CHAPTER 11

A/N – Hello everyone! Believe it or not I got some of the old excitement back over this little tale along with the new inspiration, so I'm ready to go! Like I promised, some more drama and darkness this way comes, because heck, why not. Also, in this chap there shows up a new character – sorry guys, I know I'm like super partial towards him, but he is after all my voice and ultimate expression Hetalia-wise (also, there's no crack without this mischievous boy). Anyway, enough ranting, enjoy the new update!

Warning: self-harm

"Are you sure the charm will hold?"

"S'alright, luv, I've got them. They'll be here for as long as needed and won't remember shit afterwards," the Englishman assured, calmly sipping his tea.

Elizaveta still couldn't believe the situation they were in and the fact that she'd asked her friend to charm Feliks and Toris into temporarily moving in with her at the Magic Club headquarters. It was crazy, but no one yet found Gilbert's letter reassuring enough in regard to Ivan Braginski's intentions and she wanted to know her family was safe, out of the Russian's reach. And no matter how fucked up this was, it was better to have both boys numb, endlessly glued in front of the TV, rather than asking questions or noticing that she looked as if freshly dug up from a grave. Because indeed, the brunette looked nothing short of terrible – there were deep, dark shadows around her hollow eyes and her face had lost all color, instead altered to a dry, papery whiteness.

'Why did Gilbert leave me?'

'Because he loves you. Because he knew that if he didn't, you'd spend the rest of your life running and hiding.'

Not good enough. And there was more that this true love story turned horribly wrong, something which no one would say out loud.

'Why does Ivan Braginski want Gilbert? What will happen to him?'

Alfred had not answered, he'd only looked away, uncomfortable, because for all his centuries a part of him was still a clumsy child incapable of hiding his thoughts and emotions. And Gilbert was a fool. The mere fact that he'd thought Elizaveta could simply forget him was proof he wasn't aware of their bond, he still didn't comprehend how much of him she was still able to feel.

The Hungarian walked back into the small kitchenette and numbly resumed preparing dinner – a pathetic attempt at normalcy. But it was useless, she was broken, like a porcelain doll someone had cruelly smashed against a hard floor, letting the shards scatter all over the place, impossible to be pieced back together again. Randomly, Elizaveta's eyes fell on the loose shirt sleeve which had ridden up as she was working, landing on the wicked Grim mark which lingered now like a mockery.

And in that moment she snapped.

Thin fingers clutched the knife she'd used to chop onion and raising the blade the brunette drove it down viciously right through the black tattoo on her wrist. A loud cry erupted from her throat, but neither the pain nor the blood gushing from the wound were enough. Wailing, she wrenched the knife from the flesh and lifted the bloodied blade to her throat. One swift slice across the skin and it would all be-

"MISS, DON'T DO IT! STOP!"

Elizaveta continued to whimper and struggle, weaker and weaker as strength was leaving her, but Alfred's arms held her in an iron grip. The American forced the knife out of her hand and it fell onto the tiled floor, splattering gruesome red drops.

"Liz, what have you done?!" she heard Arthur cry, then asking something else she was unable to make out. His face already swam before her eyes.

"I c-can't… let… this hap-ppen… not, n-no more…" Tears had formed a suffocating knot in her throat, preventing speech and breath alike, but she struggled regardless. "I w-won't allow G-Gilbert t-to be tortured for the rest of my l-life, I can't!" The Englishman was white as a sheet, lips slightly parted in horror, a clear indication that her instincts had not deceived her. "P-Please, Artie, l-let me die… I c-can't let him suffer!"

"I won't let you die!" the blond shouted angrily, stuffing a pillow under Elizaveta's head after she'd been laid down on the living-room sofa. He tried to sound firm but his hands were trembling. "You can't expect me to let you die, you're like a sister to me! Gilbert made his choice! True, he did it for you, because he loves you, but it was still his choice, don't you understand?! He wanted you to live, for fuck's sake!"

She was slipping away, the dark abyss of despair, the empty void between life and death was ready to swallow her completely this time and she would hang in there, stuck in limbo for eternity, suffering without end and without being able to as much as scream.

"If they have a bond, then she must be feeling whatever he is feeling," a soft, calm voice said, and the brunette saw Lukas leaning over the backrest. "I don't suppose we can fix it."

"But-"

"We might know someone who… might know something…" the Norwegian suggested, half-heartedly, and Arthur looked up at him and scowled.

"Fine, you talk to him then!"

Lukas shook his head.

Elizaveta gasped, fighting for breath. Maybe there was a tiny flicker of hope after all? Maybe… "I-I will t-talk to him… p-please…!"

