Chapter 4 – A Plan of Revenge

"You're sure of it?"

Evelyn's voice was quivering, but barely perceptible to any possible eavesdroppers. "I know it the signs well. I had my suspicions before, but a performance of hypnosis on the earl confirms it."

"I see. I did suspect, but …" A discernible hiss. "Why didn't I see it before?"

"Matthew Crawley is not a fledgling vampire," Evelyn noted. "He must be far over a century old to have achieved such a flawless hypnosis."

He paused, uncertain of what he was about to say next, but Pamuk would know he was concealing something. It would be forced out of him eventually. "He was interested in Lady Mary."

"Of course," Pamuk said bitterly.

"He's up in her room right now," Evelyn added.

"What?" The shout sounded scratchy though the earpiece, and startled Evelyn enough to cause him to nearly drop the Crawleys' phone.

He inhaled deeply. "I tried to prevent him from going up – I said Lady Mary might not want to see him – but his lordship allowed him up there. It was partially under Mr Crawley's hypnosis, but I'm sure that it was no strong persuasion."

"What are you implying?"

"I was ... just under the impression that … that Lord and Lady Grantham want Mr Crawley and Lady Mary to … grow closer."

Pamuk's laugh was cold. "It's too late for that now. But what are they doing right now?"

"Talking, maybe? I don't know exactly what about." Evelyn grumbled, under his breath. "We can't all have hearing like yours."

"Be careful, Mr Napier. It was not so long ago that men were mutilated for speaking out of turn."

"I apologize," Evelyn said icily.

Pamuk fell silent for a short time as he calculated his next sentence. His voice, Evelyn perceived, was incredibly dangerous, despite its serenity. "Do what you can to ensure Mr Crawley does not interfere any further. It would be a pity to see all our hard work go to waste."

Evelyn gulped nervously. "What am I to do?"

"Be creative, but do not make any … errors. If something deadly were to befall Mr Crawley, then so be it."

Evelyn froze. Sometimes Pamuk asked much of him, but this suggestion was a suicidal task. As terrified as he was of Pamuk, under no circumstances would he be able to get close enough to Matthew Crawley to push a stake through his heart. Despite this, he uttered, "Yes, sir."

"Good. On a similar note, I'm sending Carlisle up in a little while. He has business to take care of in London first."

"When, sir?"

"I cannot be precise, but after her transformation is complete. Another week or two, I think."

Evelyn was desperately trying to quell his own beating heart. What diabolical plan did Pamuk have in mind that involved Carlisle? This was beginning to frighten him, methodically undoing every nerve in his body. "And then?"

"And then, when Lady Mary is in my arms again, perhaps I will feel it is appropriate to grant you your wish."

"Truly?" Evelyn nearly forgot that he was supposed to be speaking in a hushed voice. "Do you—?"

"Yes. That is, if you succeed in your task," Pamuk corrected.

"Thank you, sir."

"Do not disappoint me, Mr Napier. You've done so in the past, and if you fail at your given task—"

"I understand, Mr Pamuk," Evelyn said before hanging the earpiece back onto the handset.

Matthew sat in the chair opposite Mary, who was sitting on her bed, trying to understand everything that he was telling her. Once she got over the initial shock that he too was a vampire, it seemed that her world was no longer as dismal as she had before perceived it. He was the same accursed creature that she had become, yet he had appeared as normal as anybody. He had gained some façade of an ordinary life despite his vampirism, and she was therefore capable of doing the same. But what he proceeded to tell her only reminded her the great extent to which her life had changed.

"I feel like I'm starving," she said forlornly. "I can smell them all, everybody who walks by my door. I can't control myself."

"In time you will be able to," Matthew assured her. "It takes a week or so for the urge to lessen. You are only adjusting to your new anatomy, so your senses are beyond your control."

"But I'll still have to … feed," Mary said.

Matthew nodded. "You can survive by feeding only once every few days or so," he said. "That's what I've done, though I'm certain that I'm essentially starving myself."

Little that Matthew said made Mary feel any less of a monster. To her, no matter what she did, she would still be one.

"I'd rather die than live forever as some bloodsucking creature. Is there nothing I can do to change back?" she asked. But even then, she knew that the answer was not the one she hoped for.

