What's this? Another STEAMM fic from yours truly? And a modern AU Halloween fic too?
First off, I must absolutely thank the ever wonderful Yankee Countess for giving me this idea (that got way out of control, but that's my fault). I was also inspired by my own picsets on Tumblr of the Crawley sisters as witches. This is a modern AU fic, where all the Crawley sisters are witches (like Hocus Pocus but without the eating children part) and all of their fellas are also supernatural creatures: Tom is a werewolf, Sir Anthony is a ghost, and Matthew is a vampire. I won't give away too much of the plot, but be warned that there will be some creepy and scary stuff (it's a Halloween story, of course).
I hope to update at least once a week until Halloween, but I've had trouble keeping my own deadlines so we'll just see how things go. I'm planning this to be only a couple chapters, but as you can see this chapter is *rather* long and it's only the prologue! We'll get into the real plot in the next chapter so stay tuned!
Thank you so much to all my loyal readers, and thank you for your follows, favorites, reviews, and all that jazz. Let's keep the STEAMM ships sailing!
An All Hallow's Eve Tale
Prologue: Anything But Normal
The Crawley sisters always knew that, being witches, their lives wouldn't be normal. No one who was born with magical blood in their veins had a normal life, and they knew it.
First was their uncommon upbringing. Their mother and grandmother, both witches as well, educated them in all manner of witchcraft, from spell-casting to potion making and even the centuries-old custom of flying (on broomsticks, of course). They had their familiars (all black cats according to tradition), their great black cauldrons, their yellowed spell books, and cupboards stocked with magical ingredients for potions. They spent their childhood practising simple spells, creating potions in the kitchen, and enchanting their toys to make them come alive. When they fought, which was a fairly common occurrence, they sometimes hexed each other which resulted in quite the berating from their mother.
And not to mention, they lived in the family's splendid ancestral home tucked away in the Yorkshire wilds. Their family was an old and noble one, and as such they were considered ladies, which meant that their grandmother attempted to make them proper noble witches. All three girls were expected to uphold the ancient traditions, including one day marrying warlocks like their father. But as all the girls were very different in their personalities, it would be erroneous to assume they'd all follow the same path.
Indeed, they all hoped to find love, but not necessarily with a noble warlock. They tended to be snobbish, always acting superior to witches even though their magical prowess was never as strong. And after a young Sybil enchanted a certain Larry Grey to walk around with a pig's snout and tail at a party, the likelihood of them being courted by a warlock was small, much to their grandmother's dismay. So when the sisters moved to London to develop their powers away from home, there was some small expectation that, if they were to find love there, they'd find it with a human.
The eldest, Mary, always assumed she'd follow tradition and marry a warlock, but several failed courtships had left her to believe that she wouldn't ever find love. She set her focus on her work instead, making herself in charge of her sisters (which didn't go over too well initially) and advancing her skills in enchantments. So when she met Matthew, unexpectedly formed a frienship with him, then fell madly in love with him, she was caught quite off guard. Typically a proud and cold woman, something about Matthew softened her and, for the first time in her life, she felt whole. To appease her family, Mary convinced Matthew to take her surname, which he was glad to do. And when Mary's true heritage was revealed to Matthew, he reacted with surprising calmness. Life felt perfect for Mary.
The middle daughter, Edith, saw herself as a bit of a disappointment. She had never been too good at witchcraft, unintentionally mixing up potion ingredients and miscasting spells. She thought that, once she was away from her family and on her own in London, she might improve – and to her surprise, she did. She found her purpose in writing her own spells, which worked better than the prewritten ones, and within a year she had a dozen new spellbooks written in her own hand. But her love life still proved to be disappointing … until she encountered Sir Anthony Strallan, an older but gentle and kind-hearted man who took to Edith almost instantly. A perfect life seemed within Edith's grasp.
The youngest of the Crawley sisters, Sybil never intended to marry a warlock, and she hoped very much that she could have a normal life with a human she truly loved. Living in London, she was given her chance to have the life she always wanted. She excelled at healing spells and potions and even considered volunteering as a nurse at the hospital, never mind the disapproval from her family at taking a 'human occupation.' But finding love was a difficult journey for her, as true love never seemed to come her way. Not, however, until Tom Branson entered her life in a peculiar way.
No, all three Crawley sisters had abnormal childhoods, and none would have normal lives for the rest of their days. But being talented and powerful witches, they could battle the unexpected with their magic and their own strength. And the trials their love would face would require both.
The Werewolf's Tale
Since he was a boy, Tom had lived with his curse. No, more like … suffered from it.
He had been halfway through seven when it had happened, when the creature had found him. It had been late at night, and he was in the garden, in his pyjamas. His brother had buried one of his toys as revenge for a petty quarrel, and Tom was only now trying to find it, hoping that his parents wouldn't find him out of bed and digging around the garden. He was on his knees, sticking his hands into the dirt under the hedge, grumbling and cursing his older brother. He thought the only danger would be his parents seeing him outside and sending him back to bed. He wasn't afraid of the dark, despite being a little boy. Tom wasn't scared of much, save for scarecrows, but luckily there were none nearby.
But he only grew afraid when he heard the low growl through the bushes.
At first, Tom believed it was a lost dog, one that had broken free from its leash and gotten into the backyard. If that was the case, then Tom didn't worry, for the dog would probably run away again. All the dogs in the neighborhood were relatively friendly, or at least wouldn't attack people.
But the huge shadow that emerged from the bushes made him go cold. The animal looked like a normal wolf, covered in grey fur, but it seemed as large as a pony. It was far bigger and more wolf-like than any dog Tom had ever seen. Its paws were the size of saucers and tipped with long, sharp claws. It growled, showing a small portion of its razor sharp teeth, a fang glinting from the moon's light. It had to be a wolf, though Tom knew there were no longer native to Ireland. Had it escaped from a zoo? It couldn't be a real wolf, he thought, it was too big!
The wolf's golden eyes watched the boy for a moment, and as it stared at him, Tom felt himself go frozen with fear. Something in the way the wolf stared at him made Tom think that it very much intended to eat him. He wondered if he could scare it off, holler for his parents, try and run for the house. But the wolf crept out of the bushes, revealing itself fully, and it stood just a few feet away from Tom. Tom could not make himself move, could not even utter a scream. The wolf continued to watch him, golden eyes narrowing and anther low growl emitting from its throat.
Then it leapt on him, teeth bared.
Tom screamed louder than he ever had in his life. He truly believed he was about to die.
But from the house he heard his father shout and fire his shotgun at the monster. It scampered away with a pained whimper, leaping over the fence and disappearing into the darkess.
