AN: Thanks to my reviewers. Particular thanks to Thess, who apparently recommended my story to someone. As per usual, I don't own Hellsing characters, etc, yadda, yadda. Also note: either I'm really stupid or is fucking with my format; I can't put any kind of scene breaks (semicolons, spaces, lines, etc)in here without them disappearing once I upload the chapter. If anyone can help me, PLEASE let me know. For now, to let you know when the scene changes, I'm making the first word (of said scene change) BOLD. Sorry, I know that sucks.
Pan's New Flute
Chapter 4: Follow the Worms
Integra sat up gingerly, testing the pain of her wound. She felt vaguely nauseous, and her head was still threatening to split in two. But she couldn't just lie here any longer. There were things to be done, though she had no idea what. She had to figure out a way to get herself out of the mess Alucard managed to put her—and Walter—in. Integra was pretty sure there was a hefty warrant out on her right now. After Alucard's stunt at the Tower and the hospital, God only knew how she was supposed to make amends. Still, the prospect of being thrown into a mildewed cell again made her want to shoot something. And the thought of being executed for crimes she never committed was enough make her blood burn.
Slowly, Integra swung her legs over the side of the futon, resting bare feet on a cold floor. It felt heavenly. Her butt was numb and her back sore. A small burning ache developed between her shoulder blades from lying still for so many hours. She twisted her head gingerly from side to side, wincing slightly when she heard her bones crack. Integra tossed the blanket off, feeling decidedly over heated. Give credit where credit is due; Seras was resourceful. Integra flexed her toes, took a deep breath and pushed herself up.
Instantly, her vision swam. Her head felt light, and nausea washed over her in waves. She closed her eyes, gripping the edge of the futon so tightly her knuckles turned white. Bent half double still, she swayed on her feet and fought the urge to fall back down. Breathing deeply, she concentrated on the pain in her side, pushing it down. Sweat beaded on her temple. Finally, she opened her eyes and straightened. Her death grip on the futon gradually loosened, and she stood on her own.
In the adjacent room, Seras eyed the packet of blood warily, as though it were a feral creature, alive and ready to jump at any moment. It wasn't really that she was averse to drinking. Not anymore. After the events at the Hellsing manor, Seras had resigned herself to the need to drink blood. Silently, she mourned the death of General Ferguson; ultimately, it was something in his murder that broke her.
The fact was, drinking blood while Walter sat calmly, not five feet away from her, was a little—awkward. Disconcerting. Repulsive. The idea felt dirty.
Alucard had returned with the blood, salvaged from the wreckage of the Hellsing manor, grinning ear to ear, red eyes sparkling behind his glasses. Seras had nearly jumped for joy. She would be the last one to admit it, but she was thirsty. And now she could not feed comfortably with Walter present.
Alucard had presumably drunk his fill before entering the office. He left nearly as soon as he'd arrived, giving no explanation as to where he was going or what he planned to do.
"But Master, someone needs to stay here with Sir Integra. We're low on medical supplies, and Walter is in no condition to go out and get them." Alucard had merely walked away, his step positively jaunty.
"She'll do until I get back, Seras."
That was another thing. Seras had wanted Alucard to call her by her name since he first made her. But now that he did, now that he felt she'd earned that privilege, it disturbed her. It seemed to portend a responsibility and capability she still wasn't sure she possessed.
And so now, she waited until Alucard chose to return. Waited, staring at the blood intensely. She supposed she could go into the bathroom, if she had to. But eating in a bathroom was highly unconventional, not to mention somewhat disgusting. But then, so was the need to drink blood. Unconventional. Disgusting. She sighed. Shaking her head in defeat, Seras stood and carried the packet with her into the bathroom.
Walter said nothing. Indeed, he gave no indication that he was aware of any tension emanating from the young vampire.
