A/N: Thank you guys so much for the lovely reviews! It's so nice to hear that people are enjoying this.


Alfred wanted to just run as fast as his legs would carry him, but he had given his word not to approach the inn in a state of disarray. He had been ordered to make himself as presentable "as if Herbert were helping," which was a truly scary thought, but he had promised he'd do it, in order to avoid the possibility of Herbert actually physically coming along with him.

So, once he was safely out of the woods and near the inn, he paused to change his shirt and wash his face. He threw his ratty traveling shirt away after toweling off with it, and combed his hands through his hair. So far so good. He opened up his bag and shook out a mess of rich grey and silver.

The road was a little muddy and he was concerned that the cloak would drag. But von Krolock had assured him it was perfectly all right if he ruined it, and so after one last loving stroke of the thick velvet, he clasped it around his shoulders and let it fall. The embroidered silver borders caught the last rays of the sun and he wished he had a mirror; he was sure he looked perfectly dashing.

(Sarah wouldn't be able to resist!)

He mentally went through Herbert's grooming checklist, and realized he had forgotten to check that his breath didn't stink. He checked, and it didn't. Good. Everything was in order.

He set his shoulders and walked the last quarter-mile with long, sure strides. The cloak billowed behind him and he was hard-pressed not to spin around delightedly. No: dignified. Representing the boss. Right.

(Sarah was going to fall all over herself!)


But when Alfred stepped through the doors of the inn, he got a couple of nasty surprises in quick succession. The first was that all his newfound sophistication vanished the moment he laid eyes on her, and he found himself clutching his cape around him like a cocoon, unable even to stutter out a hello.

The second nasty surprise was that when she laid eyes on him, Sarah didn't seem nearly as lovestruck. Instead, she hissed "You!", punched him in the face, and then fled the room.

The third, enormous, cake-taking nasty surprise was that a man standing next to Alfred then gave him a shove and said: "Hey. What did you do to my fiancée?"

Alfred spun so fast he stepped on his own hem and went tumbling to the floor. He looked up. "Fiancée?" he tried to say, but the world was spinning, and instead he fainted.


When he woke up there was a very large rear end in his face. He winced. "Mrs. Chagall?"

She straightened up and turned to look at him. "About time you woke up. Here – tea."

"I'm-… sorry. What happened?"

"You fainted." She glared hard at him. "Took one look at my Sarah, and you fainted."

"I-... Oh." He swallowed, sat up carefully on the bench, and tried to remember what he had been supposed to say.

But of course he couldn't. All he could think about was: "Sarah has a fiancé?"

Mrs. Chagall nodded tightly. "Someone has to come manage the inn now, now that-…" she didn't finish.

Chagall. "Oh, I see. Um."

"And someone has to help me keep house now, now that…"

Magda. Ah. "Right, right."

"I've tried to do everything on my own, but I just can't. So, we found a nice young man, and he and Sarah are… are moving into… our room…" she was starting to break down.

Alfred swallowed. He had to head her off. "Well, look, let's not be too hasty with that," he said. "I have news. I've been sent from the castle – Count von Krolock would like to invite Sarah to come visit. I'm supposed to take her with me."

Mrs. Chagall froze and abruptly stopped sniffling. "Take her?" Her voice was rising. "My Sarah?"

"Yes, and I'll make sure-"

"Take her?"

Alfred got to his feet. "Mrs. Chagall, I promise no harm will-"

"Get out of my house!"

"Look, it's not- aah!" She shoved him so hard he fell to the floor, and had to scuttle backwards like a crab. He tried to stand, fell over his cape and tried again. Something whacked him on the back of the head and he yelled. He realized he was trapped in a corner and got whacked again, only the cape was over his head now and he couldn't even see where the blows were coming from.

"Get out! Get out or I'll-"

"MAMA!"

All at once the pounding stopped. Thank goodness.

Alfred fought his way out of his cape and stood up again, trying to look dignified. "Sarah. Hello."

She stood in the doorway, in a coat and boots, clutching a bundle. "I'm all packed. If he sent you for me, I'm coming," she declared. "But I'm still not speaking to you. Or you," she added in her mother's direction. "I told you there's no need to go marrying me off in a panic! I knew it: the count is going to take care of me. And you."

"Like he took care of your papa?"

"Not this again." Sarah rolled her eyes. "Mama, I told you, the count would never hurt Papa. You know as well as I that Papa and that nasty little baggage probably just ran off together."

Mrs. Chagall put down the sausage she had been using as a weapon, and crossed her arms. "Alfred saw the bite marks too. Didn't you, Alfred?"