Tom was still lying in the grass, sobbing and clutching his shoulder. He was covered in his own blood and the creature's. His father rushed to him, taking his son in his arms. "Tom? Are you hurt? Let me see …"
He gently removed Tom's hand from his shoulder, and he could not help but gasp upon seeing the size of the bite mark. It was horribly bloody, and the wolf's saliva was spilling out from the edges of the gash. Tom's father wondered for a moment if Tom would lose his arm, but quickly came back to his senses and picked him up from the ground.
Poor Tom could not calm down until he was sedated at the hospital. The doctors could not say what exactly had sunk its teeth into Tom, other than obviously a very large dog. He wasn't at risk for rabies or an infection, and as far as they could tell no lasting damage had been done. They commented that he was lucky his whole arm had not been torn off.
Years later, Tom would reflect that lucky was not the word to describe his condition.
The doctors could not be more wrong about not having an infection. Tom had been infected with something, but it was something that every medical practioner would laugh at. Things like werewolves and curses simply didn't exist … but they simply did not know they existed. And Tom was soon to be living proof of that.
The next month, he transformed for the first time while at the dinner table. Everyone else was silent as Mrs Branson led the mealtime prayer, except for Tom who let out a moan.
"Hush, Tom," Mr Branson chided.
Tom shook his head, wincing at a pain in his chest. "I don't feel so well."
"Would you like to go upstairs and lie down?" his mother kindly suggested.
Tom was in the process of nodding, but suddenly he groaned again, opening his mouth wide. To the horror of everyone sitting around him, fangs had grown from his four canines, and when he forced his eyes open his irises had turned bright gold. Then his nails grew sharp and long, and all over his body grey fur began to sprout. He stood and gripped the edge of the table, his newly grown claws scratching the wood, before he collapsed to the floor. His clothes torn as his body grew, his back arching and his face elongating until he had fully transformed – into a wolf.
Being only a young boy, he was only a small werewolf, but his aggression was still monstrous. Behind his golden eyes he seemed delirious and confused, but more troubling was the fact that he acted feral and animalistic. He destroyed almost every piece of furniture in the house and nearly scratched his mother before they were able to shut him up in his room. They heard him clawing the walls and howling, pacing the floor, and he only grew silent as dawn approached.
When they were brave enough to open the bedroom door, they found him curled up on the floor, sobbing. "What did I do?" he cried. "What happened to me?"
With difficulty they explained what had happened to him. How he had transformed into a wolf, destroyed everything in the house, and nearly hurt his mother. Terrified of himself, Tom refused to leave his house for a long time, not even to go to school, and for a while they let him have his solitude. They wondered what to do and how to manage this; they knew what their boy was now, and they knew it would happen again.
But his father then decided that his son must try to have as normal a life as possible. Tom returned to school, although he was still afraid he'd transform and hurt one of his friends. At school it was easy to forget his affliction. At home, though, he could never forget it. Things felt different, even though they hardly spoke of his curse. For a long time his siblings could hardly stand to be in the same room as him, and Tom knew it would take a while for them to trust him again. Normal was easy to pretend, but his curse was never far from his mind.
Every month at the full moon he would transform, and every time he would hardly remember the chaos he caused. His parents, fearing he would harm the family, decided that before he transformed he'd be locked up in the stone garden shed to wait out the night. It was a harsh decision, but no one saw any other way. Tom understood; he didn't want to hurt his family either. He didn't like the thought of being locked in the cold, windowless shed all night, but he knew he risked hurting his family if he didn't.
"It's for the safety of your siblings," his father reminded him as he locked the door the first time.
Once the door was closed, Tom was in complete darkness. The shed door held fast when he transformed, snarling and spitting, and the structure withstood his clawing at the walls. He finally exhausted himself from his exertions, pacing the floor before finally settling down. When he came to at sunrise he found his clothes in tatters, scrapes and cuts everywhere on his body, and his stomach growling like mad.
Each full moon he'd spend the night in the cold stone shed, locked in with no way out. He'd rake his claws up and down the stone walls and snap his jaws at the door, and if a mouse or bird crept in through the roof, he'd rip it to shreds in an instant. He once tried to dig through the ground, but his father hammered in a wooden floor and cut off his only escape route. No matter what, Tom could not be let out until the morning.
As Tom grew older, his wolf form grew too, and the garden shed had to be expanded over the years to accommodate him. Eventually he grew to the same size as the creature who had attacked him, and his teeth and claws were sharp enough to tear a man's arm off. The older he got, the more dangerous he became; if he encountered a human during the full moon, he could very well kill them, no matter who they were. He'd never recognize his family as a wolf.
Even in his human form he could feel his curse in other ways: the way he ate meat with a ravenous appetite, the way he seemed to growl when he was angry, how he'd grow more agitated as the full moon approached. There were even times when he thought he might transform even though it wasn't time yet. And still he tried to live like a normal person. He went to school, he hung out with friends, he got a job working in a garage. His family would rarely mention his curse, even privately or with other family members. Even his cousins did not know of his curse. Sometimes it seemed that the curse did not exist, or it existed only in Tom's mind. As long as he remembered to go into the shed at the full moon, he would not hurt anyone and everyone would be safe.
But whatever security he felt at his parents' home vanished early one morning.
As always at every full moon, he locked inside the garden shed for the night, and as morning approached he began to calm down from his bestial wrath. It was still dark, the moon was still faintly shining, but within the hour Tom would transform back into a human. He was lying on his side, panting, exhausted from the long night of trying to escape his confinement.
But his ears perked up when he heard the lock on the door being handled.
If he turned back then, he would have remembered that his cousin Damien had borrowed a set of shovels from the Bransons for his own garden; it was he who outside the garden shed, shovels in hand, fiddling with the lock on the door. He was there early before he had to go to work. He would not get in without the key, which was on the kitchen counter inside the house. Under normal circumstances Damien would fiddle with the lock for a few minutes, give up and set the shovels on the door outside, then leave the Bransons' garden.
But the scent of a human so close to him sent Tom into a frenzy.
He howled, then rammed his head into the shed door; although reinforced, it trembled on its hinges. Damien heard the howl come from inside the shed and quickly backed away, fearing that a wild dog had been locked in. He had no idea of Tom's true nature, no idea of the precautions his family took to keep Tom away.
"Something in there?" he senselessly called out.
With all of his might, Tom rammed the door again, and it tore away from the shed. Damien was barely able to scramble away from the falling door in time, but he wasn't able to run from the giant wolf that leapt on top of him, snarling and snapping its jaws. Damien screamed and tried to wrestle away from the wolf, but it was too large and too strong to get away from, especially with its heavy paws pinning his chest to the ground. Tom's mind could not register that he was attacking his own cousin, and he kept clawing and snapping at Damien. All Damien could do was hold the creature away from his face, but his strength was quickly diminishing …
The blast from his father's shotgun caused Tom to bolt, leaping over the garden fence and down the street. Damien lay panting on the grass, his chest bloodied and his arms broken from the weight of Tom's paws. He was shaking violently from the shock of being attacked. Mr Branson rushed to him, checking all over for signs of a bite mark. He let out a sigh when he found no such wound. But Damien was still terribly maimed, and he needed an ambulance immediately. Several large blood stains were spreading across his shirt and trousers, and there was a deep cut on his forehead that was gushing blood.