Truth be told, Walter was not doing well. His physical injuries were nothing. His leg was healing nicely, and the pain rarely bothered him. It was the lack of doing something that was getting to him. Whether a soldier on the field or a humble servant to Sir Integra, Walter had never been short of duties to fulfill. Cutting down legions of undead or preparing afternoon tea, it made no difference, really. As long as he was occupied. As it was, Walter was left alone with his thoughts, his anxiety manifesting itself in his hands, which occasionally twisted together or scratched at non-existent itches. He was restless, and that usually meant something bad was going to happen. Though he supposed the worst had already occurred. He'd never seen Integra so low. He'd never seen any Hellsing so low. Even when she was hunted by her own family, Integra had pulled through, commanding her new officers, her new, eh, inheritance. To see her as she was now, not only physically weak but obviously despairing, set his teeth on edge. It was as though something had burned out.
His thoughts were interrupted rather rudely by Integra herself.
"Sir Integra!" He made a show of leaping to his feet. She stood in the doorway, half leaning against the wall. Her face was drawn and pale, but her eyes glittered dangerously. "Really, Sir Integra, you should be resting. I must insist that—"
"Walter, I want a newspaper. And I don't suppose these extraordinarily well equipped offices come with food?" Though Integra eyed Seras' empty chair for a moment, she decided against sitting. She'd been doing that long enough. Her muscles screamed for exercise, so she settled on slowly pacing back and forth.
"Sir Integra, really you shouldn't concern yourself with anything. Seras and I have everything well underhand." Walter pleaded. Integra motioned for him to sit back down, but otherwise ignored him.
"Where is Seras? Come to that, where is Alucard?" Suspicion crossed her features, her brows furrowing, mouth tightening into a hard line. Alucard had done much recently to abuse her trust.
"Seras has just retired momentarily, to drink." A moment's heavy silence fell between them. It's about damn time, Integra said to herself. Then another thought occurred to her.
"Where did she get the blood?" Integra asked, sure she wasn't going to like the answer.
"Alucard returned to the manor, Sir. He managed to salvage the blood supplies we'd already received. He arrived about an hour ago. Unfortunately, he left just as soon as he came, and I'm afraid he didn't say what he intended." Walter's calm voice failed to placate Integra. She scowled silently and continued pacing.
Integra had no idea what Alucard was about. His actions recently concerned her, however. He seemed to be on a very long leash, as though he had no need to obey her wishes. It disturbed her, this loss of power. If Alucard were free to do as he wished, that meant the bonds between her family and him were weakening.
That scared her.
"Really, Sir Integra, please rest, and regain your strength." Walter's tone was gentle now, that of a caring old friend rather than a dutiful retainer. She studied him closely now, seeing the toll recent events had taken upon him. Wrinkles were more pronounced around his eyes and mouth. Previously immaculate hair was falling around his face in lank wisps. Bags hung under his eyes.
Integra turned away, and for the first time in many years, said exactly what she felt.
"I can't, Walter." Now she did sit, carefully. "Everything has fallen. For more than a decade I relied upon this one obligation, my responsibility. It's what I live for. I would die for the Queen; it is my oath and pride. But to go down for convenience—?" She dropped her head onto the table. Walter remained silent, allowing whatever needed to be said to come out. The last time Integra confided in him like this, she was still a young girl, newly initiated into the business of killing and manipulation.
"I don't have anything to fight for, Walter." This last was said on a whisper, as though she didn't want to hear it herself. She lifted her head, her pale, proud face staring straight ahead at a spot on the wall. Her eyes, though red from exhaustion and grief, were nonetheless dry. Walter waited a moment before speaking. When he did, he spoke quietly, but firmly, his voice crisp with renewed vigor.
"Sir Integra, if I may remind you, your ancestors fulfilled their duty for centuries without titles or ranks. Indeed, until Sir Wilhelm Hellsing was knighted in 1604, many thought such slayers to be heretics or lunatics." Walter stood up, coming to stand behind Integra. She sat very straight in her chair, her face devoid of emotion. Walter rested one hand on her shoulder. "You may not be a Knight anymore, Integra, but you are still a Hellsing." Walter left her with that. Walking slowly, he made his way out of the room to look for Seras. She was taking an inordinately long time to feed. He turned at the door to face Integra. She sat very still in her seat, hands placed carefully together on the table.
"I'll have Seras fetch you that newspaper, Sir. And food." He made a short, respectful bow and turned to leave.
"Walter, wait." He turned around.
"Yes, Sir Integra?" She was quiet for a moment, thinking.