"I've lived as a vampire for nearly four hundred years, and I'm no closer to finding a cure than I was when I was turned." Matthew had searched in every old text and manuscript he could get his hands on, scouring dusty libraries for most of his first century, yearning to find a way to remove his curse, but there was nothing to be found, and he decide to face the harsh reality that he would never be human again.

Mary felt very close to crying, but she urged herself not to – she could not stand the embarrassment of crying in front of Matthew. "I don't feel like I can ever be happy again," she said, despair cutting out her words.

She tensed as Matthew rose from his chair to kneel at her side. "Listen to me, Mary," he began seriously. "We are cursed, you and I, and there's nothing to be done about it. We must simply adapt. You mustn't give up on your life just yet."

"How?" Mary cried. "How can I simply accept this? How can I ever live with hurting people just so I can live? I nearly killed Anna last night! How can I live with being a murderer?"

Matthew stood up quickly, practically a flash of movement before Mary's eyes. He looked even more afflicted than Mary.

"Don't call yourself a murderer; you haven't killed anyone yet. And I am certain that you never will be a killer," he said sternly. "You did not kill Anna, despite every instinct in your being to do so. That's more than I can lay claim to."

Mary looked up at him, stunned at what he had just admitted. "Have you ... killed people?"

There was a single beat of silence. "Yes, I have. I have murdered innocents, and more than you ever will come close to." His mouth curved into an ironic smile, though he seemed pained at the memory. "Believe me, I was not the hero you see before you back then."

This disclosure was as startling to Mary as his revealing of his true nature to her. Never before had she even entertained the possibility that he had blood on his hands; it was too otherworldly for her mind to grasp – but even so, he did not frighten her in the least. He did not look like a killer, even as he stood there with his fangs exposed, for there was no savagery in his fiery eyes.

"Tell me, then ... do you feel at all guilty for those deaths?" Mary asked, convinced that there was little reason for him not to be.

Matthew paused. "I can still remember their faces, each and every one. I think about them every day, dying in raw terror because of me. I regret that I was reckless and stupid, even if it was beyond my control, because the ones who suffered for it were others."

His brow furrowed as he recalled his past, his eyes flickering like a fire. "They all succumbed to the demon within me, and soon I too saw myself as a monster. I think that's the worse thing that anyone can do to themselves: believe that they are a monster. You feel the need to prove yourself right, to stop caring what happens to those that you hurt. I started to let go of any shred of humanity I still had because that seemed the only path left for me."

"But you've held onto it," Mary said. "Before today, I thought you were as human as any ordinary person." Those were perhaps the kindest words she had ever spoken to him to that point.

"You're absolutely right," Matthew said. "I suppose I couldn't let go of it completely when I kept remembering what evil truly is. I realized I did not want to be that, to kill and not feel any guilt or pain. Somehow, I've kept my humanity, and you will as well, Lady Mary. You are no monster."

"If you talk to Edith, she'll change your mind," Mary said choicely. "I can sound rather the villain to her."

"My point is, this is not the end. Let's be strong, both of us, and accept the fact that, though you are a vampire, you have not yet lost your humanity." Matthew gave Mary a small smile, and she returned it. Neither of them acted upon their shared desire to grasp each others hands.

"But will I ever be able to go outside in the daytime again? I can hardly stand even a candle's light," Mary asked.

"Of course you will. You've seen me in the daylight, haven't you?" Matthew responded. "It does take a while for the body to adjust to light, and for a while you'll only be able to bear the cloudier days. But in time, you will be able to stand in the sunlight again."

"And you're sure I won't burst into flames?" joked Mary. Both of them laughed, much to Mary's embarrassment.

"If you are careful, no, although it does feel rather disagreeable," Matthew said. "But remember, there is a grain of truth in every legend. I've learned which are indeed myths and which are true."

"I've already found out that I do have a reflection," Mary remarked, "and I'm quite glad that I still do."

"We are solid beings, after all," Matthew said. "But I am relieved as well; it would not play out so easily for me if someone noticed I did not cast a reflection. There are, however, other myths about our kind that are actually true."

