A/N: This chapter gets fairly gory, so be warned.

Chapter 10 – Ad Mortem

"—once my reporter recognized her, he telephoned me, and I came straight here."

"Well, Sir Richard, I am at my wit's end, and if you can aid in finding my daughters at all, I would be indebted to you."

"I doubt you will worry for too much longer. The police have been dispatched and are making inquiries as we speak. I'm certain they will find them soon enough."

"That's a relief, I must say."

Cora heard her husband's conversation with Sir Richard even with her study door closed, and she rolled her eyes. Was Robert honestly going to ask that man for help? It wasn't that Sir Richard wasn't capable of figuring out enigmas, but he wasn't Cora's favourite person. She had found it so remissible that he arrived after dark, without so much as a telephone call to herald his entrance. It was advantageous to him that dinner had been a casual affair and they had not changed.

Still, I'd better show my support, she thought. And if there was a chance that Sir Richard could find her missing girls, she'd happily employ his assistance.

She caught Sir Richard saying mid-sentence, "—and I'd feel guilty for not doing something to help her."

"I wasn't aware of your admiration towards Lady Mary," Robert replied, his voice muffled from behind the closed library door.

Cora did not hear how Sir Richard answered; his voice had gone low – almost dangerous.

Before she made it into the library, a dull thud came from inside. Cora stopped, listening to silence. She heard nothing more, not even Sir Richard and Robert talking. For a second she wondered if she had even heard correctly. She dismissed the silly idea that she was losing her hearing and turned the handle to the library door. She stepped inside.

It looked empty.

"Robert?"

The shadow enveloped her before she saw it.

Mary and Matthew rejoined the others just before the train left for the north. Sybil was sleeping next to Tom, her head on his shoulder. Edith said nothing, even when she detected the smell of fresh blood around Mary and Matthew. Nobody spoke until they had descended onto the platform at Downton.

It was close to midnight now. The village was completely dark as they passed through it. Edith had rested on the train and regained enough strength to walk without trouble, but Sybil was still debilitated. Tom resumed carrying her during the slow walk to the house.

"How are we going to explain this all to Papa?" Mary wondered anxiously.

Matthew had pondered that for a while, but the only explanation he could construct was what had actually happened in Belgrave Square. "I suppose we could tell him the truth," he said. "Though I'm not too keen on that."

"He'll think us both mad," Mary concurred.

"Even so, we don't have much of a choice," Matthew said. "How else do we explain Sybil's blood loss, or how she disappeared in the middle of the night?"

Mary sighed despondently. "I should have realized we couldn't hide it forever."

Matthew nodded in agreement. "Living at Downton has made it harder for me to hide what I am. But since this happened Lord Grantham will find out sooner or later."

Mary shivered, though she was hardly cold. "I just hope Sibyl gets better soon."

"She will," Matthew reassured, "but she may never forget the trauma she's been through today."

They presently came up to the large stone house. There were lamps still lit in but a few windows. "I thought they'd be asleep by now," Mary said, confused, "but I'm sure they'll come and see Sybil as soon as possible. She rang the doorbell, which chimed inside. They waited.

Mary felt Matthew go very still beside her. "What is it?"

"I can feel something … the same presence around Lady Rosamund's house," Matthew said slowly.

He rammed his elbow into the door. Between the wood panels, the lock shattered, and the door swung on its hinges.

"Wha – that's our house you're breaking down!" Edith cried.

Mary understood what Matthew was saying; she could sense it, like a huge aura putting the house under a spell. It made her feel cold inside, filling her heart with dread. If something had happened to her parents—

"Tom, get Sybil and Edith to their rooms. We'll find Mama and Papa," she commanded. Tom shifted Sybil in his arms and made for the stairs.

The front hall felt icy cold. Only a single lamp glowed at the far end of the room. Except for their own footsteps there was hardly a sound in the entire manor. It seemed as dead as Aunt Rosamund's home when Matthew had entered it.

"Where are all the servants?" Mary brought her voice down to a whisper. It should have been much too late for any of them to be up, but if there were lights still on, there had to be a couple still awake.

From the corner of his eye Matthew saw a single maid standing by the green baize door. Her eyes rested upon Mary and Matthew, yet she gave no indication that she noticed them. In fact, she did not move at all. She stood as rigid as a statue.