"Add a pack of Players to the shopping list." She offered him a ghost of a smile, which he returned.
"Of course, Sir." The game was afoot.
Sir Geoff Henley took his tea at the same time every morning. A lot of cream, no sugar. Biscuits smothered in butter and orange marmalade. This morning was no different. He sat quietly at his desk, alone with his thoughts. There were a number of new, very ugly incidents in the Whitechapel district. Seven young women were murdered most viciously in their homes. Vampires had attacked them, draining their bodies of every fluid. Dried husks lay on the floors instead of normal corpses. There was barely any blood splatter on the floor or walls. These weren't the messy, cultish murders such as were in Cambridge, or indeed as he'd ever seen before. The women were food, plain and simple. And once used, were discarded. Sir Henley didn't know what disturbed him more, the thought that the Millennium organization was behind these murders, or that perhaps it wasn't.
Sir Henley rubbed his temples and took another sip of tea. Pulling out a pack of cigarettes, he lit one of the three he allowed himself everyday.
Since Sir Hellsing's incarceration, Sir Henley's meager organization was forced to pick up the slack, picking up where Hellsing had left off. He loathed that woman, hated her every breath, disgusted to know she had escaped and was alive somewhere. However, even more than his hatred of Integra, burned his abhorrence to admitting that she was suited for the job. Hellsing had been a powerful force against vampires in the UK. Now that she was gone from the business, Sir Henley was facing the uncomfortable responsibility of doing work he was never trained to do. His organization dealt with human terrorists, not inhuman demons.
The door opened and a servant walked in quietly. He laid a small envelope on Sir Henley's desk without a word and retreated as quietly as he came. Sir Henley liked his servants to be as quiet as humanly possible. No knocking was allowed, as it drew attention to their presence.
Sir Henley lifted the envelope and examined it closely. It'd already been screened for explosives or toxic substances. However, the letter was odd. There was no return address and the envelope was simply marked with his name only. Curious, he slit it open.
On a folded sheet of expensive stationary was a simple drawing, but one he knew very well by now. It was an eye, almond shaped with the outside edges drawn past the outline of the eye, curving upwards. It looked almost Egyptian. What was more, it appeared to have been drawn in blood. Sir Henley dropped the letter and pushed his chair out, calling for a servant.
Just north of London, in Bedford, Sir Richard Edwards regarded his own mail with distaste.
"James, ring Sir Islands. I am requesting a conference." The servant bowed.
"Yes, Sir. Shall I have your bags packed, Sir?" Sir Edwards nodded, distracted. He thought this business with that petty Millennium group had ended. Yet now he stared at the eerily familiar symbol with disgust. Why now, of all times? Why now when they'd lost two members? Two very powerful members.
His phone rang, interrupting his thoughts.
"Yes, Sir Wright, I am aware of that. I just received one myself." Sir Edwards paused to light a cigarette, frowning momentarily at a small spider on his impeccably clean blue walls. "Yes, I already informed Sir Islands, and I've requested a conference." He hung up the phone and stared into the empty space in front of his desk, smoke welling up before him.
Seras walked home slowly, her arms laden with paper bags full of food, bandages and cigarettes, amongst other necessities. Long sleeves, gloves and a cap covered her skin, protecting it from the sun. Integra had decided that since they were already wanted criminals, there wouldn't be any harm using the Hellsing credit cards; the authorities knew Integra wasn't likely to have left the city, if indeed she was still alive.
"I just hope they haven't frozen the account." Integra had muttered quietly. They hung in the air ominously, and Seras had assumed she meant the Round Table.
She would never admit it, as it sounded silly and immature, but she thought it was funny that the big, dark and looming Hellsing Organization used credit cards. It somehow seemed so incongruous, to have such a powerful organization that dealt in killing the supernatural undead make use of something so mundane as a credit card.
Seras shook her head, mentally chiding herself for her stupidity.
"Seras Victoria, sometimes you can be a real prat."