"It was a wolf … a massive wolf!" Damien cried, his hands trying to cover his deeper gashes.
"I know. I know what it was," Mr Branson said.
Damien whimpered as Mr Branson tried to make him stand. "It was … locked … in your shed! I only wanted to return the shovels."
Mr Branson shook his head. "I should have warned you."
The sun rose shortly afterwards, and Tom returned to his normal state. He realized, from the rising sun shining in his eyes, that he was no longer in the garden shed. He had never before gotten free, and now he was scared something would happen. After looking around he found he was in the park near his house, and stark naked to top it off. Usually when he awoke there was a blanket waiting for him, but of course that was in the garden shed and he wasn't there anymore.
Still, his panic replaced any embarrassment he had running down the street back to his own home (thank goodness it was still early enough). His mother was waiting for him, and she had been crying. Once she fetched him some clothes, she sat him down at the kitchen table and explained.
"Damien came early to return the shovels he'd borrowed a couple days ago. We should have warned him not to come until after sunrise … you broke the shed door down and …" She inhaled deeply. "He's alive, but you injured him, badly. Your father's with him at the hospital."
Tom's throat felt dry as he asked, "Did I … bite him?"
His mother shook her head. "Your father doesn't think so."
The news that there would not be another werewolf in the family was a relief, but only a small one. Tom couldn't believe what he had done, what he couldn't even remember doing: he had nearly killed his own cousin, one of his best friends! How could he live with himself if he did kill Damien?
"I have to leave," he decided.
Mrs Branson took his hand in hers. "You know you can't, Tom. Where would you go? What if you hurt someone else?"
Tom didn't know where he would go if he left. He wanted to go someplace where he would not risk hurting anyone. He didn't want to stay cooped up in his parents' home, living out each full moon in the garden shed, his family just a short distance away from being bitten or killed. But he also wanted to know more about his curse, how many out there were like him. What if there was a way to return to normal? To be fully human again, to not have to worry about accidentally maiming or killing someone. If there was a chance at that, he'd jump at it without a second thought.
That night, he packed his belongings into a single duffel bag and stuffed the cash he had saved in his backpack. He got on a bus to Dublin, then bought a ticket to Liverpool. He didn't know why he thought England would be safer than Ireland, but some small hunch was drawing him there. Like there was an answer to his problems just waiting to be discovered.
He made it to a town on the outskirts of London the night before the full moon, finding an abandoned house he could stay in and wait out his transformation. He felt it happen quicker than usual, as he was standing in the yard directly under the full moon, feeling its silver glow give him strength as he changed into his bestial form. No longer confined to a tiny garden shed, he howled directly at the moon, basking in the freedom he now had. But his carnivorous appetite led him out in search of something to eat. The chains that Tom had wrapped around his ankles did not hold.
He ransacked two butcher's shops, devouring everything in the storeroom and all the carcasses waiting to be cut up. He'd never had food while locked in the garden shed, and now he ate like he had been starved for years. But his appetite was not quite satiated; meat was good, but living things … oh, that made his stomach growl and his mouth drool. Anything that was breathing, be it livestock or human, sent him into a crazed run out of the ruined shop. He bounded down the street, stopping only to sniff the air, finding a trail of prey …
And there was a delicious, sweet scent in the air, in a nearby field. Was it cattle? Sheep? A lost human?
Tom lost no time in following the scent, leaping over fences and cars and anything else in his way. He prowled through the tall grass in the field, nose to the ground, the scent getting stronger every second. He let out a growl as he detected movement through the grass – a human, he knew. It had to be a human.
But he got a whiff of something peculiar, and wondered if it really was a human.
Except he wasn't about to let a little thing like an odd odour get in the way of a meal. Slowly, to avoid scaring it off, he crept towards his prey, crouching so low that his grey fur could not be spotted over the edge of the tall grass. Closer and closer, he inched forward, until he was near enough to pounce—
A bright yellow light blinded him, and he collapsed. That was his first encounter with Sybil Crawley, the healing witch.
Cautiously Sybil approached him, the yellow mist of her stunning spell fading from her hands. She dropped the basket of herbs she had been collecting and knelt by the werewolf's head. It was quite unconscious, and likely would not wake until the morning. Evidently he had been feasting already tonight, the remnants of butcherd animals still coating his maw. It was the first time she had encountered a werewolf, but she was not afraid. When he turned back at sunrise he'd likely be frightened, unsure of where he was or what he had done.
She decided then and there that she'd wait for sunrise, and she did. She waited through the night, finished collecting her herbs that she was to restock the cupboards with. The sun rose and the werewolf shifted back to a human, shivering and naked. Sybil blushed and covered him with her overcoat.
"What's your name?" she asked the young man.
"Tom Branson," was the answer.
The Ghost's Tale
One year ago
The train accident left thirteen people dead and over fifty with serious injuries. The brakes on a train approaching King's Cross had failed, and crashed into another leaving the station. Among those deceased was Sir Anthony Strallan, on his way back to Yorkshire after a holiday in London with his sweetheart Edith.
He thought dying would be painful, or at least a bit uncomfortable. But at least to him, it wasn't painful at all. First there was the sudden rush of the speeding trains colliding, then abosolute darkness, and then the curious sensation of rising up, like floating through water. It didn't last very long, hardly thirty seconds. When his vision returned and the world came into focus again, he found he was not very far from where he last remembered being. Except that the train carriage he had been in was now destroyed.
Sir Anthony didn't expect the afterlife to look like a destroyed train carriage in the middle of King's Cross. He looked around, and gasped at seeing mangled and bloody bodies everywhere, many with books or newspapers still in hand. Fearfully, he looked next to the cracked window and saw his own body, crushed under the seat. A large splatter of blood was visible underneath his head.
If he were still alive, he would have had a heart attack. He reached up and felt his own … no, he didn't feel his own head. He didn't feel anything at all. He waved his hand right through his head. Looking at his own hands, he realized he could see right through them!
Good God, he though. He was fully transparent. Did this mean he was … ?
He heard sirens and emergency workers running towards the crash site. He didn't want to be seen like this, if there was a chance that they could see him, standing next to his own dead body. Rushing down the aisle, he then realized that he was passing through the solid floor. He felt like he was running on solid ground, but there was no denying that the laws of physics no longer applied to him and that he could pass right through walls! The truth was coming to him too quickly.
He passed right through seats and doors like they were imaginary. In the next car, the dining car, there was a mirror above the bar, and he took a quick glance at himself. He was still wearing his clothes (a nice business suit, thank goodness) and his hair was well combed. He looked unhurt at all. He was just as he was the moment before the other train collided with his.