Oh, this was ugly. He could confirm it, if he chose. Or he could go one better, too, and explain that in fact Chagall was living in the castle at this very moment, making unholy sloppy noises with that nasty little baggage from their shared coffin every single night.

But the way Sarah was looking at him, he couldn't bear to say anything that would upset her. But he also couldn't lie to her. He tried for a middle road. "Look, if it's true that the count bit him, then surely he'll know where he is now. He told me he keeps careful track of his-…" Victims sounded a little harsh, though it's what the count had said. "...Children."

Mrs. Chagall put her hands over her mouth.

Sarah tossed her head. "Well. See? So, either way, Papa's fine. All I know is, if the count invited me, then I'm going. Alfred: come." She turned and marched out of the room, and Alfred rushed after her.


The trip back started out really badly. Alfred was freezing, because he'd given Sarah the cloak to wrap up in. Nothing he had brought was suitable for travel at night anyway, since he had expected to wait til morning, like civilized people. But Sarah would have none of it; she was hell-bent on reaching the count's side as fast as humanly possible – and if it tore at Alfred's heart to see her so infatuated she didn't even seem to notice.

In fact, as they walked on, she forgot her resolution not to talk to him, and started telling him all about her infatuation in great detail. About dreams she'd had, ones where the count had come into her bedroom, or her bath, and looked at her, touched her…

"Right here," she remembered dreamily, dragging a hand over her neck. "Just the back of his hand, so slow, and I felt it, and I woke up knowing I felt it, remembering what it felt like, and I-… Oh, Alfred!" She turned to him with a huge smile. "Isn't it wonderful? Finally I'm going to see him! Him!"

This wasn't right – it wasn't fair! How was he supposed to compete with a vampire?

Especially when the vampire was cheating.

It didn't take Alfred long to convince himself that The Right Thing To Do was for him to speak up. "Sarah, there's something you should know," he said steadily, trying to not to think of how the count was going to kill him for this. "It's important. It's about… what you're feeling."

She stopped skipping along and turned to face him. "What?" she said, and for a moment he was distracted because he could see her breath and it was so pretty!

He shook his head and made himself focus. "It isn't real."

She was quiet for a moment. Then: "What isn't real?"

Yes – he had to protect her. "You've had his blood," he explained. "It's addictive, it makes you think things… feel things… that aren't real. He sends you presents that are poisoned, and you drink them. So what I'm saying is: you're not in love, you're just… sick."

Her jaw dropped. "Alfred, that is a terrible thing to say. And a lie. You should be ashamed of yourself."

"No – it's true," he pressed. "I should know – I've had it too."

Her eyes grew even wider. "You?"

"Yup. Sarah, I live with him." He could see her getting angry, restless… jealous. Ha! Let her see how it feels. "The count touches me all the time. As well as gives me his blood."

She shook her head. "You're lying."

"No I'm not. Give me your hand."

She stopped, and held out her hand as requested. He brought it up between them to demonstrate. "Just the other day he took a knife and set it right here, between his fingers. Right there. Cut. And held it out for me to lick."

"Liar," she breathed, in fascination. She didn't resist as he pulled her hand closer to his mouth, closer…

"Like this."

She gasped oh as his lips closed around her. She was flushed and glowing…

And none of it was for him. He knew full well that she didn't want him, and if he pressed on anyway, then he would be no better than Herbert. He wouldn't be like that. No matter what.

He set her hand down gently, stepped back and turned away.

"Alfred?" she said. "What's the matter?"

I love you and you're stomping on my heart would not be the right answer here. He had to remember that there were more important things at stake than himself and his own hurt feelings. Sarah was in danger. "What's the matter is that you're going to be angry, but I can't not interfere between you and the count," he explained as calmly as he could. "You're no match for him."

He could hear her rustling impatiently. "Let me be the judge of that, all right? Now can we please get moving? I'm cold."

"Says the girl wearing a coat and a cloak." He turned back to her, smiling even as a full-body shiver ripped through him.

She frowned. "Are you-? Then why did you-… Here. Take your cloak back, silly."

"No- no, really. I want you to have it." He felt terrible. He shouldn't have said anything.

"All right, then: put it on and we'll share." Never mind: he should definitely have said something. This was beyond wonderful.

He settled the cloak around his own shoulders again, and held it open so that Sarah could step in too. They walked side by side, his arm around her shoulders and hers locked tight around his waist. He forgot to keep feeling sorry for himself, or worried for her, and instead just wished that the walk would go on forever. Even though it really was cold.


TBC.

Be patient with Sarah; I know it's annoying that she has such stars in her eyes now. They'll go away.