She surveyed the contents of the bags, feeling quite happier than she had in a few weeks. For so long, she'd been a fugitive, homeless, friendless, jobless, though there were many who'd say working for the Hellsing Organization was hardly one's ideal job. And Seras was still a fugitive. But Alucard and Walter were back. And Heaven help her, Seras was grateful that Integra was alive and well. She knew it was foolish, but somehow, things didn't seem as bad as they were a few weeks ago.
Her reverie was interrupted by a sharp noise on her left. Seras had decided to take a round about way home, just in case someone decided to follow her. She felt no fear for herself, of course. It was more than clear that she could handle most of London's gutter rats and general riffraff, but she didn't want anyone discovering where Integra was hiding.
Seras didn't look around or tense. She kept walking as though nothing were wrong. She turned right down an alley that was still dark despite the morning rays. Garbage and unspeakable refuse littered the ground, so that there was barely an inch of brick visible. The walls were caked in grime and dripped God only knew what. Seras continued walking until she heard footsteps not twenty feet behind her.
Calmly Seras set her groceries down, praying nothing would soak through the bags, and turned around.
A young man watched her quietly, his skin quite white and his clothes tailored to perfection. Malicious red eyes blinked at her underneath a cap of glossy black hair, pulled back into a short pony tail. He wore a white t-shirt over immaculate black trousers. On his shirt was an eye, a symbol with which Seras had become quite familiar.
She tired of the stony silence, his simple, but malevolent gaze. She waited for him to do something, but all he did was stand and stare at her.
"You know, you should be more careful, walking down these kinds of streets in such lovely clothes." Seras told him. Suddenly, his jaw opened hugely, inhumanly wide, displaying rows of sharp teeth that were coated in blood and bits of flesh. He let loose a disgusting noise that resembled an amplified dying pig and charged her. To Seras' relief, frightening as he was, the vampire was not that quick. Well, faster than a human, certainly, but Seras was no longer human. She remembered that belatedly as she reached for a non-existent gun. Just as he reached out to swipe at her face with overly long and sharpened nails, Seras dodged and swung her leg out to send him flying into the side of a wall.
He slid to the ground and, for a moment, lay in a heap. Seras looked around for a weapon of some sort, anything to beat his head in or run through his heart, but saw nothing but rotting food and old soup tins. Soup tins.
He roared at her again and pushed himself up. Seras dove under him as he grasped at her, rolling and trying not to think about what exactly she was wallowing in. She grabbed the nearest tin can and squeezed it into a thin stiletto-like spear. She knelt on one knee, still, waiting for him to charge her again. Her head was down, her eyes hidden behind her hair.
She felt rather than heard his approach. Seras steeled herself, waiting for just the right moment. When he was fully in front of her, ready to pounce, she leapt up and shoved the tin into his head. He screeched and fell back, stumbling through the muck and, much to Seras' amusement, slipped backward on a banana peel. On the ground he writhed for less than a minute before what remained of his head exploded into worms.
Seras hastily looked around, relieved to see that no one had decided to be curious about the scuffle. Typical of London's eastern boroughs, she thought mildly. She stood for a moment, contemplating what she'd just done, feeling rather proud of herself. Not a minute later, however, four men and a woman rushed into the alley, running at breakneck speed. They all halted suddenly upon seeing Seras and the maggoty corpse.
One of the men, with the reddest hair Seras had ever seen outside of a Disney movie, walked forward slowly and warily. His eyes darted from the dead vampire to Seras and back again.
"Young woman, did you—? How did—?" He asked quietly, apparently at a loss. Seras didn't know who these people were, but she kept on her guard for another attack. The man threw his head back to his cohorts.
"Daniel, go keep watch. Don't let anybody enter this alley." Daniel thrust an evil looking dagger into its sheath and slipped it through his belt loop. Before he left, Seras noted the small, oddly shaped designs around the black lacquered hilt, though she had no idea what they were. She turned her attention back to red.
"You have our congratulations, my dear. You've quite a talent." He bent over the corpse and didn't even grimace at the wriggling maggots still erupting out of the vampire's neck.
"Talent? What the fuck, Jules! Buffy just destroyed our suspect! Now how the hell are we gonna to question him?" The woman stepped forward angrily, eyeing Seras with poorly disguised anger.
"Calm down, Liz. Gods know there will be others." He looked at Seras again, sharp brown eyes considering, but for what? "She just did us a favor."