Well, at least he wouldn't have to float around for eternity with a nasty head wound. That was something for Sir Anthony to take comfort in, at least. And at least he was not bound to the place he had died, as was common in the stories. If he had to spend the afterlife stuck in the remnants of a train carriage, he might descend into complete madness.
But all of the pieces were falling into place as he came to realize what he was. His body passed through walls and doors, and he could not feel anything anymore; it was like he was made of air. He had felt himself die, had even seen his own corpse! The answer was clear and obvious to him: he was a ghost, a spirit, an apparition, whatever one wished to called it. And that thought would have made him pass out too, had he still been alive.
"This can't be happening!" Anthony exclaimed. He knew ghosts existed – Edith had told him that, in the same conversation that she had told him she was a witch – but never would he have imagined that he would become one. Weren't ghosts supposed to be vengeful, angry spirits that roamed haunted houses and scared their unfaithful spouses? Sir Anthony wasn't vengeful or angry about anything, except for the existence of Tories, and he certainly wasn't going to go haunt any politicians. What was he going to do now that he was dead, technically a ghost?
He knew the first thing he had to do, and he made his way out of King's Cross and back into the bustle of London. There was panic all around him from the train crash: dozens of police cars and ambulances, shepherding people away and rushing gurneys to the crash site. No one noticed Sir Anthony at all, and he simply wafted through the crowd, invisible and undetectable. He saw how a few people shuddered after he passed through them, like a chill had overtaken them, but besides that none of them would think that a ghost had just went right through them. It was a chilly enough morning.
Making his way back to Edith's flat, Anthony wondered if she would be able to explain why this had happened to him. Of course he was glad not to be completely gone – he might be dead, but if this was the way he could talk to her then he felt lucky for it. But would she know why he had become a ghost instead of simply passing on? She was a clever witch, but could she give answers to him on this matter? Was it even known to the magical world why someone could become a ghost?
All things considered, Anthony thought, he was taking this rather calmly.
Because she was a witch and thus part of the supernatural world, Edith was able to see Anthony as he now was, unlike regular humans who could not. It gave her quite a scare, hearing his voice all of a sudden and then seeing him standing in her flat. She knew immediately that something was amiss, and her fear was confirmed when Anthony floated through the furniture in the front room to her, as transparent as a sheer curtain.
"Anthony – what happened?" She peered at him, and then gasped. "No … you can't be!"
"Edith, my sweet one, I'm so sorry," he whispered, hanging back. "I believe I'm quite dead."
Swallowing hard, Edith nodded. This was hard for her to register. "Yes, I think so too," she whispered. "How … how did this happen?" She gestured to his ghostly form.
"I was on the train back to Yorkshire, and another train crashed into the carriage," Anthony explained. "I saw … my body on the train, and I could go through the walls of the wreckage … and I can't feel anything! It's like I'm made of air."
Slowly, Edith reached out to brush Anthony's arm; her hand went through his, touching nothing. All she felt was a cold that prickled her skin. She tried again, but felt nothing more.
"Oh no," she whimpered. Every instinct was telling her to embrace Anthony, let him wrap his arms around her, but she knew she would not feel him. He'd simply go right through her.
"Edith," Anthony began, "why am I like this? Why have I come back as a ghost?"
Edith shook her head. "I can't say why exactly. I don't know that much about ghosts."
All she wanted to do know was retreat to her bedroom and cry: cry because her beloved Anthony was dead, cry because she wasn't able to feel his gentle, tender touch anymore. But she was a practical witch, and Anthony needed her help to understand his new 'condition.' She'd need to find some books specifically about spectres (she knew there were some volumes in the library at Downton Abbey). She had research to do, and right now that was all she could do to help Anthony.
And at least she had not lost him entirely.
She asked Mama to send her whatever books they had on ghosts, and she struggled to explain why the sudden interest in the spirit world. Her family sent their condolences, although they seemed half-arsed (technically, Anthony had not completely passed on). A few old tomes arrived shortly afterwards, and Edith spend all night reading and taking notes on them. They described the first sightings of ghosts in ancient cultures, the nature of different types of ghosts (some were peaceful, others were violent), and different methods of contacting them. The only definite answer Edith could come up with for their dilemma was that something was keeping Anthony from moving on from the mortal world. Often the reason was that the spirit was seeking revenge or had unfinished business, but occassionally a person lingered on because they wished to watch over their loved ones.
That was the explanation that made most sense; Anthony hated the idea that he would leave Edith behind if he died, and now that he was dead, all he wanted was to continue to watch over her. He did not stay in the mortal world for reasons of anger or retribution – it was love that kept him from leaving entirely.
So this was to be Anthony's life now – or his afterlife, to be precise – floating around as a spectre, in the world but not truly a part of it. Never again to be able to hold the hand of his beloved Edith. Never again to kiss her lips or hold her in his arms. So many times he instinctively tried to reach out to her, to touch her shoulder or her arm, and his hand would simply wave through her. That first time, when her hand had passed through his, Anthony felt his heart break. This was a cruel price to pay for wanting to be with Edith while she was still alive.
Yet he took some comfort in the fact that he could still speak to Edith and that she could see him. He'd watch her work at her spells, concoct her potions, and he'd reassure her when she was met with failure. He could still accompany her on walks to the market and to the park (though they had to be careful not to talk too much to each other or it would cause Edith to look mad, talking to something no one else could see). But he could not eat nor drink, and if he slept he would disappear. Whenever that happened, Edith had to use a ouija board to bring him back. Luckily the books had informed her of that, or else she would have thought that he was truly gone.
They had faced many ordeals in their relationship; first Anthony's reluctance due to their age difference, then the disapproval of Edith's family, then managing their life between Anthony's Yorkshire home and Edith's London flat. Yet this was the greatest trial they had ever dealt with, and there was no telling what was to come.
The Vampire's Tale
Three months ago
Where was her fiancé, Mary wondered for the fifth time.
It was their own engagement party, and he was nowhere to be seen! Well, he was actually at the party, he hadn't stood her up or anything, but rather he had just suddenly disappeared. He'd gone to fetch Mary another glass of Pinot Noir, but that had been over twenty minutes ago. It couldn't possibly take that long to get a girl a drink, especially at a place like this.
They were at the Corinthia, a terrifically fancy hotel, with glasses of sparkling champagne and hors d'oeuvres being passed around by the handsome wait staff. Many of Mary and Matthew's friends and family members were there, including Mary's parents who had finally come around to the idea of her marrying a non-warlock. It had been a nice evening, with Mary and Matthew of course being the center of attention. The only initial tension was between the two families, who were of two completely different lifestyles (the sole person on Matthew's side who knew about witches and warlocks was his mother). All of Mary's family had to be mindful that there were humans about, and unintentionally revealing their existence to such a large group of humans would carry a severe penalty. But Mary didn't fret too much about the whole affair (even when her grandmother and Matthew's mother started arguing right in front of them), at least until Matthew disappeared.