"Don't tell me the myth about sleeping in coffins is true," Mary smirked.

Matthew shrugged. "Alright, I won't then. Even though ..."

She looked at him quickly and then burst into laughter again. "You can't be serious!"

Matthew smiled; he never thought Mary's laugh could sound so … innocent. Then again, he had rarely heard her speak in a convivial manner to him. "Well, I do find it's easier to rest if you trick your body into thinking it's entombed," he said, hoping Mary would hear him as she doubled up with laughter.

He realized he had seen more emotion from Mary in just a few minutes than he had ever before. She had changed so drastically, was so very different from when she had first met him. Before the trouble the Turkish gentleman brought, she was petulant, arrogant, and most definitely against Matthew being at Downton. What Matthew was seeing now, however, was so unlike the Lady Mary he knew before that it was as if he were talking with someone else. She was vulnerable to her fear and her unsatisfied thirst, but even more surprising was her laughing with him. Some of that coldness had been drained away along with her blood, and it was quite ironic to Matthew that she was showing more life than she ever had displayed when she was truly alive.

He remembered the first time he ever set eyes on Mary; tall and graceful, offering an icy welcome to Downton. It had not been the most auspicious of arrivals to begin with. He had not been thrilled that Lord Grantham had sent him the services of several people, including one Mr Moseley to act as his butler and valet. Matthew wasn't used to having many people in his house (he did typically have a maid for appearance's sake) and poor Moseley ran the risk of becoming a vampire's feed. He had begun to think that it had been a mistake answering Lord Grantham's calling, that he should have left the family alone and gone on living in the shadows.

But when he saw Mary, unexpectedly beautiful, enter the sitting room, it was as if he had been the one hypnotised by a vampire. The way she held herself, her commanding voice – it was as if she was a goddess or an empress, although it did not take long for him to recognize her aloofness. Nonetheless, he was caught completely unawares, and from that first moment she looked down at him as if he were a dead varmint. Any conversation between them was stiff, any actions uncongenial – and yet Matthew could not bring himself to despise her. In truth, there was something about her that beguiled him, a voice in his head whispering her name constantly.

There was his thirst as well. It was stunning just how magnificent she smelled, the ambrosial scent of her blood powerful enough to become a distraction. At that first encounter, he had been afraid that his control would slip, his fangs would extend, and he would find himself embedded in her neck. He had even entertained the notion of sneaking into her bedroom at night and feeding from her, tasting her blood which he knew would be divine. Never before had he held that sort of lust for anyone: drinking blood was but a means for survival. He was shocked at himself for wishing to do that to Mary, and he could not imagine her reaction if she found out why sometimes his gaze was so intensely focused on her.

He had sworn someday that he would do it. One moonless night, he would drive his fangs into her neck as she slept, to consume her pure taste, then leave as silently as he came. She might not ever realize what he had done to her. She would never know that it was her blood that enticed him, that drove him to seek her out in the middle of the dark night.

It was a shame that someone had drained her of her human blood before he had the courage to do it himself.

As soon as she heard laughter from inside Mary's room, Edith wondered if it was a mistake to eavesdrop on the exchange coming from within. Her jaw was going to hit the floor if she heard one more demented thing pass through the white door. Either it was she who was insane, or the two people speaking really weren't entirely human. That was what she had gathered early on, and as the minutes passed, Edith grew more and more aware of the real nature of the conversation.

She had had her suspicions when, from the corner of her eye, she noticed Matthew Crawley enter Mary's bedroom. For what matters he did so she was not initially sure of, but she didn't think she'd hear of vampires, losing humanity, and Mary almost killing Anna.

Edith had heard numerous strange things said behind closed doors, but this was unquestionably disturbing. It went against everything that was natural, or supposed to be, and it horrified Edith that it was Mary and Matthew who were participating in this madness. She was certain her hearing was reasonably good, and the door probably could not distort words so severely, so unless she was mentally ill, she was hearing things that were not normal by any means.