Seras didn't know what the hell was going on, but she felt she'd lingered here too long.
"Well, I wouldn't worry about questioning him." Seras said sheepishly. "He's a vampire, so I'm sure he's done whatever you suspect him of doing." Liz's only reply was to snort ungracefully. Jules stood up, had a good look at Seras and promptly backed away. He seemed to have noticed her eyes finally, with their unnatural shade of blood red.
"She's a vampire!" He told the others swiftly, and they all drew out weapons similar to Daniel's. Long, curved, wicked looking daggers, the like of which Seras had never seen. All at once, they rushed Seras, and she barely had time to think before they were upon her. She told herself she could not kill them, they weren't vampires, only humans, stupid as they were. Only moments before, they were admiring her for her handiwork; now they were her enemies. She lunged and spun, her boot catching Jules soundly in his hip, sending him onto his back with a painful sounding thump. Ducking Liz's lethal swipe, Seras thrust her hand out and hit the woman square in the sternum. Liz spit out blood and air in a hacking cough and fell to her knees. The others fell just as quickly. Seras didn't wait for them to get up. She grabbed her groceries and ran.
Daniel was still waiting just at the entrance of the alley, studiously ignoring the commotion inside, looking, for lack of a better term, like the mafia hit man Likely, he thought his friends were engaging in yet another, simple operation against a vampire.
"You're not too bright, are you?" Seras flung back at him as she ran.
Walter carefully rubbed the ends of Integra's previously white shirt together in a vain attempt to remove the blood stains.
"Sir Integra, I'm afraid there is no hope for this garment. The blood simply won't come out." He frowned down at it, positively affronted by the mess.
Integra lay on the futon again, resting. The pain that had since subsided returned, much to Integra's irritation. But Walter refused to allow her to move for more than what was necessary. Now she had to deal with a mere sheet wrapped around her slender frame.
"Leave it, Walter." Integra said quietly. He sighed, wrung the shirt out and hung it up to dry.
Seras chose that moment to trudge through the door. She closed it behind her and leaned against the frame. Walter immediately came to her side.
"What on earth happened, Miss Victoria?" He eyed her liberally streaked clothing with distaste. "You look as though you've been digging through the refuse cans." He made a face as a soft breeze blew past her through one of the windows. She certainly smelled of it, too.
"Walter. Sir Integra." Seras nodded to each of them. "Where's Alucard?"
"He dislikes the daytime hours." Integra spoke softly. Once again, Seras was reminded of how well Integra knew her servant. Her mind flashed back, briefly, to a warm night not too long ago; a night of bloody dreams and a discovery Seras would rather she hadn't made.
Seras set the bags in Walter's arms, though she noticed he grimaced slightly before accepting them. As Walter inspected the contents, Seras sat down to tell them what had happened. Integra listened quietly, smoking as Seras spoke. When Seras finished, Integra exhaled her last cigarette and crushed it out in a paper plate.
"You said the vampire you killed displayed the eye emblem used by the Millennium Group?" Seras nodded. Integra's face darkened. After a moment, she lit another cigarette, her third. "It would seem I have made yet another mistake." Integra said, almost to herself and blew cigarette smoke through her nose.
"Sir Integra—?" Walter began. She shook her head silently.
"It doesn't sound as though the other group who attacked you was specifically searching for us. They didn't attack until they discovered you weren't human." Integra mused. She ashed her cigarette again, quiet for a moment. "Walter, are there any other known organizations that deal with the undead here in London?" She asked him. Walter was startled.
"No, Sir. None that I am aware of. Unless of course, one counts the occasional trespassing of the Iscariot Organization." He replied. Integra nodded. The thought of Maxwell and Father Anderson made her mood sink further. Damn! If only she had her intelligence operatives at her disposal still. Not to mention a computer.
"In any case, whether or not they were targeting us in particular, we cannot stay here indefinitely." Integra continued. She propped her chin on her hand and chewed the inside of her lip, a habit left over from childhood. "Tonight, I will think on what to do. I believe I may know someone who would be willing to help."
Seras let out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding and nodded. Clapping her hands together, she stood up and began to dig through the paper bags.