Now thirty minutes had gone by, and she hadn't even caught a glimpse of him. And in the meantime, she was stuck chatting with a gaggle of witches and warlocks her family knew, but she could hardly care any less about their nattering about wedding preparations and oh no, what if their baby didn't inherit magical powers? She really could use another glass of wine about now.
She asked her sisters if they might have seen Matthew, but neither had in the past half-hour. "Perhaps he's in the restroom," Sybil suggested.
Mary arched her brow. "For thirty minutes?"
"Well, the caviar tastes a bit off," Edith said, only partially serious. "Maybe it disagreed with him."
"I don't think Matthew's eaten anything," Mary said. They hadn't even sat down to the dinner yet. But the time to sit down was rapidly approaching, and she knew Matthew couldn't be absent for that.
"Maybe he went out to get some air," Sybil said. It was a reasonable theory since the banquet hall was crowded and rather stuffy, but Matthew would have informed Mary if he was stepping out for a bit.
"You shouldn't worry too much, Mary," Edith said, trying to sound like that was a logical proposition. "I'm sure he's around here somewhere and you're simply missing him."
"But I am worried, it's not like him to just suddenly disappear," Mary moaned. "He couldn't have simply vanished into thin air!"
"Mary, just stay calm," Sybil told her. "I'll go ask the bartender if Matthew was there recently, and Edith, you can ask around and check if anyone's seen him. We'll handle this, I promise. You go and keep Granny from hexing Isobel."
Although grateful that her sisters were willing to help her, Mary sighed reluctantly. She knew she wouldn't be able to relax, let alone keep Granny from turning Isobel into a toad. "Fine. Tell me at once if you hear anything."
Still afraid that something bad had happened to Matthew, Mary returned to the throng of guests. A few inquired as to where Matthew was, and she had to make half-hearted excuses of "Oh, he's simply getting me a drink," or "He's just stepped outside for some air." She hoped her parent's wouldn't notice how desperate she really was and create a scene.
Ten minutes later, Sybil found her again and took her to a (relatively) quiet corner of the banquet hall. She didn't look like she had good news to share, and Mary felt her stomach twist into a knot.
"Matthew did go to the bartender to get your wine, and some other man was talking to him," Sybil explained. "The bartender couldn't say who it was. But they both went off somewhere, out of the banquet hall."
Mary frowned. "You mean Matthew followed some guy out?"
"That's what the bartender said. Matthew just went out with him."
This was getting more peculiar by the minute. "Maybe they're still in the hotel," Mary thought aloud.
"Should we organize a search party?" Sybil asked.
"No, I don't want a commotion over this. Not until I know for certain if Matthew's in danger."
"You think Matthew's in danger? From what?"
Mary couldn't say, for it was only a hunch, but if Matthew was missing and he was hurt she knew she had to act quickly. "I don't know if he is, but I need to find him now. Can you go make sure no one's in the ladies' room?"
Sybil nodded, know what Mary had in mind. "Alright."
While Sybil went off to the women's restroom, Mary snatched an empty silver tray and a bottle of white wine. She dashed off to the restroom, hoping no one was seeing her holding a full wine bottle. Sybil was outside the restroom door. "You're clear."
"Thanks. Keep everyone out until I'm done." She need privacy for what she was about to do. She didn't need anyone else coming in, especially a human who would think she was doing something completely mental. Sybil immediately conjured up a pen and paper and wrote 'Out of Order' on the paper before sticking it to the door.
Inside the ladies' room, Mary placed the silver tray on the floor and poured the white wine into it, taking care not to spill any on the floor. Typically for this spell she would have used plain water, but any clear liquid would do in a pinch. She took a swig from the bottle to steel herself before bending down close to the tray, her reflection looking back at her. If Matthew was nearby, this spell would show Mary where he was.
She muttered a quiet incantation, and at the end she commanded, "Show me where Matthew is."
The wine rippled and bubbled, her reflection gradually faded away. Soon an image began to form, that of a small dark storeroom and an unmoving person lying on the floor. Her stomach lurched.
Mary gasped as the reflection focused on Matthew's face. As leaned in closer she could smell, very faintly, a bloody stench.
"No! Oh God no!"
Sybil pushed open the door, hearing her sister's shout. "What's happened?"
Mary stood up quickly, spilling the tray of wine. The stench of blood she had smelled through the mirror had sent her heart racing. "He's in a room – a storeroom somewhere – and he's hurt. I smelled blood through the reflection. We have to find him!"
She dashed out of the restroom, Sybil following close behind. As she ran down the corridor, Mary kept her eyes open for any doors to a small closet or storeroom. There were conference rooms, office areas, staff break rooms …
Where is he? What's happened to him? her mind screamed.
"Mary, I'm going to get Mama and Papa, you find where he is," Sybil called after her, but Mary didn't respond. All she cared about was getting to Matthew before it was too late. The reflection had not shown her where he had been hurt or how badly, but all she knew was that he needed help. She'd kill whoever put him in that little room and hurt him!
Down the empty corridor she ran until she came close to the end, where the gold plaque on the last door read 'Storeroom – staff only.' She caught scent of something around the door … a faint aura of blood again! He was in there, her gut told her. He was in there, bleeding so much she could smell it.
She tried the door handle, but no matter how much she jostled it it would not budge. In her panic-stricken state she tried to remember a simple unlocking spell, and after a few attempts the lock clicked open.
Matthew was lying just as he had been shown in the mirror's reflectiong, but now Mary could see that his shirt and jacket were drenched with blood. She rushed into the dark storeroom and knelt down beside him, cradling his head in her lap.
"Matthew! Matthew, can you hear me? Wake up! Please wake up!"
Despite Mary calling out to him, Matthew remained unconscious. His pulse was so weak she could not feel it, and he didn't appear to be breathing at all.
"Don't you dare be dead Matthew, not now!" Mary cried. She started frantically searching for the wound on his body, pulling off his blood-soaked jacket pulling back his shirt collar—
There, on his neck, were two distinctive puncture marks.
"Oh God … no, please no," Mary sobbed, recognizing what those puncture wounds meant. There was no mistaking what had made those holes.
But worse was the thin rivulet of blood streaming from the corner of his mouth down to his chin. His lips were stained red with dried blood.
This couldn't be real, Mary thought, this couldn't be happening! Not her dear Matthew …
Hands shaking with utter trepidation, Mary gently drew Matthew's lips away from his gums. Both of his canine teeth had lengthened and sharpened, becoming deadly fangs.