So, Matthew had been a vampire long before he walked through the doors of Downton, and now Mary was too. It explained her sudden and strange symptoms, especially the repulsion of sunlight, though Edith had never sensed anything supernatural about Matthew. It was almost funny to remember that Mary had once derisively called Matthew a sea monster; she apparently was not inordinately far from the truth. But nothing could stop Edith from feeling that conventional chill of fear run through her – after all, she had only just made the unwelcome discovery that vampires did exist, and two of them lived in the form of her older sister and her distant cousin. Many times in the past, Edith had regarded Mary as a passive-aggressive monster, including quite recently when she tormented and teased Edith for her display at Patrick's funeral, but the thought that she was now a bloodsucking demon sickened Edith. And the man who would inherit Downton one day had been biting people on their necks and drinking their blood for four hundred years, which seemed the most ghastly of prospects to her.

Edith hurried away from the door when she heard more of her sister's cackles. She did not want to listen anymore of that surreal conversation – and she had heard enough of it to understand exactly what had happened to Mary. Even so, heading straight for her own room, she wondered if they had known she was listening at the door. Would either of them confront her about her spying, or do something to her that would make her regret her actions? To contemplate the many torments they could bestow upon her made her shudder, but she knew she could not let her fear get the better of her.

She was uneasy at this new reality, that her own family were beings that were capable of inflicting supernatural evils. She did not give thought to the likelihood that perhaps they were not as bloodthirsty or malicious as she assumed; vampires were synonymous with evil, without exceptions. Mary was now such a monster, but had only been so for a few days. But Matthew, a much older vampire, undead long before reaching Downton — just how dangerous was he? What malign powers did he possess? Worse to consider, was it he who was responsible for the current bedlam?

Without the insight, or even an implication, that it was Kemal Pamuk who bit and turned Mary, Edith could only make the erroneous assumption that it was Matthew who was responsible for placing the curse on her sister. It did not seem an outrageous idea to Edith as she pieced together a picture in her mind. Mary had shown not the slightest warmth to Matthew since his arrival, and little had improved her outlook on his presence. Yet Matthew had, indirectly, admitted to Edith herself that he held a slight interest in Mary. She had come to realize this while showing him the churches of the county, and if her memory served her well, was the day before Mary had contracted her odd sickness (vampirism, Edith remembered). For what particular reason Matthew had changed Mary, Edith could not say for sure, but there was one absolute certainty: it had been no coincidence. And if Matthew thinks he can get away with this just by talking to her about humanity, then he has something unpleasant coming to him, Edith promised to herself.

"Edith, are you quite sure you heard right?" Sybil asked with a cynical look in her eye. "I think you're reading too many horror novels."

She fiddled with her fancy necklace, hoping she would get the chance to escape to dinner and not listen to Edith's concocted account. She was not ready to believe what Edith was saying, giving that outlandish stories weren't an uncommon thing to be shared between them.

"Yes, I am quite sure," insisted Edith. "Matthew's a vampire, he bit Mary, and now she's a vampire. It's as simple as that."

Sybil raised her eyebrows. Poor Edith was clearly unaware of just how loony she sounded.

Edith saw the way her younger sister was regarding her. "I'm not crazy!" she nearly shouted.

Sybil sighed – she had heard many mad things come out of Edith's mouth, but nothing so deranged or impossible as this. "It's just that … it simply does not make sense. Vampires don't exists in real life, and you know that. Or should," she added to herself.

"Well, people once thought the world was flat," Edith retorted. "Scientists discover new things every day, things that they didn't think were possible before. Who's to say that vampires aren't real just because they haven't been officially discovered?"

Sybil could tell that Edith was hell-bent on proving her theory right. It would take a lot of arguing to dissuade her. But there was something in her voice that sounded desperately serious, and Sybil did wonder if Edith was telling only the truth.

"Think about it, Sybil," Edith said. "That morning Mary got 'sick,' Anna went to her room to open the curtains and wake her up, but as soon as she did, Mary became aggressive towards the light – so much that she hid under her bed."

"I know that," Sybil said crossly. "That spread about the house like a fire."

"And she's been hiding under in her room ever since," Edith said, growing more animated as she began to single out her points. "Even for Mary, that's an abnormal way for anyone to react to the sun, but a vampire—"

Do you believe that Mary's a vampire based only on that?" Sybil asked. She remembered, from the half-dozen horror novels she had read in her lifetime, that such a symptom pointed to vampirism and little else.