"I know you gave me a list, Walter, but I also decided to pick up a few other essentials." She pulled out toothbrushes, toothpaste and other toiletries. She also pulled out a smaller paper bag containing a box of tampons. Integra saw her take them and the other toiletries into the bathroom and barely suppressed a smile. She closed her eyes and decided to find what sleep she could before the night came. Once Alucard made an appearance, she planned to go out.
Jules paced the floor in frustration. Or rather, he tried to pace, but was having a rather difficult time at it due to a very painful hip. He swore inwardly at the vampire from that morning. She was strange. He'd never before seen a vampire with such intelligence. If they weren't ghouls, then the others seemed simply hell bent on blood.
Speaking of which, he couldn't understand why the vampire left him and his friends alive. That was another thing uncommon. Damned near impossible, if one had asked him before that morning. And more than that, why would she kill one of her own kind? He shook his head in defeat.
"What's our next target?" He asked no one in particular. He needed to move. Do something. The morning's dismal failure still burned, and he needed to get it out of his system. Liz handed him a small Polaroid. The image of an older gentleman with balding spots stared back at him.
"It was taken the day before yesterday, in the Whitechapel area." Liz explained. Jules studied the photo for a moment.
"This is near where we were this morning." He noted. It brought the bitter taste back to his tongue.
"Any news of Miss 'Ellsing?" Niall asked quietly. He flipped through a paper from that morning, having gone through every single newspaper he could get his hands on, eyes tuned to unnatural events and possible mentions of the fugitive knight. Jules shook his head.
"None. But it isn't likely the Round Table would want to advertise her existence, let alone her disappearance, Niall." He murmured, distracted.
"She's likely dead, then. Or soon to be dead. She hasn't got many friends here, I'd say. I'm sure MI-5's got many a man out on 'er 'ead." Niall remarked. Personally, he didn't see any reason to recruit the late Sir Hellsing. Jules apparently had a purpose in mind, though he had yet to share it with the other members. For the past four days, ever since news of her escape leaked out, Jules had been quite excited that she should be brought into the organization.
"Yes, well… Perhaps we should offer our friendship, Niall." He looked up from the photograph, watching through the second story window as people hurried about their normal, ignorant lives below. "I'm sure Miss Hellsing would find it quite difficult to refuse any aid we might have to offer her." He laid the photo on a small table and left the room.
Liz watched him go, sullenly. Her dark eyes were hidden under pounds of purple eye shadow and black liner. Black hair was pulled back into a long, loose braid. She and Niall exchanged nervous glances.
"This isn't a good idea." She spoke quietly. Niall didn't answer, but continued to thumb through the papers.
Night arrived all too quickly for Integra. Eager as she was to evaluate her situation and—God-willing—better it, she was loath to move about so much this soon. But it had to be done. Liam Kellet would not speak to anyone else but Integra, if indeed he chose to speak with her at all.
Seras loaned Integra her shirt. She was not accustomed to wearing clothes not her own, but the difference in bust size more than compensated for the lack of fabric elsewhere. She straightened the small silver cross at her throat, took a few deep breaths, and stood ramrod straight. Thus clean and newly bandaged, Integra met Alucard leaning against the wall as she came out of the bathroom.
"Let's go." She said.
The bus ride into Whitechapel took a little under 15 minutes, but by the time they alighted, Integra felt her insides churning with the stress of standing up and sitting down, moving for passengers. Sweat beaded at her brow, and they had to move slowly. Alucard observed the throng in silence, ignoring the wary stares and several snickers from various teens. He did so love to be intimidating, Integra thought. Tonight, he was positively chirpy, so excited he was at the thought of possible violence. Though Integra had warned him he was only present for her protection, he was still thrilled to be on the prowl again, as it were. His gloved hands flexed in his pockets, anticipating holding his beloved guns again.
Now they walked quietly down the darkening streets, a lovely young woman with extraordinary blonde hair surreptitiously avoiding looking at her tall, dark companion, dressed for a masquerade; though Alucard had thankfully dispensed with the hat for the time being.
On the way, Alucard informed her of the conversation he'd witnessed the night before. Integra smirked.
