As you can all see, my true colors are showing- I update with no schedule whatsoever and I'm slow at it too. That being said, things are finally kicking up in this chapter.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dark Shadows

VII The Start and the End

Julia stared at the bottles of blood on her worn dresser, intent and scrutinizing, a dull ache in her bandaged arm. One was filled with the vampire's blood and the other her own life fluid. She didn't see much difference in the blood, if any at all, though she did make one interesting discovery- Collins' blood had none of the warmth that came naturally in mammals.

Perhaps if she mixed the samples together, a new result would yield. Perhaps it would be the same as mixing goat and pig blood, which would render her endeavor useless. Or perhaps it wouldn't. Barnabas was a dead man and her blood was still fresh. There had to be something about his blood that differed from hers. If his dead fluids acted the same way outside his body as they did inside, then she may have a slight breakthrough.

"Ma'am- doctor's here!" a shrill voice called, just as her door was pushed open.

Snapped out of her ponders, Julia quickly turned around, shielding her notes and bottles from the blonde coming in. Eric Lang was behind her, carrying a leather pouch.

"I see that. Go back to work, dear."

The youth nodded and was quickly bouncing away from the room as Lang stepped in, his face an indication of insomnia.

"You're late, doctor. I was expecting you in the morning, not now."

Lang scoffed. "I've been quite busy, almost as busy as your whores, Julia. Illness hit Noir Valley hard this month and I do have a livelihood to maintain."

"It doesn't matter now. I sent Collins out for the night. Did you bring-"

"Yes."

The old doctor set his pouch on a nearby chair and produced a wine-skin from it. "I shall have to draw new plans tonight. I had an irritating run-in with some drunken beggar in the noon, lost a few of my notes in the streets, though I doubt anyone else will pay them any mind."

He held the wine-skin up as Julia approached him and prepared to take it. "I trust that's not diseased blood in it?"

"Not at this stage, no. A control group would be a good idea for now, and we should feed your vampire normally."

"I suppose I should give you my utmost gratitude, doctor. The butcher's is too expensive these days."

"It was my pleasure, madame."

Julia supposed she should have wondered where Lang got all that blood, but she admitted, with little to no regret, that she didn't really care. As long as they had some way to feed Barnabas before her girls started dying out again.

"Hate that wretch a mighty bunch," Jack droned, "can't do this without measurements, but no- course he doesn't have the decency to show me that body. Bet it was a pretty girl wench too."

The undertaker spat on the dusty ground, looking at the dirt and weeds on the outskirts of Noir Valley. The cemetery was an ugly mess of crude stones and elaborate sculptures. It had once been a place of adventure in his boyhood, but he now knew how dull and misshapen an area it was.

"Well, my man- what d'you think? The town's finest resting place for the dead."

Barnabas stood by him, with that unnerving vacant gaze the younger man was already used to. Jack hadn't expected him to reply.

"I dislike it."

"Likewise- well, now you know where we'll be working. Just keep your head down at the funeral and Chanson won't notice your face. You know where the tools are in the shop- showed you everything now."

A chilly wind blew past them and Jack shivered, pulling his tattered coat closer to his form. "Mighty cold tonight- s'always bad weather here."

He shot his assistant another glance. The latter was staring at one of the rotting gravestones, his thin shirt blowing in the wind. "Best be heading back now- we got work to do," the young man said as he shrugged off his coat.

Jack walked past the other man, stopping briefly to drape the coat over Collins' shoulders. The undertaker walked on before turning his head in annoyance. "Move, Barnabas!"

Barnabas, in turn, only stared at him, eyes slightly wider and filled with a hesitant hint of emotion. He nodded and began following Loomis, the latter continuing his walk. "You ought to get a coat soon- s'awfully cold at night."

Jack kept his eyes on the town, occasionally turning to face Barnabas, and rambled about the flaws of Noir Valley, which in the undertaker's eyes, consisted of everything about it. Behind him, the vampire allowed a slow hand to touch the rough material of Jack's coat. He clutched at it.

If there was one thing Stephen Chanson hated more than poverty, it was filth. And filth covered the man causing the ruckus in his home. He had enough things on his mind. For one, he was trying to avoid the plague, and desperately hoping the rumor about it skipping around was true. If Esther caught it, then he would certainly be exempt.

But one could never be certain.

Following the lights of candelabras, the lord descended the staircase and all but pushed his way through the yelling servants. The loud man was pinned on the ground, howling about who knows what, his clothes faded and ripped, his countenance painted with dirt.

"Master Stephen!" he cried, staring up at Chanson with an irritatingly hopeful gaze.

"Get off my property. You're causing my cousin horrid distress!"

"B- but my lord- it's me- it's Johnson!"

Stephen ordered the footmen to lift the man up. And so it was- he had expelled Johnson from his residence a considerable time ago.

"And remind me why you were removed in the first place. The mere sight of you offends me."

"I didn't make the lady sick! I- I had a son- he's getting better, milord- really! I can come back- I'm healthy- really-"

"Take him away. Perhaps a beating would clear his head."

"Right away!" the left footman yelled, tightening his grip around Johnson's arm. The servants began dragging the man away, his chipped nails digging at the ground.

"Wait!" he screamed, one last desperate gamble in mind, "look here! Look!" A yellow piece of parchment flew from him, landing on the ground, muddy and on the verge of crumbling.

Stephen prepared to turn away before a scribbled dark word caught his eye. Immortality.

"Stop!" he ordered. The lord would rather not have made eye contact with his former servant but his curiosity had been peaked. "Where did you get this from?"

"The doctor, the doctor- Lang- Lang's his name."

Thanks for reading!

And yes, Johnson is related to Mrs. Johnson.