"That and the conversation I overheard," Edith answered. "It sounded too genuine to be fake, and what reason would they have to fabricate such a tale? I doubt they realized I was listening in."

"So you are convinced?" Sybil inquired.

"Without a doubt," Edith said with no hesitation. "Please say you are as well; no one else is going to believe me."

"I want to believe you, I really do," Sybil contended. "But it's just unnatural."

"Trust me Sybil, I thought both of them were insane at first, but it gives a reason for everything that has happened to Mary recently. Vampires are real, and right now we have two in the family."

Neither of them wanted to believe that their sister was now an actual monster, but somewhere inside each of them, they knew that what Edith was saying was true – at least the part that Mary was undead. But Sybil too was unaware of Kemal Pamuk's real form, and so she came to the conclusion that only Matthew was able to turn Mary.

"I'm not going to sleep at all tonight," she said, shaking her head. "So, what are you going to do about it? You can't tell Mama and Papa any of this. They'll think you're even crazier than I think you are."

"Sybil, you have to believe me," Edith said, nearly at the end of her rope. "If Matthew's gone and bit Mary, he's probably going to come after us soon. Don't you see? He's got something planned, something that involves all of us —!"

"Stop, Edith!" Sybil cried, holding up both her hands. Just the thought of being bitten by a vampire sent a chill up and down her spine. "Alright, whatever you say, Matthew bit Mary," she said rapidly. "But I asked you what you're going to do about it, if you're going to do anything at all. Even if you managed to convince Mama and Papa that what you said is true, they'd probably have both of them staked!"

"You actually think they'd do that?" Edith asked, horrified.

"I can't imagine Papa being sympathetic to something that isn't human, or his dog," Sybil stated. "But even if they aren't like normal people, Mary's still our sister and Matthew's still the heir. Would you be able to kill them on the grounds that they're vampires?"

Edith hesitated. There were countless times when she wished that Mary would die merely because they were so horrid to each other. But if that actually came to pass … Edith was not entirely sure what she would do. If her sister was little better than a vicious beast, then she would not refrain from taking the most dire of measures.

"I don't want to have to kill them," Edith said. "But if they start biting and turning other people into vampires, then that would be the only choice we have."

"I concur that two vampires in one house is enough," Sybil agreed. "Although, right now, neither of us knows what they'll do. No one else has died or reported being ill, so they haven't done anything yet. I think we ought to wait before jumping to any more conclusions or move in for the kill."

"If one of us ends up either dead or undead—!" Edith started angrily. There was a knock on the door that made both girls start.

"Girls?" called their mother, her voice slightly muffled. "Do you intend to wait up here until the food is no longer edible?"

"We're coming Mama," answered Sybil.

She turned back to Edith. "You do realize that Matthew's going to be at dinner —"

"What?" Edith interjected, her heart almost stopping. "No – when did you hear that?" Her panic increased tenfold.

"Mama said, just before the gong. And that Napier person is downstairs as well," Sybil added.

Edith did not know the extent of Matthew's powers, but she figured she and Sybil would be in less danger if they acted completely unconscious of what he really was. She certainly would not be able to do anything in front of the rest of her family with regards to confronting Matthew.

"Act like you don't know a thing," she instructed Sybil. "You can't breath a single syllable of it to anyone."

"I promise I won't," Sybil vowed, opening the door. "I still think you're mad, though."

"That's the least of our problems," Edith muttered.

Edith's anxiety escalated as soon as she saw Matthew downstairs. He looked the same as ever – little had altered in his pallid appearance, but Edith was now viewing him through a different window. Matthew did not divulge anything malignant in his gestures and speech, but Edith knew better: there were secrets he was concealing, secrets of a more vicious character.

When his eyes met hers for a single heartbeat, she felt a twinge of fear run through her like an electric shock. She tried her best to remain calm and collected, mindful that anyone around her would sense her discomposure and inquire to what the matter was. Edith was hardly a convincing liar, and she would rather feign repose than fabricate a poor explanation to her agitation. She noticed Sybil suffering from apparent discomfort as well, a rare sight to behold. Sybil tended to be the bold girl, unflinching at most risks, but if she was visibly intimidated, then Edith became even more nervous. She grimaced, wondering if, at this very second, Matthew was staring right into their souls and picking up on their fear. Paranoia was close to overtaking her.

