CH 3: Underhanded Wiles

When Abigail awoke again, it was mid-morning. Will was sitting at her side, fast asleep with a book in his lap.

Rubbing at her eyes, Abigail rose and squinted over at the sleeping man. Had she truly been under for an entire day?

"Will?"

He stirred, slowly opening his eyes. "Abigail?" Now moving upright, he drew in a sharp breath. "Oh, thank God… You had me so worried."

"Why? How long was I out?"

"Quite a while," he said. "Whenever I returned from town, you were fast asleep. I tried to wake you up for lunch, and then later on for dinner, but you wouldn't budge. And you were so pale…"

"I'm quite alright," Abigail assured him. "I suppose the shock just finally caught up with me, that's all." She paused. "Did you truly stay by my side this entire time?"

Appearing a bit sheepish, Will looked away before nodding. "I had to make certain you were alright," he said, "and after all this time, I imagine you are quite hungry."

"A little," she agreed, "but you needn't trouble yourself."

"Nonsense – I have plenty of stew left over in the icebox, so I'll heat some up for you in the kettle."

Abigail smiled, now slowly swinging her feet over the side of the bed. Will Graham was awfully quick to bend to her every whim and fancy. Her ego wanted to believe it was because he found her attractive, but his actions almost seemed driven by guilt. What could he possibly have to be guilty for?

"I bought you a new dress."

Blinking in surprise, Abigail looked over her shoulder as she reached for her hairbrush – or rather, the brush Will had been so kind to lend her. "Really? So soon?"

"It's not much," he warned, "but I didn't want you to keep wearing the same thing day in and day out. My salary doesn't allow much in the way of expenditures, but I've saved every penny I've ever earned."

"May I see it?"

"Oh! Well yes – yes, of course." Awkwardly lingering in the doorway, Will cleared his throat before stepping out into the living room. After a brief moment he returned, appearing shy and pleased as he handed her a long, slim gift box.

"The wrapping is so pretty!" Abigail exclaimed.

With a laugh, Will said, "Well, hopefully you'll feel the same way about the dress. My mother died during childbirth, so I'm afraid I never quite learned what women find pleasing."

"I'm sure it's lovely." Sparing him a genuine smile, Abigail opened the box and unearthed a simple, yet charmingly fitted calico dress. Gently running her fingers along the fabric, she beamed in delight. "I've never had a store-bought dress before," she admitted. "My mother and I always made our own clothing… Papa wanted us all to be as self-sufficient as possible."

Anxious, Will darted his eyes in between Abigail and the box. "Then…you like it?"

"I adore it – thank you so much!" Draping the dress over her bosom, she smoothed her hand along the garment before nodding happily. "I almost feel like royalty," she mused. "You've been so kind to me…however shall I repay you?"

"You needn't trouble yourself with that," Will pleaded. "You are my guest, and to be frank, you have no place else to go. It would go against everything I stand for if I turned you away."

Abigail frowned. "I do not wish to be a charity case."

"And you're not," Will assured her, "but it cannot be denied that you need protection. To send you out there with the townspeople would be reckless. They assume you have been turned."

Abigail hesitated, her mouth tensing as she lowered her dress back into the box. "And do you believe it?"

"Of course not. Would I be harboring a creature of the night if I believed it?"

"But truly, what is so terrible about them? Aside from his uncontrollable impulses, my father wasn't a murderer. He was gentle and kind, and always helped at every town function. Perhaps at times he was overbearing and curt, but no man is perfect."

Will looked away. "I must admit, I never really had the pleasure of knowing your family. But if you say that your father was a good man, then I believe it. It must have been the bite that twisted his morals."

"And my mother?"

"A victim of circumstance."

Abigail finally appeared angry. "How can one be a monster, and the other a victim? You seem to be forgetting that my father wasn't the original creature of the night! He was as much a victim as my mother – as I am!"

"Abigail, I meant you no offense… Truly, if I have offended you, I-"

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Eager for a distraction, Abigail bustled over to intercept the caller, but Will was quick to intervene.

"Don't be daft!" he snapped. "If whomever is on the other side of that door were to see you, this could very well end up being your last day on earth!"

Abigail appeared displeased by his tone, but nevertheless hid herself when prompted. She only perked up again when she heard Marissa's voice.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Graham, but I didn't expect you to forget my arithmetic lesson… You were quite adamant about my grades."

"Well yes, forgive me, but-"

Abigail chose that moment to make her grand appearance, ignoring Will's sputtering as she crossed the room to her friend. Their hands touched, and for just a brief moment Marissa recoiled.

"Good God!" she exclaimed. "Your hands…they're so cold!" Briefly withdrawing, she instead moved her hands to Abigail's shoulders. "I cannot believe you've been hiding from me like this! Mother and I have been so worried!"

"I saw your mother at my parents' execution." Expression steely, Abigail stepped back to allow Marissa entry. "I trust you were kept in the dark?"