A few days passed, in which the Hungarian kept slipping in and out of a fitful sleep, full of bizarre and frightening dreams she couldn't remember afterwards. Only the bone-deep feeling of dread lingered after waking, clinging to her every moment. Arthur fawned over her constantly and he'd made sure one Grim or the other were discreetly keeping an eye on her, for fear that she'd attempt to hurt herself again. Elizaveta also had a strong suspicion that her friend had tried to charm her into submission as well, but the spell had failed because of the Grim bond. In all truth, she must have been mad, but she wouldn't have wished the bond gone even if it were possible. It was the only thing she had left of Gilbert.

But at least there was some sort of hope after all, the only reason she willed her body into recovery – every now and then she'd hear Lukas and her friend talk about the mysterious person who might have been able to provide help. Of course, there was no way of knowing whether they weren't in fact hoping to sever her contract completely and the worst fears would corner Elizaveta upon that thought, but maybe… just maybe… there was a chance of getting Gilbert back.

"How are you feeling, luv?"

Arthur's voice brought her back from the labyrinth of thoughts and the brunette blinked slowly, pushing herself up on the pillows. Her lips mustered a wry smile as she looked down at the bandaged wrist, it was funny how she'd almost felt no pain from the cut, although the knife had nearly come out on the other side. Must have paid off to have magically gifted friends, after all.

"I'm fine, I guess…"

The sorcerer's bright green eyes softened even more and he reached out, gently brushing Elizaveta's bangs away from her forehead. "Oh, Liz, I'm so sorry… I can't help but feel that this is all my fault. If I hadn't pushed you into forming a Grim contract-"

"Then some other shit would have happened," the Hungarian said softly. "Please don't blame yourself for anything, there was absolutely no way of knowing how things would turn out, you just wanted me to be safe. But now just… just help me, yes?"

The blond sighed, hesitation obvious in his lowered gaze. "Look, I really can't promise you that we'll solve this. If anything, we might get into even more trouble in the end."

She smiled. More trouble sounded better than nothing.

Elizaveta looked up at the run down façade of the large house, then at the unkempt front yard covered in dried grass and shrubbery, through which a dirty brick path winded all the way to the double wooden doors. The brown paint was peeling off badly around the brass ornaments, giving them a thoroughly decrepit air and up above them the small decorative window was broken and ivy vines tangled in and out of the cracks. None of the tall, gothic windows were lit, seemingly blinded with thick curtains on the inside and there was no other light visible aside from the dirty lamp hanging above the entrance on a rusty chain.

Thankfully, the potion she'd been given earlier had her up on her feet and strong enough to face the meeting, but the cold evening wind still seeped through her light peacoat, making her shake a bit. She was horribly nervous though, because Arthur had never told her what to expect out of this.

"Okay, who the hell lives here? You can't just expect me to plunge in the dark like that!" Alfred complained. "How am I supposed to protect you if I don't even know what I'm up against?!" he pointed petulantly.

Arthur rolled his eyes, pushing the rusty gate open and advancing towards the house. "You will protect me best if you keep your mouth shut."

The American was about to say something in reply, but before the green-eyed blond could reach out to ring the doorbell, one of the doors swung open brusquely, revealing a black-clothed figure. The man, with sleek black hair perfectly parted in the middle, came out on the first step, allowing the yellow glow on the lamp to show his pale complexion and dark green eyes. He wore a black, austere three-piece suit adorned with a pocket watch, which only added to his stiff air and the unpleasant, almost hostile expression of his otherwise youthful and rather handsome face. Elizaveta randomly wondered if he wasn't some kind of cosplayer.

"Good evening," Arthur greeted smoothly, unsurprised. "We would like to see your master."

The butler's suspicious gaze swept over the three of them and he scowled slightly. "Is he expecting you?" he asked dryly and with a strong Slavic accent.

"Uh, no… but he will be pleased to see us," the Englishman offered.

"You I doubt," the brunet replied, in the same unfriendly tone. "Her maybe…" he added, his eyes giving Elizaveta a quick once-over. "Anyway, come in."

They were invited into a dark hallway lit dimly by dripping candles which were casting sinister shadows onto the chipping walls and the spider webs draped in the corners. The air was stale and musty-smelling, as if the windows hadn't been opened in a very long time. Who the hell lived here, indeed? Probably some sinister old man, Elizaveta thought. The brunet young man walked stiffly in front of them, the sound of his footsteps muffled by the nondescript, half-rotten rug, up to a tall door which he opened slowly, with a dramatic flick of his wrist. He motioned for them to step in and remained in the back, at a respectful distance.