Mary couldn't stop her tears from falling. "No … please no!" She shook from grief and rage, rage from knowing that someone had deliberately done this to her darling Matthew.
She heard footsteps hurrying towards the storeroom, and in the doorway stood Sybil, their parents, and Isobel. Isobel rushed into the storeroom and knelt beside Matthew, hysterically pleading for him to wake up. .
Sybil knelt beside Mary, inspecting Matthew's bloodied body with a nurse's touch. She felt the puncture wounds on his throat and looked up fearfully. Gravely, Mary showed everyone Matthew's newly formed fangs, and Isobel gasped.
"Oh my goodness … he's not a – is he?"
Mary nodded, wiping away her falling tears. Matthew's blood was smeared across her face. "He's been turned. He was taken here and attacked … by a vampire. And now he's one too!"
Everyone was silent as Mary descended into sobs again.
Sybil and Edith helped get Matthew outside and into the car as Mama and Papa informed the guests that Matthew had been injured and was being taken to the hospital. The girls brought him to their home instead, knowing that taking him to a hospital would be an unavoidable disaster. Mary and Isobel remained by Matthew's side throughout the night, but he did not wake up or even move at all. Even with the blood cleaned off of him he still looked fully dead, and Mary could hardly bear to look at him slowly grow paler. Eventually Sybil made her go to bed to rest for a few hours, and reluctantly Mary obeyed, though it wasn't a restful sleep.
Isobel remained at the flat even as morning came and went, she and Sybil keeping watch over Matthew while Edith found whatever volumes they had on vampirism and gave them to Mary. It made her feel ill reading them, knowing that Matthew had unwittingly become one. She read from the books that a newly-turned vampire took some time to revive after they were turned, and thus she should not have been too concerned that Matthew stayed unconscious for all of the next day. But of course she was still uneasy – her fiancé was now an undead vampire, and she had no idea how he'd react to that. How would their lives go on now? Would he even still want to marry him? It wouldn't be out of character for him to leave her if he saw himself as a monster.
He had been turned against his will, by someone who came into the engagement party. He had been taken into that dark storeroom and bitten, and forced to drink the blood of the other vampire before being locked inside. The bite alone was not enough to turn him, and so it could not have been an accident; Matthew had been deliberately made into a vampire. But who could it have been? She knew everyone who had been invited to the engagement party, and none of them were vampires.
Mary could only hope that Matthew would remember who had turned him.
She returned to the bedroom where Matthew was lying, while Isobel got some rest in the parlour. As the sun set and the sky began to darken, Matthew stirred and moaned, blinking awake. Mary was right there, and she held his hand as he fully came to. His eyes were paler than before, another sign of his curse.
"It's alright darling, I'm here," she said softly.
"I feel so cold," he murmured. "And so … thirsty."
She knew what he was thirsty for, and the thought sent a chill down her spine. Sybil had gone to the hospital earlier and snuck out with a box of donated blood, and very soon Matthew would have to consume some. He wouldn't stay sane for long without it.
"I know," she told him. "I'll get you something to … drink soon."
Matthew looked up at her, blinking wearily. "What time is it?"
"Just after ten at night. You've been asleep for more than a day."
"Why? What happened to me?"
There was no point in stalling or in keeping the truth from him; he'd find out for himself soon enough. He was sure to get a nasty shock either way. "Matthew, do you remember what happened last night? At the party?" Mary asked.
"Only a little," he replied. "I remember you looking gorgeous."
At a less serious time, Mary would have given him a scathing glare for his cheek. "What's the last thing you remember?"
"I … I was going to the bar to get you your drink … and there was someone … I can't remember who."
"Did you recognize them? Was it a man or a woman?" Mary asked.
Matthew shook his head. "It's all a blur. It's like trying to remember a dream."
He frowned and tried to sit up. "Did you put something in my mouth? There's something sharp in—"
He stopped suddenly, and raised his hand to his mouth. His eyes widened as he felt his newly grown fangs, two of them, as sharp as needles. "What is this? Mary, what's going on with me?" he asked, quite panicked now. "Why are my teeth so sharp?"
Mary's throat felt hoarse as she struggled to explain. "You were taken by somebody into a storeroom away from the party, and they … they attacked you."
"Attacked me?"
Mary leaned forward and gingerly touched the bite marks on Matthew's throat, which had begun to heal but were still raw. Matthew winced as she touched them, and he timidly touched them as well. As his fingers ran around the holes, his eyes widened. "I was bitten by something?"
Nodding, Mary said, "It was a vampire. You were bitten by a vampire, and they turned you."
It took a moment for Matthew to register what Mary had just told him, and when it finally did he sat up fully. "A vampire bit me?" he asked incredulously.
"It didn't just bite you," Mary said, voice trembling. "It fed you some of its blood. And it turned you into one too."
Matthew stared at Mary with wide, frightened eyes. "Are you saying that … that I'm a vampire now?"
Mary felt tears forming in her eyes again. "I'm sorry," she whispered.
"You're saying that … I'm dead? Or undead, whatever it is?"
Mary nodded again. "See for yourself."
Matthew touched the uninjured side of his throat, but he could no longer feel a pulse where it was supposed to be. He then realized he wasn't breathing at all either. "This isn't real," he muttered to himself. "This can't be real."
"It is, I'm afraid," Mary reminded him.
Matthew fell back onto his pillow, fingers still searching for a pulse. When he realized he wasn't going to find one, he let his hand drift towards Mary's; she gripped it tightly.
"Matthew, I know this is a lot to take to take in now," she said. "I could leave you alone now—"
"No," Matthew broke in quickly. "Please don't leave me. Not yet."
Mary stayed in her chair, holding his hand. Matthew was silent, his eyes darting around the room as if searching for a different explanation. He was a vampire, an undead creature of the night, turned at his own engagement party. It all seemed so asbsurd, so beyond belief that he wondered if this was just a strange dream.
"Who would do this to me?" he murmured. "It couldn't have been an accident."
"I don't know. I don't personally know any other vampires," Mary said. "I only wish you remembered who it was."
Matthew let out a sigh. "I wish I did too, but it's all a blur. Like trying to remember a dream, and the harder I try to remember, the blurrier it all gets."
Suddenly, he frowned. "What … what is that smell? It's … it's making me thirsty."
Oh no, Mary thought. His mother was still in the flat, and his mother was a human. Matthew might be calm now, but there was no telling how he'd react when the human scent awoke his more monstrous side.
"Just stay here a moment," Mary ordered him as she dashed out the door. Isobel was still sleeping on the couch in the living room, but Mary quickly shook her awake.
"Isobel, you need to leave now," she said. "Matthew's woken up."
Isobel practically jolted awake. "He is? Is he alright now?"
"He is, and you need to leave right now."
"Well, shouldn't I go and see—"
"You can't," Mary said sternly. "You're a human, and Matthew's a vampire, and I think you know what that means."