"Mother said it was too dangerous," Marissa allowed, "and even though I wanted to come, something deep inside told me not to." Directing her attention to Will, she coolly asked, "Did you not think it prudent to announce my best friend was still alive?"

"Forgive me Miss Schurr, but-"

"As long as you're protecting her, you will have my complete cooperation." Eyes flashing, she slyly added, "Perhaps you should give me a passing grade and just forget about the arithmetic? It's silly anyway. I won't need arithmetic to have children."

Will appeared dismayed, but nevertheless gave a tight little nod. "Very well. I shall give you passing marks for the school year."

Pleased, Marissa hooked her arm through Abigail's and began leading her toward the kitchen. "The town's in such a state," she said. "There's a new curfew, as well as this silly rule that every female must be accompanied at all times. I suggested that Timothy Wells accompany me to my bedroom, but mother was there to intervene. She's no fun."

Abigail's cheeks burned from secondhand embarrassment. "You truly have no shame, do you?"

"And why should I? Men are worth nothing more than what they can give you. Speaking of which…" She inclined her head toward the living room. "Just why are you staying with Mr. Graham? Has he been giving you some private lessons?"

Abigail huffed in humility. "Of course not! Will isn't that way at all…though truth be told, I do wonder why he was so eager to take me in. He barely knows me."

"He's always been kind," Marissa said. "Odd, but kind. He'd much prefer the company of books to a woman – or anyone, for that matter – so he's not exactly the life of the party. Mother practically had to drag him to my sixteenth birthday, if you'll recall."

"That was him?" Abigail pursed her mouth, suddenly feeling amused. "He wore a wide-brimmed hat and kept to himself…I'd barely even noticed him."

"Well, perhaps he noticed you and is now trying to sow his wild oats. He's not getting any younger, and you would make a lovely wife." Glancing out the kitchen window, Marissa's lips quirked into a wistful little smile. "Older men are the best lovers. Mr. Shaw was my first, if you'll recall."

Abigail appeared embarrassed, but nodded.

"He had strong, powerful hands that knew just what to stroke and rub. Mr. Graham isn't an artisan though, so I doubt he'd be as good with his hands, but-"

"Must we talk about this? Will has been kind to me, and I do not wish to taint that."

Marissa's eyes flashed with mischief. "Well! You do not wish to taint everything, and yet you two are on a first name basis? It seems to me that the damage has already been done."

Picking at a groove on the kitchen table, Abigail sighed before lifting her chin. "Are you quite finished?"

"Not at all! Now that I know you're alive and well, you must come with me to the annual ball!"

"Oh, but-"

"We'll be wearing masks. No one will be able to tell it's you, if that's what you're so worried about."

Abigail chewed her lip, now fiddling with her loose neckline. "I don't know if Will would allow it…he seems convinced that-"

"Go without him knowing, then! I'll stop by tomorrow with one of my old gowns, and then once the coast is clear, you can sneak out and meet me at our old spot."

"Very well…"

"Wonderful!" Clapping her hands together, Marissa took Abigail by the shoulders and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "You won't regret this, I swear it! Now I would love to stay and chat, but I actually have some business to attend to in town."

"Chaperoned?"

Her lips quirked into a knowing smile. "I have my ways around that, admittedly… I'll see you soon."

Giving Abigail's hand one final squeeze, Marissa turned and headed for the front door.


"I came as soon as I was able. The townsfolk have been terribly strict as of late."

Hannibal looked up when Marissa entered his cabin, offering a smile as he placed a Mason jar onto a shelf. "You were right to come at this time. Preparations for the ball are underway, so there are far too many distractions to make you worthy of note."

Mirroring his smile, Marissa slowly undid the scarf around her neck, now baring the old bite marks from about a week ago. "You called for me and I came."

"As you always do."

"Yes."

Stepping toward him, Marissa willingly went into Hannibal's arms and tilted her chin, now clutching at his vest as she awaited the inevitable. When twin pricks of pain flared across her skin, she gave a soft, enfeebled whine while her eyes fluttered and closed. The pain soon transformed into pleasure, as it always did, and she gripped at Hannibal's shoulders with trembling, searching fingers. This was it – what she craved.

"Please…"

Hannibal removed his bloodied mouth from her neck, then with a careful, almost delicate gesture, laid her out along his divan. "You will sleep now," he whispered. "When I desire you to awaken, we shall begin our plans for tomorrow's event."

Marissa moved to touch his face, though the moment her fingers met with Hannibal's skin, she crumpled to the divan and succumbed to the deep, restorative sleep he had commanded.

A/N: I'm still trying to decide whether or not to continue this story. Outside of one lovely person, there really hasn't been much interest, and as some people are aware, writing fanfiction is very hard and time-consuming work. I started off very excited about the plot/concept, but in between work, real life stuff, and a general lack of interest, I've just found myself less and less encouraged to keep going. I would consider co-writing this story with someone, if they were interested in that, but they would have to have a thick skin since I would be editing their writing so that it blended with mine. Anyway, I suppose this is an "only time will tell" situation. Hopefully I'll have some inspiration again someday.