The room, bathed in the warm glow of countless candles, was excessively large - the effect amplified by the lack of furniture - and as she'd guessed the curtains were covered by thick velvet drapes. In the middle of the room there sat a tall, polished throne with red plush cushions, facing the door, and Elizaveta saw a teenage boy slumped across it, legs hanging over one of the armrests. His light-brown hair was rather long and messy, and he wore an oversized, red-and-black striped hoodie over black skinny jeans torn at the knees and converses. He also had a sleep mask on and was giving no sign of being awake.

"Seriously, Kirkland," the boy spoke without warning, in a soft and heavily accented voice (although his seemed to be different from the butler's), "I know my English is bad, but which part of 'I don't want to work for you' don't you understand?"

"Well, I got it, really, that's not why-"

"Dude, why do you sit on a throne?" Alfred cut in.

The boy stirred at last, a delicate hand with black-nailed fingers pushing the sleep mask up. His irises were a bright, ruby red, making his pale skin and the deep shadows around his eyes appear all the more striking. He threw the American an irritated glance.

"I sit on a throne because I am a prince," he said, as a matter-of-fact.

Alfred snorted. "Prince of what?" He squinted, ignoring his contractor who was motioning to him to shut up. "You're just a vampire… and you don't even sparkle!"

Next to the brunette, Arthur squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head and indeed, it did not take much knowledge of the Underworld etiquette to know that this had probably been a faux pas. On the throne, the boy blinked, eyes widening as if he couldn't believe what he'd just heard.

"Really, Kirkland, did you have to summon the dumbest Grim of all?" the vampire said at last, resuming his bored expression. "Regardless of how hopeless you seem to be, I still won't work for you, not even if you bring me treats," he said stretching his legs lazily, only in the next moment he'd jumped off his seat and was right in front of Elizaveta, invading her personal space.

How rude!

She tried to step back but the boy had her cornered, and lifted her chin up with two fingers. "Oh… you don't like it here, you think my house is decrepit and dirty? It's Tsvetan's fault, I've been keeping him in my employment for centuries and he never bothered to clean up. He's a shit butler, really," he said motioning towards the servant and sighed, pouting. An indignant gasp came from the man in question and the boy smiled widely, showing sharp teeth.

"Hey, I'm not a treat!" the Hungarian snapped, pushing away. "We're here because we need your help, and you haven't even introduced yourself!"

The vampire blinked again, taken by surprise. "Ah, well, it's not like you could pronounce my full name anyway," he replied, shrugging playfully. "But you can call me Alin. It means ' I soothe'".

"You're joking, right?" Alfred said, baffled.

"Look, enough of this nonsense, yeah?" Arthur intervened. "We're here about a serious matter, namely the sorcerer Ivan Braginski. Please, Alin, we need your help and we'd really appreciate at least some information."

Elizaveta scowled, because the vampire boy still wouldn't move away from her, and her increasing annoyance clearly amused him a lot. His eyes also followed hers insistently, as if he was trying to read her mind. "You have seen Ivan Braginski's mother," he said, circling the brunette and hands resting on her shoulders from behind. "The mother of all Grims."

The Hungarian flinched, gripped again by that horrible memory once more.

"Before her death, the witch who created the Grims – by the way really bad choice with you (he pointed to Alfred) – thought in the end that it was a good way to make her own biological son Ivan immortal using the same method. All she needed was a family with three generations of fathers and sons and the deed was done."

"No…. no way! No way she ripped her own son's heart out!" Elizaveta whispered, hands flying to her mouth and tears pricking her eyes as the dreadful images flooded her mind. Suddenly this was a bit too much to take in. No, no, she had to focus! She was here for Gilbert, not the creepy Russian's life story.

"So why is he after the other Grims?" Arthur inquired. "Does he have some twisted mum issues or what?"

The vampire shrugged. "I wouldn't delve into any of Ivan Braginski's logic," he stated. "What exactly do you want to know though? The name of his current contractor?"

"My friend Elizaveta is a contractor and Ivan Braginski took her Grim prisoner because it seems they have some sort of feud. We need to know if there's any way to get him back."

Alin looked genuinely surprised. "What?! You actually escaped your Grim, which is in itself unprecedented, and you want him back? Why?"

"Because I love him," Elizaveta replied sternly. "We're together."

"Awwww… " the vampire sighed dramatically. "But my sweet girl, my dear darling… he's dead. You should probably… I don't know… give him up?"

"No! I will never give him up!"

The boy pulled away, sauntering back towards his throne where he plopped with a gratified smirk. "Well, that's unfortunate… I mean, Ivan must have locked him up in his special maze. No one ever got out of there."

To be continued