Everybody else was, of course, completely unaware of Matthew's secret. Seated at the dining table, Papa asked him, "How was Mary feeling today?"

"Well, she is still rather out of sorts, but she seemed to be in better spirits than I anticipated," Matthew answered. "Though neither one of us had an idea as to what ails her, she said she was beginning to feel more herself."

Edith bit her lip as Papa replied, "I'm glad this horrid spell is passing quickly then. I only hope that no one else will contract the same ailment."

"I hope the same as well," Matthew said.

Mr Napier, who was sitting beside Edith, asked, "What exactly did you say to Lady Mary?"

Matthew's eyes narrowed, an action not ignored by Edith, but he did not question Mr Napier's query. "I told her not to be afraid," he said.

Mr Napier looked down at his plate, his eyes boring straight below. Unless she was mistaken, Edith could swear she saw a trace of moisture at his hairline. What could he possibly be nervous about?

With a dubious look in his eye, Mr Napier asked Matthew, "Afraid of what, if I may be so bold to inquire?"

Matthew looked at him subtly, and Mr Napier lowered his eyes again. A near-invisible droplet of perspiration soaked into his hair.

"Lady Mary was merely concerned that her ailment would do irreversible damage to her mind and body. I don't, however, believe that anything adverse will happen to her," Matthew said.

Edith itched to confront him for his devilish crime, and his affection of innocence made her blood boil. Sitting at the table, she had to restrain herself from flinging a knife at his head (she did doubt that such a punishment would kill him). She knew Sybil would be too scared to do anything, an odd turn of personality since Sybil tended to jump without looking where she was to land, but if she still held a sliver of doubt to Edith's story, then she wouldn't lift a finger. Obviously, she was still convinced that there was more to the tale than Edith knew, but what more could there be? Edith was adamant that she herself had to do something, lest another terrible event occurred.

She had once perceived Matthew to be a decent man. It had not been wholly unreasonable to go after him, since Mary wasn't showing the slightest interest in getting close to him. The day Mary had gone hunting with Evelyn Napier and the rest of the hunting party, Edith had taken Matthew to several old churches to fulfil his request to learn more about the county (though she now interpreted that as deflecting any suspicion of him being a monster). She had genuinely enjoyed his company, but eventually it became clear that he was more interested in Mary. Of course now Edith saw what his interest in Mary had led to. She hated him for what he did to her own sister.

As the others began to move into the drawing room, Edith pulled Sybil aside, close to where the guests' coats and hats were hanging.

"What is it now?" Sybil asked irately, but as she spoke, she noticed Edith's right hand gripping something of thin silver: a knife, swiped from the dining room.

"Edith, what are you planning?" she asked, certain that Edith really was losing her mind. "Don't tell me you're going after Matthew."

"I've got to do something, and the sooner the better," Edith said, trying to sound more reasonable than she really was being.

"You really have gone insane," Sybil breathed. "I understand that you want to fix this yourself, but it's much too—!"

"Sybil, hush!" Edith hissed, sensing the servants' movement just around the corner.

"It's much too senseless," continued Sybil, a little softer this time. "You cannot honestly hope to prove that Matthew's a vampire by running him through with a knife. And I don't want anything to happen to you."

"Don't talk to me about what is senseless, Sybil," Edith said harshly. "If Papa asks where I've gone, tell him I went out for a walk to clear my head. If I'm not back in a little while, alert somebody – I don't mind who."

The door to the drawing room opened, and Edith pushed Sybil back into the shadows, both of them holding their breath. Edith glanced up briefly, seeing Matthew exit the room, cast in the amber glow of the lamps inside, followed by Thomas Barrow.

"Is he leaving?" Sybil asked, whispering straight into Edith's ear.

"I believe so," Edith murmured. "This is my chance – I'm going to go right now."

Sybil shook her head violently. "No! How many times do I have to—?

She suddenly quieted as Thomas gathered Matthew's coat and hat, only about three feet away from where the girls were cowering. Being caught by Thomas would be about as unfortunate as being noticed by Matthew.