Mary found one of the footmen, William, standing just outside the dining room. A silver tray he had been carrying lay at his feet. He face carried the same blank expression as the maid's, and he too stood stiffly as though he were at attention.

"Good God, they're all in a trance," Matthew said, astonished.

"All of them?" Mary looked around her. "Where's Mama and Papa?"

Matthew put back his head and sniffed for Lord Grantham's aristocratic stench that hung about Downton. "They're in the library."

Both of them dashed through the small library, unprepared for what was waiting there. Mary gasped loudly, her eyes widening. She could see her mother's arm outstretched on the floor behind one of the chairs. Lord grantham was facedown near the fireplace, limbs outspread over the carpet. Sir Richard was sitting in a leisurely fashion on the red couch facing the small library, his feet beside Lord Grantham's head.

"Judging from the fact that both of you are standing here, I'm guessing Kemal is no more," he said, breaking the awful silence.

"If you want to live, I suggest you go before I take your head off as well," Matthew said severely. He was already reaching for the dagger in his jacket; he had no intention of letting Sir Richard walk out freely.

Sir Richard gave a short, mirthless laugh. "Still bent on revenge, are we?"

He stood up and stepped carefully over Lord Grantham's head. He regarded the knife with a wary, hostile eye, but he did not retreat.

"I had so many chances to kill you – I should've taken one of them," Matthew said loathingly. "Even when I was human, I could have stabbed you or slit your throat."

"You would not have been able to keep me down for long," Sir Richard retorted. "But more to the point, you never had the desire to kill before. Even on that night, when I expected you to attack me, you were too busy weeping over your Lavinia's dead body."

Mary could almost feel Matthew's fury flowing off of him, consuming him – it was the same anger that had possessed him when he cut Kemal's throat. As soon as Sir Richard mentioned the name 'Lavinia,' Matthew's eyes grew fervid, his whole expression blazing with uncontrollable, murderous passion. "Don't you dare say her name," he said quietly.

"I'll do as I please," Sir Richard mocked, "just as I did with her."

"You cursed her!" Matthew spat. "You poisoned her mind! You made me believe she no longer loved me!"

"It was what I had to do to secure her for myself," Sir Richard shrugged. "I could not let a prize like her slip through my fingers."

"She was no prize for you to take!" Matthew snapped. The red light in his eyes was lurid.

Sir Richard suddenly turned to Mary, who had been watching them with a puzzled face.

"You don't know this story, do you, Lady Mary?" he said. "Well, I'm not surprised. It's a long story, and one that invariably causes Matthew suffering to remember."

Mary looked at Matthew, her head reeling with unanswered questions. His eyes did not meet hers, but some of the fury had abated. He was recalling the past, and it visibly pained him.

Sir Richard smirked. "Go on, Matthew. Tell her. Or shall I?"

"You'll say nothing," Matthew said brusquely.

He stood unmoving for a few seconds. It seemed ages to Mary before he lowered the dagger and turned to her. He struggled hard to maintain his controlled countenance.

"Lavinia was my fiancée, when I was alive," he began slowly. "I met her in London, at the Tudor court. We loved each other very much, and were engaged to be married some time later. She met him," he pointed to Sir Richard, sneering with disgust, "and immediately I began to see that she was slipping away. At first I believed she was growing ill, but I saw her with Sir Richard so often that I was sure it was the effect of his seduction. She even told me one day that she was no longer in love with me, yet I could not believe that it was the truth."

Matthew paused and rubbed his head, as if the memories were causing him a physical pain.

"She began to grow weaker; her skin was always cold and she hardly went outside. She hardly looked me in the eye. I searched for some way to save her: I sent for physicians and men of the Church to help her, but they could do nothing. It was sorcery that I, as a human, could not hope to reverse. I implored her to resist the demon that was destroying her, but she had no more will to.

"I caught them together one night, alone in her room. He was strengthening the enchantment over her. I remember … her eyes had gone empty, so empty that I might have thought her dead had she not been standing up. I imagined her soul darkening from his influence. I could have killed him then, or tried to, but all I could care about was Lavinia."

Matthew's voice began to tremble. "I tried to reach out to her, to bring her out of his spell, make her see me again, but the grasp on her was too great. I knew I would never be able to free her. She was too far gone, her mind too befouled. So I did the only thing I could do."