Isobel froze. "Goodness. He's already … hungry?"
Mary nodded. "I'm not sure how he's going to react, but you'll be safe if you leave now."
Isobel immediately gathered up her coat and purse. "I will, of course. But will you be alright?"
"I'm a witch, I know how to handle him if I need to. And once I know that Matthew will be calm around you, you can see him again," Mary assured her.
Isobel nodded, relucantly hurrying out the front door. Mary knew it had to be hard for her, her son turned into a bloodthirsty creature, and she couldn't even see him now that he was awake.
She turned around and saw Matthew standing by the living room doorway. "You sent Mother away," he said softly.
"I had to. You were just turned and I couldn't risk you hurting her."
"I know." Matthew was breathing slowly, trying to calm himself. "I could smell her. Her blood … I could smell her blood."
Mary knew he needed to feed, and his appetite was sure to be ravenous. "Come into the kitchen."
She and Matthew went into the kitchen, where Sybil was busy concocting a batch of potions. When she saw Mary and Matthew come into the kitchen, she ran right up to Matthew and hugged him tightly. "Matthew! Thank goodness you're alright."
"Not completely, as I'm sure you know," Matthew said glumly.
Sybil couldn't say she was surprised at Matthew's gloomy outlook on things. "Well, I just mean that, you're not totally dead," she added quickly. "It's like with Sir Anthony. He's still with us, even though he's technically dead."
"But he's not a vampire," Matthew retorted. "He doesn't have to—" He stopped himself suddenly, realizing what the thirst he was feeling meant. "Oh no … no, I can't!"
"You'll have to, I'm afraid," Mary said. "Like it or not, you're going to have to drink blood from now on."
"No!" Matthew vehemently refused again. "I can't … I can't drink blood! I can't hurt anyone!" He shrank against the wall, flinching away when Sybil tried to reach out to him.
Mary opened the refrigerator and pulled out one of the donated blood bags Sybil had snatched from the hospital. "And you won't have to."
As soon as she took out the blood, Matthew's pale blue eyes shifted to a dark red, and his expression turned savage. He began to breath heavily, his parted lips revealing his sharp fangs. His fingernails, now long and pointed, scraped down the wall as he tried desperately to hang onto his last shred of control, but once that was extinguished, there was only rage and hunger in his red eyes. Matthew didn't look like himself anymore; for the first time in her life, Mary was afraid of him.
Sybil backed away quickly as Matthew hissed at her. "Mary, watch out!"
Mary only just dodged Matthew as he sped towards her in the blink of an eye. He snatched the blood bag from her hands and sanks his teeth into it. Within seconds he had swallowed every drop of blood within the bag. His lips and teeth were painted red, and his hands too were sticky with blood. Mary backed away from him, watching in horror as he threw he his head back and licked the blood from his fangs.
A low, dangerous growl escaped his throat. "More," he snarled, staring up at her with his red eyes.
Mary reached back into the refrigerator and threw another bag to in. He drained this one in a matter of seconds as well, drinking with a messy vigour. Blood dripped onto the floor and was smeared across his lips. He didn't show signs of slowing down, even after three more bags. Mary could only watch him gorge himself, acting more like a voracious monster than the Matthew she knew and loved. She felt his red eyes watch her as he swallowed the blood, as if he were considering her for his next meal. Sybil kept her distance, watching the scene with a horrified expression.
When Matthew finally stopped, dropping the final bag on the floor and panting hard, his mouth and chin were almost completely coated with blood. His shirt was stained a dark red as well. He fell to the floor, head drooping as though he were about to pass out. Cautiously, Mary bent down to him and gingerly touched his shoulder. He did not react violently, but he was trembling a little, his eyes shut tight.
"Matthew?" she murmured. "It's alright, you're alright."
When he opened his eyes again, they were once more a pale blue. "I'm sorry," he whispered through his bloody fangs. "Something came over me – I couldn't control myself."
"I know." Mary knelt down next to him, stroking his hair. "I expected you'd lose yourself."
Matthew shuddered, hugging himself. "God, it was like … like my life depended on it … on having that blood. I nearly hurt you."
"But you didn't," Mary reassured him.
Quietly, Sybil left the kitchen; she sensed that they needed to be alone now. Matthew forced himself to sit up against the kitchen cupboards, accidentally leaving a bloody handprint on the floor. His mouth and hands were still covered in blood, and he had spilled quite a lot on the floor.
"So this is my life now," he said bitterly. "Feeding on blood for who know how long."
"Stop talking like it's the end of things," Mary chided. She got down to the floor and sat beside him.
"It is the end of things," he retorted. "How can I expect you to marry a monster like me?"
Mary could have slapped him. "How could you say something like this? I'm not leaving you because of this."
"You have to. Did you see what I just did, what I am now?"
Mary sighed and rubbed her face tiredly. "You've only known you're a vampire now for half an hour and already you're turning into the brooding sort."
Matthew groaned. "Mary, look at me. I just drank enough blood to kill a human. I'm a monster."
"Sure, and I'm an evil witch who lures children from the park and eats them," Mary quipped. "You aren't a monster, Matthew. You may be a vampire, but you'll never be a monster."
"Please just let me go, Mary. It'll make your life easier."
"I will do no such thing," Mary said sternly. "I'm keeping this engagement ring on." She waved her hand in front of Matthew's face, showing him the shining diamond ring he had proposed to her with. But Matthew gently pushed her hand away.
"You have to let me go," he insisted. "I can't hurt you. I could never … I could never bear it if I did."
Mary wouldn't back down, no matter what Matthew said. "You're staying here and that's final. You won't hurt me. I'll make sure you don't hurt anyone."
Matthew let out a cold laugh. "How?"
"I'm a witch, remember? I have my ways. And if you keep this up I'll put a silencing charm on you."
She cupped his cheek, not minding the cold blood on his skin. "Matthew, I love you too much to let you do this to yourself. I won't let you be alone, not while this is happening, and not ever. Do you understand me? I'm not going to give you up. We'll find a way to make this work. And we're going to be married just like we planned, and we'll be together. This isn't the end for us."
Matthew gazed up at her. "You're saying you won't leave? Even after what you've just seen?"
"I'm not leaving you," she repeated firmly. "Ever. And you're not leaving either. I won't let this curse be the end for us."
Matthew sighed, pulling her close to him. How could he leave her, knowing she would never do the same to him? "What would I do without you, my darling?"
"You'd brood even more, that's what," she answered.
And it wasn't the end for them. Just the beginning of a different life.
So those were the lives of the Crawley sisters. Witches in love with a werewolf, a ghost, and a vampire. Even amongst magical folk it was a rather uncommon situation. But they were all clever, and in their own ways they were able to make these unconventional relationships work.