"Wait here, Mr Crawley, I'll call for Taylor to bring the car around."

"That won't be necessary, I'd rather walk tonight," Matthew could be heard saying.

The girls waited in perfect silence, the very worst outcomes passing through their imaginations, until the heavy front door closed behind Matthew.

"Edith, you've gone mad!" Sybil exclaimed, inhaling deeply after holding her breath for so long.

"Say what you will, but I am going to do it," Edith said with determination. She did not care if her own sister thought she was demented; she'd take insanity over vampirism any day.

"If what you think is true, and if Matthew hurts you, none of us will be any better off," Sybil said.

Edith could hear sincere worry in Sybil's voice, but she was losing her chance now. How long had it been since Matthew left? There was no time to waste, since she saw little opportunity to confront him in the future.

Without another word, she turned away and became to creep towards the front door. She was aware that Sybil was watching her intently, but she did not look behind her, else she would have to receive Sybil railing against her further. She managed to slip outside without alerting the servants, with was a lucky feat in itself. Hopefully, luck would stay with her.

In her normal state of mind, she would have recognized what she was planning as utter madness, but she was blinded with fear and her wish to avenge that terror. She wanted to hurt Matthew as much as she could, even if it cost her her own life, which it probably would.

The night air was like cold water on her skin. The sun had already set and thus provided no warmth to Edith, who was hardly dressed for a nightly walk. She caught sight of Matthew on the path back to the village – it was advantageous to Edith that he had declined the chauffeur's services. She shivered, not only from the cold, but what would happen to her if Matthew discovered what her intentions were. How would any creature such as himself react? Violently and ruthlessly, that was for certain.

Let's finish this, fast, Edith said to herself. In her satin gloved hand, she clenched the knife, not allowing Matthew out of her sight. He was about a hundred feet away, and if she was quiet and careful enough, Edith could sneak closer behind him. Her delicate shoes were impossible to run in, but she managed a gait slightly faster than walking.

The further away she moved from the house, the harder it was to peer through the darkness; by the time she got to the front gates, she might not be able to see him at all. She hoped the cover of night would conceal her as well, and as long as Matthew did not think to look behind him, she would be undetected.

She would hurt him in any way she could, even if she did not inflict serious injury upon him. He had to pay for the terror he was causing to Edith, cursing her sister and beguiling her with lies of retained humanity. I cannot believe I'm doing this for Mary, Edith thought. But the odds were that Mary was disillusioned by Matthew's false promises and would not comprehend the wrongs done against her, and as Sybil refused to hurt anyone, it came down to Edith taking matters into her own hands.

She blinked, and he was gone, receded into the curtain of darkness.

Edith stopped abruptly in her tracks, stunned by how suddenly Matthew vanished. Instinctively she held the knife up in an offensive position, ready to strike in case he was playing with her, stealing behind her with his teeth bared. Her heart beat fast enough to make her feel sick, and as she caught various sounds resonating through the air she tensed, knowing he could be the cause of one of those noises. She was gripping the knife so tight that her knuckles turned white, but she held it with both hands, knowing she would require all of her strength to plunge it into Matthew's flesh. Never in her life had she felt fearfulness like this before, when her life was on the line. Already the scars of fear were being scratched into her brain, leaving their marks to leave her helpless.

When she saw the large bat in the sky, pure black against the midnight blue sky, she staggered back, her eyes widening in trepidation. Her grip on the knife slackened, and it fell onto the gravel path with a bell-like clang. It lay abandoned as Edith ran back to the house, no longer feeling brave.

In the dead of the night, just when she was sure the world was silent again, Mary heard the soft, fine scratching at her window. It sounded like a small fingernail scraping against the glass, which Mary's penetrating hearing discerned more harshly than human ears could.

She was aware of just how acute her hearing had become, which was nearly as strong as her sense of smell. She could name the people who passed by her door by hearing how heavy their footsteps were, and earlier she listened to the staff bustling about during supper. Matthew told her that her heightened senses would become less overwhelming soon, but they would remain more sensitive than any human's could be. Of course, to Mary, the most excruciating factor was the blood lust. She still craved it so much, even after feeding from Anna, so much that she felt as hollow as a dead tree. It took all of her will not to step outside her door in the middle of the night and … she didn't dare think of it.