"I know it is entirely inappropriate, but the fact that the Traitor was a mere whipping dog for the Millennium group greatly amuses me." She said lowly. They were walking rather slowly. Alucard didn't really mind, despite his eagerness to do battle with someone, anyone. He loved the city at night, the colors, the smell of thousands of young bodies, young blood. In fact, he'd spent much of last night roaming the streets, enjoying himself.
"I thought that might entertain you."
They continued the short walk around the block, coming finally to a small, nondescript brick building. Its filthy windows were darkened, no light emanating from inside. The door was a putrid yellow, the paint chipped generously and the hinges liberally speckled with rust. By the time Alucard and Integra stood on the threshold, she was slightly panting. Alucard gripped her arm lightly at the elbow. She stood still for a moment, catching her breath, and then straightened. Before she could knock, the door opened to reveal a small child. Hardly missing a beat, Integra addressed him.
"I am Integra Hellsing. I wish to speak with your master." Integra spoke quietly but firmly. The child looked to be no older than seven; when he smiled, tiny, razor sharp canines flashed against the light of the street lamp. He held the door for them and bowed slightly, mockingly. Dark eyes followed them into the hall.
Alucard could barely contain his disgust. The creature reeked of old blood and human filth. Clean though the child vampire appeared, it nonetheless emanated waste and ignorance not found in true undead.
Miniature and innocent looking fingers reached up to clasp Integra's wrist, but faltered at Alucard's low, feral growl. The child hissed slightly through its teeth, realizing who—and what—Alucard was. Clearly, the creature was a child by vampire standards, as well, Alucard thought.
Integra ignored the exchange and followed the dim glow of a fire to a small room in the back of the house. Alucard followed at her heels, boots silent on the ancient wooden floor.
Once inside, the child moved past Integra and Alucard to an overstuffed chair beside the fire. Seated there was a gaunt and silvered man, hunched over, gnarled white hands placed gently on the armrests. His nails were so long, they began to curl. His jaw was slack, hanging open slightly, where spittle began to run down the corners of his mouth. His skin had the consistency of chalk. Integra was certain that if she ran her finger over his face, bits of his skin would flake off under her touch.
The child climbed slowly on to the old man's lap. Twisted, ancient fingers moved to enclose the child gently around the waist. Integra waited in silence for him to acknowledge her presence. Alucard eyed the man, thinly disguised malice flowing off him in waves. Yes, Alucard definitely knew who this individual was, and briefly considered going against Integra's orders. During the time when Integra's father ruled Hellsing, he'd allowed this creature to live, on much the same principles as he did Alucard. Liam Kellet was a mole, and he had contacts everywhere in the city, indeed throughout the country. Though Integra had use of him in the past, Alucard wanted the disgusting son of a bitch dead.
At last, after much show of resettling himself, the old man looked up to see his visitors. Tiny, beady red eyes observed icy blue ones unblinkingly. Despite his withered appearance, the vampire's eyes spoke volumes of ancient intelligence and cunning. A smile curved very slightly upward.
"Integra Wingates Hellsing." He pronounced her name with distaste. His voice dripped with sarcasm, and rang sharply in her ears. He licked his lips, tongue darting out obscenely. "I can well imagine the reason for your visit, my love." He finally directed a hate filled gaze to Alucard. "Though, I confess I had thought you might rise above your father. Really, love, why consort with filth?" Alucard grinned enormously, reaching into his duster. Integra rested a hand on his arm, and he reluctantly quieted, grudgingly releasing his hold on the Casull.
"Since you already understand the situation, there is no reason to prevaricate, Liam." Integra began. She gestured toward an empty seat, to which Liam inclined his head. "I and several of my people need protection in the city. It is my belief that the Millennium Organization has resurfaced here in London."
"And you intend to fight them, if they have?" Liam's eyes crinkled in merriment. "You and what army, little girl? You've nothing, you're not even a knight anymore, though fat lot that did your family." He absently caressed the child's skin as he laughed, apparently truly amused. Integra was not. Before she could reply, Alucard moved behind her chair, resting his hands on the back of it lightly.
