Set prior to, but in the same universe as, my story 'Contacts'. Partly inspired by the 'One Less Bell to Answer/A House Is Not a Home' mashup from Glee. Oh, I know, I know. But still. Featuring a little Fortadori (shh, totally a good ship name) and hints of Vlerty, as redrachxo insists on calling it. So... slashy undertones.
Disclaimer: Not mine!
Bertrand sank wearily into a swivel chair and opened his inbox to find an email waiting for him from none other than his oldest friend, Eliseo Mondadori.
B,
What do you mean, 'gone'? That's good news, though, about the Book. Lack of writing might be a minor setback but you're the master of minor setbacks.
M.
M,
Gone. Taken off, disappeared, nobody's seen him in days, I've searched what feels like half the country and now all any of us can do is wait and hope he comes back.
B.
B,
Well, you've done your job. If he's taken off, surely that just means you're free? One less person to skivvy for, anyway. Maybe you should pop over to Vienna for a little while, take your mind off things.
M.
It's not that simple. It's not as if the Chosen One disappears and I can just do what I like. He's not ready yet, Mori, and I have to be here to make sure he can continue his training as soon as he gets back.
B.
Fori, you're not making any sense. The boy's gone, and awakened to his full potential for evil, from what you've said. Come to Vienna, relax, forget him. I'm sure he'll call if he needs you.
M.
I can't sleep, Mori, I can't eat… Every time some foolish breather bumps against the door to our quarters, I half jump out of my seat, thinking it's him. The half-fang girl would be laughing at me, except that she's doing the same thing. I need to be here when he gets home.
B.
Mori's next reply didn't arrive until the next night. Bertrand had spent the rest of the night in the IT lab, checking and rechecking his emails, even looking at his 'Sent Items' folder to ensure the message had indeed been launched into the internet.
Vlad had been gone for five whole days, and the strain was beginning to take its toll on the boy's household. Bertrand had stumbled through a class he'd hand to stand in for Jim Grant in, barely aware of what he was doing as the class cowered under his stern gaze.
He returned to the IT room that night and logged on, relieved to find a message.
Well, then, I suppose you'd better stay where you are for now. Vienna will still be here in a few centuries, after all.
M.
Have I upset you, Mori?
B.
Not at all, Bertrand, my friend. No, but if I may offer some advice… consider your behaviour in relation to the girl's. Consider why she acts as she does. They are close, the Chosen One and the half-fang, are they not?
M.
M,
You're right, as always. She must be up to something.
B.
…Yes. That's exactly what I meant. Well done.
M.
He'd meant to reply, really he had, as soon as he could think of a response to the email – an unsettlingly sparse communication from his usually loquacious friend – but then Vlad had returned, apparently none the worse for his little adventure, and in all the chaos that had followed it had slipped his mind. In the end, the next email he sent wasn't one he'd expected to be sending at all.
There's a problem here – I'll add the address at the bottom of this email – I need some of you to come and back me up. We're going to open the book ourselves; the Chosen One's going to get himself slain if we don't, not to mention the rest of the vampire race.
No need to reply, just come at nightfall. Be prepared for a little dust.
B.
He added the address, read it over one more time, and pressed send.