She got up from her bed where she had been lying and unlatched the window. Before she drew back the curtain, she put a name to the scent, but when she saw what entered the room she reeled back in disbelief. She had only a few seconds to feel astonishment before the large black bat took the form of Matthew, still in his tailcoat.

"I'm sorry if I disturbed you," he said apologetically.

"You didn't," Mary said quickly, though truthfully she was unnerved by the fact that Matthew could transfigure into a bat. "I wasn't sleeping, if that's what you mean. I can't sleep at night anymore, or at all for that matter."

"You'll be able to, inside a coffin. That is, if you want one," Matthew said.

He stepped closer to her. Mary could see a small bead of blood at the corner of his mouth. He had just fed, she realized, and she felt a pang of envy – he could fly out and feed without losing control of himself, while she was still a prisoner to her irrepressible lust. Matthew quickly licked the bloody residue from his protruding teeth. He did not hide his fangs when he was around Mary – it made her feel like she was not the only monster in the room since she could not retract her own fangs just yet.

"I know you're hungry," Matthew said. He drew back his sleeve, enough to expose his wrist. Mary could smell the distinct fragrance – the blood Matthew had drunk just a few moments before. It was not as cloying as it had been when Anna had come into her room, but it nevertheless enticed Mary with such enriching taste.

Matthew sat down next to her on the bed and lifted his wrist closer to her mouth, the veins flowing with blood. Mary did not need an explanation to understand what he was offering her.

"You cannot starve," Matthew said, before Mary could object. "The change will last longer and become more painful if you do."

Mary looked at him timidly. "Will it hurt you?"

"It would take more than a small bite to create pain for me," Matthew said. One corner of his mouth curved up in a slight smile. "And don't worry about my blood mixed in; the venom won't harm you in any way."

Tentatively, Mary took Matthew's wrist in her hands and brought it up to her lips. She was intimidated by this intimacy, but she had no other choice. She was already being driven mad with the everlasting hunger, but Matthew was giving her salvation.

Mary rested her fangs on a large vein momentarily before biting down. The rich-tasting blood instantly filled her mouth, and with each swallow she took it slid down her throat with soothing rapture. It was not as warm as the blood she had drunk from Anna, but it was nearly as palatable, and Mary did not mind the taste of Matthew's blood that was mingling with the unknown human's. She struggled to remain gentle in the beginning, but as she regained her energy she became less incensed in her feeding. Had she been conscious of her moans of satisfaction, she would have felt a storm of embarrassment, but Matthew hardly cared that she was emitting lustful groans while locked onto his wrist.

It was an unfamiliar experience for him as well: he was letting Mary drink from him, sharing the blood that he had taken just to give to her. There was a striking degree of intimacy in this gesture, but he felt that it was his responsibility to take care of her. How long had it been since he had looked after another kindred soul? Not in his immortal life had he such a sense of duty as he felt now.

When Mary had drunk most of the human blood, Matthew gently drew his wrist away from her mouth. The circular indents her fangs had made began to heal immediately, and Mary watched, enraptured, as the wound closed itself up.

"See?" Matthew said. "You haven't done any permanent damage."

Turning away from him so he would not see her evident diffidence, Mary licked at the blood around her mouth and on her teeth. With her hunger quenched again, she could survive another night without the pain of her thirst. "Thank you," she murmured.

"I'll come tomorrow, if you wish," he proposed.

"I can imagine that I'll return to feeling as thirsty as I usually am," Mary said.

Matthew regarded her sympathetically. "You won't always feel this way. There will always be the thirst, but you will gain control over it."

"I hope I will, soon," Mary said. "Else my parents will send doctor after doctor to cure me."

"I've convinced your father that you are getting better," Matthew said. "So I doubt you'll have legions of doctors invading your room."

Against her usual character, Mary smiled at him. In an instant, her disposition toward Matthew had changed, and even she could not fathom it. But she appreciated his caring act, for it meant that there was one more ally, albeit an unlikely one, looking out for her.