The flat the Crawley sisters lived in had a basement, and the same morning she found Tom, Sybil decided that it would be the safest place for him to be in during the full moon. He'd go to the flat every evening and the door would be bolted shut with magical sigils so he couldn't escape. This arrangement seemed a good deal better to Tom, as the basement was empty and plenty of space compared to his family's garden shed. He was somewhat shocked to hear that Sybil and the rest of her family were witches, but considering that he himself was a werewolf it wasn't a great surprise.
The morning after his next transformation, Tom awoke in the basement, where a blanket, a fresh change of clothes, and the smell of a breakfast being cooked greeted him. In the kitchen, Sybil was preparing a full breakfast for him, and he scarfed it down within minutes. Sybil watched him wolf down his food, quite enraptured by this handsome Irish werewolf. Tom was amazed that she wasn't shy or afraid of him – she seemed to trust him instantly.
And with each full moon they'd do the same routine: Tom would arrive before the sun set, Sybil would lock the door with the special spells, Tom would transform and wait the night out, and in the morning Sybil would make him a large and delicious breakfast. They'd chat for a while afterwards; for hours they talked about Sybil's unconventional childhood, her current line of work, Tom's extensive family, the worlds they lived in. Sybil gave him several books about werewolfs (though some of the older books referred to his species as 'lycanthropes') and for the first time in his life, Tom began to understand what his curse meant.
For the first time in his life too, Tom began to grow close to someone who wasn't family. Sybil's charm, her vivacity, her kindness and her spirit were as inviting to him as a warm fire on a cold winter's day. And Sybil too began to develop feelings, though she couldn't put her finger on why: it was as though her sould and his somehow matched, like they were equals. He was so different from the warlocks she knew – Tom cared about her, wanted to make her smile, encouraged her dreams. It wasn't long before Tom asked her out one night.
Pretty soon, she had to admit to herself that the spark they shared had turned into love.
Life as a ghost took some time getting used to for Anthony, but he was always grateful that Edith was there to guide him. She never for a moment made him think that things were different between them or that her feelings for him had changed. She still wanted him to be a part of her life, even though he was not quite in the same plane of existence as her. No longer would she cook a dinner for him or take him out to eat, and no longer would she go to bed hoping that he'd make love to her. She had to bear not feeling his touch anymore, or receiving a tender kiss from him.
Yet they made love in other ways. Anthony was always close to her, and Edith always felt him. Every day Anthony would watch her work, witness her accomplishments and her setbacks, and night he'd settle down next to her in bed just like he did when alive. And in the morning Edith would bring him back with the ouija board. She didn't shudder anymore at the chill when he passed through her, for it was always a reminder that he was still with her, albeit in an odd way. They still had their small precious moments together, despite the great change set upon them.
At times, though, Anthony still felt a bit like a nuisance. He cared so much for Edith and he would never dream of hurting her, but he could not help but feel that he was keeping her back somehow. She was, simply put, tied down to a dead man, and that did not feel right to Anthony. If one day Edith decided that she was ready to move on, to let him pass on fully, he would not object to that. But Edith never hinted at any such thing, and so Anthony made no mention of it either. He wished only to keep her happy, and as the months went by she never seemed to be any less happy with him.
Matthew never made any further mention of leaving Mary, and eventually he realized it was for the best. Similar to how Tom was far more stable with Sybil's help, he was better off with Mary helping him adjust to his new form. And he began to realize that, despite his dread of losing his mind, he didn't want to leave Mary at all. He hadn't thought about leaving her when she revealed to him that she was a witch, so why should things be any different now that he was a vampire. So the engagement ring remained on Mary's finger.
His problem was that, after that first crazed feeding, he refused to consume another drop of human blood. Even though his body craved it, he couldn't bear the thought of losing control over himself again. Despite his unconscious urge to down every single packet of blood in the refrigerator, Matthew stayed far away from the kitchen, unwilling to tempt himself should he shift back into that frenzied, terrifying state. He'd nearly hurt Mary and Sybil the first time, and he wasn't about to risk it again.
But there was a solution to this, Mary discovered quickly. A blood substitute could be made that could staunch the cravings and keep him satisfied for a while. It had to be made fresh every day, and the first thing Mary did every morning was make it for him. The taste was a weak imitation of human blood, but for Matthew it sufficed. He'd have the potion while Mary had her tea, as if it was a completely normal thing for engaged couples to do at breakfast. The potion kept his thirst at bay for long enough, and it enabled him to be in close proximity with another human without feeling the urge to bite them. When Isobel saw him for the first time since his transformation, she was amazed at how normal he acted.
"It's almost as though he was never turned at all," she remarked.
"You didn't see him accidentally transform into a bat this morning," Mary replied dryly.
Aside from his need to drink blood, Matthew's curse had changed his life in other ways. For one thing, sunlight was now a problem; it wasn't going to burn him to ashes if he stepped out into it, but being a newly-turned vampire it would hurt him enormously if he was in it for too long. For the sake of avoiding any possible burning, Matthew decided it was better if he went out at night only, and Mary agreed that this was the safest option. Then there was the couple of times he unwittingly transformed into a bat or a wolf (which did startle Mary) and how he had some trouble controlling his uncanny strength and speed. He'd also need to mind the fact that, while he and other supernatural beings could see his reflection, humans could not. No matter what amount of normalcy Matthew felt he might achieve, something was always there to remind him of his curse.
But the worst reminder was the bloodlust that could not be quelled. Although the blood potion was a sufficient substitute, it didn't compare at all to the real thing, and something inside Matthew still ached to sink his teeth into a living human. Even the cold blood bags hadn't been enough to stem that urge to bite and drink from a human. Thought he knew Mary wouldn't like him keeping this horrible desire secret, Matthew never hinted at it to her. In his mind, it was better to appear as normal as it was possible for a vampire to appear.
Yes, the Crawley sisters and their supernatural lovers all had new normals to adjust to, but somehow they all managed to do so without losing sight of what was important: holding onto each other despite whatever madness their abnormal lives threw at them. All of them saw how powerful love and trust could be, despite their very different circumstances.
For the youngest Crawley witch, she had found love in a most unexpected way, and her lycanthrope boyfriend discovered a life worth living thanks to her compassion.
For the middle Crawley witch, death had not torn her lover away from her, but in a way she had been given more time with him. Her ghostly lover too understood that death could not separate them, and he had been given another chance to live a semi-life with her.
And for the eldest Crawley sister, she saw her fiancé's transformation into a vampire as merely a small obstacle to their eventual bliss as husband and wife. He could bury the monster within him and retain his true self, and could remain where his happiness lay – with the witch he promised to marry.
… But that could all change into a nightmare in the blink of an eye.
Dun dun duuuunnn!
I hope you liked this (rather long) beginning chapter. Hopefully the next one will be up next week, if not earlier so stay tuned for more. Thank you for reading!