"I am all the army she needs." Alucard purred. Liam's previously slack skinned face twisted into one of revulsion, his lips puckered up, eyes roaming up and down Alucard's figure. The child mimicked his master with a sneer of his own.
"Yes, Alucard, I am well aware of your insanity. The mad ex-lord, trained to obliterate his own kind, led on a leash like a dog by a—a, little girl who likes to play with her daddy's costumes!" Liam spat out.
Alucard was upon him in an instant, the force of his lunge knocking the chair over onto its back. The child fell off and scrambled away to hide in a corner, cowering silently and curled into a fetal position. Alucard bent and gripped Liam's throat in his right hand, lifting him up toward the ceiling.
"Do you want to see a dog, Liam? I have one right here with me if you want to play!" Alucard extended his left arm, out of which erupted an enormous shadowy figure with eight blinking red eyes. Its black body, or essence as it were, seemed to flow from Alucard's own. Within its shadows, its gleaming white teeth seemed solid enough as they snapped at Liam's legs, just close enough to draw blood.
"That's enough." Integra commanded quietly. She hadn't moved except to light a cigarette, but rather watched the altercation disinterestedly. Alucard held Liam in his grasp for a few seconds more, relishing the feel of bones threatening to snap, smelling the vampire's fear, listening with glee to the choking gurgles. He squeezed once more, digging his gloved fingers into the flesh of Liam's neck, before opening his hand and letting the vampire fall to the floor in a heap. Instantly, the child scurried over to assist his master, lifting him and chair up with unnatural strength. By the time Liam and his chair were righted again, and he sat quietly, resentfully massaging his throat, Alucard had returned to his place behind Integra. The child once again climbed into Liam's lap, tucking his head underneath the elder's chin.
"You've been allowed to live by the good graces of my father. That is the only reason I haven't hunted you." Integra said. "As you can see, however," she indicated Alucard, "I am not above dispensing with Father's ideas now and then."
"I will not help you, Integra." Liam rasped. "Since you've been gone, there has been enormous pressure upon all vampires to draw together." He coughed, a loud racking affair. "How would it look, if I were to be seen aiding London's greatest vampire hunter?" Again, he eyed Alucard with repugnance.
"I didn't ever expect such a compliment from one such as you, Liam." Integra said coldly. "Do you mean that there is a cabal forming within London?" She asked him. He said nothing. He didn't have to. Integra felt certain that whoever was urging the vampires to convene was the Millennium group.
"I understand your meaning perfectly, Liam. Good evening." Integra stood slowly, and started to leave.
"Wait." Liam nodded to the child, who retrieved a small envelope from a nearby table and held it out to Integra. It was addressed quite simply to her. She frowned at it, and looked up questioningly. Liam was smiling, a hideous parody of a grin, wide lips stretching obscenely across his teeth.
She opened the envelope carefully, and pulled out the letter. She stared at it for a minute before registering exactly what she was seeing. It was an eye, the common Egyptian monograph employed by the Millennium organization, inscribed in what looked very much like blood. Nothing else was written on the letter. Alucard took it from her and erupted in long peals of laughter. Annoyed and frustrated with the night's events, Integra snatched it back.
"What's so damn funny about this?" She demanded of him. She turned to Liam, who's formerly self-satisfied countenance now seemed slightly unsure. "What is this? Who gave this to you?" Again, she turned to Alucard for some explanation. His answer was succinct and cryptic.
"It's pomegranate juice."
AN: Okay, I know that ended rather oddly, but I found that I simply could not write action right now. And I really wanted to get this posted. So the next scenes I intended for this chapter will be coming….soon. On another note, for those of you racking your brains for the connection between the title of my fic and the story itself, I shall now put an end to your suffering……..There is no connection. Yeah, when I first began the fic, I'd intended to focus primarily on Alucard: hence the title. But, I got distracted by my many and varied mythology books. So, "Pan's New Flute" has nothing to do with Pan's New Flute. And finally, because I know long ANs are annoying, I know a lot happens in this chapter and things seem to jump quickly from one thing to another. A lot more will be explained in the next chapter, and Alucard will have a lot of jolly good bloody fun. He doesn't get much action in this one, does he? Anyway, that's all I got. Enjoy.