He touched the blade of his dagger, the metal singing under his fingertips. "I stabbed her in the heart," he said sadly.

Mary touched her hand to her mouth, her eyes welling up with tears. "My God," she breathed.

"Her life came to an end right in front of me. I couldn't bear what I had done to her. I fled, leaving her body with that monster. For four nights I waited in my home, waited for the soldiers to come and arrest me; I expected only to be executed for my crime. But he came alone, in the middle of the night, and … cursed me."

"A fate you deserve," Sir Richard said. "To live forever with your guilt."

"I am ashamed, it is true," Matthew said to him, his resentment increasing again, "but I'd rather live as a monster than watch her be with someone who manipulated her."

Almost lazily, Sir Richard flicked his wrist, and Matthew was forcefully thrown to the ground. The knife spun out of his hand through the air. The sharp point pierced the floor and stuck.

"I could have made her happy; her beauty would have lasted forever with me," Sir Richard hissed. "But thanks to you, her soul is beyond saving. You can blame me for much, but in the end I am not the one who destroyed her."

He looked towards Mary, and she began to understand what his idea was.

"Nonetheless, I'll still have my prize," Sir Richard decided. "I've waited a thousand years to be with someone worthy of my attentions, and I will not be thwarted again.

He stepped close to Mary, a malicious glint in his eye.

"No!" she cried. "You can't do this to me."

Yet as she spoke she felt an invisible force pull her towards Sir Richard. She had felt the sensation before, when Kemal had tried to trap her, but Sir Richard was making prompter work of it. But before he could touch her, Matthew quickly regained his footing.

"You bastard!" His fist rammed into Sir Richard's jaw. Mary let out a shout as the two men began to wrestle violently, knocking over table and a vase in their scuffle. Both men emitted wolf-like growls as they attempted to overpower each other. The spontaneity of Matthew's blow seemed to have subdued Sir Richard, for his movements were blundering and frenzied. It was Matthew who fought with diabolical savagery, his manoeuvres forceful, yet he appeared so animalistic that Mary feared being accidentally struck. She stepped backwards, her ankle brushing the knife.

With a sinuous motion, Matthew pinned Sir Richard to the floor, gripping his throat tightly. Sir Richard desperately scratched at the sharp-ended fingers clasped around him, but the hold was too firm. His eyes widened in shock and he rasped, "How can this be?"

Matthew bared his fangs and dug his nails in deeper, several rivulets of dark blood streaming onto the carpet. "Four centuries of waiting, and now I can finally have the pleasure of killing you." His hands stiffened, ready to tear apart Sir Richard's neck.

Mary threw herself at him, trying to pull him away. "Don't! Please, no!" she cried over and over. Matthew pushed her off of him with little difficulty.

"Matthew, don't do it!" she pleaded. "You don't have to kill him."

"If you want to remain safe, then I have to," Matthew told her.

Sir Richard chuckled wickedly. "She's right, Matthew. Will killing me—?"

"Enough!" Matthew screeched. He bent down and took Sir Richard's neck in his jaws, ripping upwards with vicious force. A chunk of flesh tore away with a hideous ripping sound. He spat the flesh out of his bloodstained mouth, spraying Sir Richard with his own gore.

"Matthew, no more," Mary begged. "You've done enough."

She recoiled when Matthew turned to her, his lips dripping heavily with blood. "I'm doing this for your sake," he said. "I'll be damned if I let anyone threaten you again."

He watched as Mary stooped and twisted the knife out of the floor. "Then let me do it."

Matthew stared at her, astonished. "What? Why?"

"You killed Pamuk for me. You have enough blood on your hands for one night. So let me finish him, for you and for Lavinia."

Matthew looked at her and then Sir Richard. So close he was to carrying out what he had dreamed of doing since the night he was turned. So close he was to avenging Lavinia, to mitigating the anguish that Carlisle was responsible for. But Mary would not back down – she wanted to do it for him. She was just as willing to kill as he had been. His determination was now hers.

Reluctantly, he climbed off of Sir Richard, giving Mary space to stand beside the injured monster. Sir Richard's eyes passed over the dagger, and this time there was no mistaking the fear in them. He tried to speak, but his words were hard to form and nearly incomprehensible.

"You … dare … kill?" Blood gurgled from his mouth.

