreal's bed.
"No, you are not getting in my bed. Just...lay on the rug or something." Ezreal waved his hand dismissively, and then climbed under his covers. He flopped face-down into the pillow, still clothed, and let out a frustrated whine.
"My life is ruined because of a stupid vampire," he lamented into the pillowcase.
Said vampire gave Ezreal a dirty look.