Mary kneeled down and positioned the dagger point a hair's width away from his throat. She did not shy away from his mangled figure. Sir Richard did not like the unyielding expression on her face; she looked twice as demonic now.

"I … could … make … you … hap-py," he choked out.

"After everything you've done, I doubt we'd make each other happy," Mary countered.

Sir Richard's struggle to speak was a losing battle. "You … can-not … k-kill me … it won't be … the … end."

"I will," Mary said. "For all you have done to Matthew."

Abruptly, a strained groan came from nearby. Lord Grantham, lying dangerously close, was stirring, Sir Richard's hold on him breaking. His eyes fluttered open.

"M-Mary?" he murmured, having heard her voice.

His library appeared blurry in front of him, but he could just discern Matthew standing by Mary, who was kneeling beside Sir Richard. Mary was holding what he made out to be a very long dagger, poised above Sir Richard's distorted throat. To his eyes there was little brightness in the room except for the fire, whose light illuminated tiny rubies here and there, right where everybody's eyes ought to be.

"Wha' is sis?" he slurred. His whole body quivered as he tried to right himself – was that blood he was smelling so strongly?"

"Lord Grantham," Matthew said, "stay down." He knelt and mentally commanded Lord Grantham to lie still. He shuddered and his eyes closed quickly.

Matthew looked behind him at Mary and nodded. "Do it, now."

Without hesitation, Mary drew the knife back, then drove it into Sir Richard. His body shook and twisted in chaotic convulsions, and Matthew rushed to pin his arms down. His shrieks were laced with angry words that no one could understand, his fangs champing and tearing at his lips. Mary did not falter, bravely continuing to cut through the muscle as Sir Richard howled. Her own hatred fuelled her instinct to kill; each time she thrust the blade into the gaping neck her passion exploded, the next blow even more overwhelming than the last.

Matthew gritted his teeth as he felt the imperceptible pain of Sir Richard's annihilation, like a pinching at his throat. The connection between them was finally splintering. Blood spurted up and sprayed both him and Mary, but neither stalled in their task. As Mary unmercifully dissevered his head, Sir Richard's writhing became more sporadic and jerky, his screeching more guttural, having lost the capability to speak. Lord Grantham lay on the floor, half-conscious, but somewhere in his mind he could hear the final screams of Sir Richard's wrath.

A final slash, and the terrible act was done. The room went silent as a tomb.

The dagger fell from Mary's shivering hands and she clambered away from the mutilated body. She watched as Sir Richard's hateful face begin to waste away, the skin growing thin and grey as paper. His eyes went bloodshot and rolled back into his head. There was no peace on his face, even when lying dead.

"Mary." Matthew held her shoulders, supporting her as she tried to calm herself.

"I'm fine," she whispered. She wiped a red hand across her forehead, smearing the stray droplets across her skin. "It's done now, right?"

Matthew nodded. "It's done now."

Both of them started as Robert and Cora began to stir. The stench of blood was even stronger now, and it drew them both out of their stupor within seconds. As Robert's eyes flickered open again he saw, albeit indistinctly, Sir Richard's severed head lying inches away from him.

"What the hell?" he bellowed. He scrabbled away.

Cora was unsteadily supporting herself on the furniture as she clumsily made her way towards Robert. "What happened – there was a shadow … "

Robert's confusion was equal to his wife's. He turned to Mary and Matthew, standing in front of the fire, and he gasped at what he saw.

The firelight shone on their stunned, pale faces. Their hands, clothes, and faces were drenched in dark blood, and so too was the ornamental dagger that Mary was holding. The rubies he had seen before were actually the hue of their eyes, he realized, a hue he had never seen in human irises. In their open mouths he could see nightmarish sharp fangs gleaming white in the dim glow.

"What in God's name—?" he sputtered, reeling back. Cora was lost for words.

"Papa, please!" Mary exclaimed. "It's only me."

There was a crumbling noise, and all looked down to watch Sir Richard's dismembered body disintegrate, turning to colourless fragments. It diminished to nothing in a matter of seconds, leaving behind only his spilled blood and a coating of ash on the carpet.

Matthew's eyes met Mary's, and they were apprehensive. "I suppose there's only one thing we can do now," he said softly. He turned back to Lord and Lady Grantham.