17-

Dear Mrs. Matthew Harrison née Emma Overland,

I should introduce myself before we began lest I keep you in unneeded suspense about my identity. My name is Jack Frost. I worked in a lumbering company in West Virginia alongside your brother, Jackson Overland. I had spoken to him on several occasions and one might even consider us friends, though I admit as persons we are very much different.

You might have heard the stories about the curious and disturbing events that had surrounded our company of many years ago. No doubts many rumours have swirled around the happenings here, including talks of attack by the natives, pirates and even ghosts! It has come to my attention that these truth circumstances have not been made clear to you and while it brings me no pleasure, I should tell you what had really occurred.

To get to the bottom line, a terrible illness had swept over the province. It started with a young boy called Bernie (God rest his soul) and spread to the rest of the men, and then to the town nearby. Your brother, sadly, was the one who to find Bernie when he was ill and was sadly afflicted very early on. I was one of the few who survived the ordeal by fortune of my strong constitution, though it gave me no joy to watch fellow humans around me perish.

On his death bed, I was at your brother's side. He was ill – very ill – his fever burning his entire body and his skin so cold and pale. He had sent you a few letters before, no doubt, and may have alarmed you due to their ominous tone and incoherent structure. But I have seen them and must tell you that all of it was merely due to his delirium. Your poor brother suffered terribly, but if it is of any comfort to you, it was not very long before the Good Lord took him home.

Before his passing, your brother begged me to do something to him. He begged me to return to London and give you the last of his possessions as well as his deepest regard, for he was too weak to make the journey himself. You have to understand, my good Mrs. Harrison, that even at his dying breath, his thoughts were still of you. There is no one on this Earth that he had ever adored as much as you and it pained him to know that he would never see you again.

Alas! After the plague had passed, I had been caught up in many matters, like wars with the natives, being captured by the Spanish and fending off the revolutionists. I regret to admit that I had forgotten my promise to your brother. Only now, with my land secure and my children fed that I had remembered this. I am no longer as strong as I was in my youth, so I cannot return to England myself, but I have entrusted your brother's possessions, which are now yours, as well as this letter to my associate Nikolas - a splendid fellow who has saved me from myself on many occasions. He will deliver them safely to you, I have no doubt.

The possessions include your mother's ring, which I regret that you've been unable to use for your own wedding. Nevertheless, perhaps your children or grandchildren can inherit it when they are of age. Another item is this bronze brooch, which though tarnished is still of value. Last but not least is three hundred pounds, which is the complete sum that your brother had left before his passing. It is not much, I admit, but he had saved it for you. I remember how he had continued wearing the same tattered boots though they were worn to soles and had mud seeping through. When I asked him to buy himself a new pair, he had laughed at me and told me that he preferred going barefoot anyway. I do not tell you this to make you feel burdened in any way, but to show you truly how greatly your brother loved you.

I wish you the best of health and success of the school that you've been running. Please do not feel at obliged to send me a letter. Knowing that I've fulfilled my promise to an old friend is all the reward I require.

Sincerely,

Jack Frost

"You sure you don't want to come in?"

He shook his head, tugging uneasily on his waist coat. "I'm afraid of the temptation."

"You've improved a lot since the first time I met you, you know," the large man assured him, laying his large hand on the boy's shoulder.

But the boy merely shook his head once again, stepping away and shrugging the man's hand off. "I'll just watch from outside."

"If you really wish." The Russian man sighed.

So while the man approached the door of the house, Jack turned and headed into the garden instead. There stood an apple blossom, its thick branches curled upwards. Though his hat and gloves covered all his skin, the sun was a little strong. So he stood in the shade, pressing himself against the tree trunk, trying to make his presence as inconspicuously as possible.

He heard the door of the house opening and heard North's voice, "Izvinite. I have a message for Mrs. Matthew Harrison. May I come in?"

Jack heard the maid invite him in, with the door drawing shut as he did. Through the window and its thin curtains, he watched as his Russian friend entered the drawing room. He saw the maid tell North something, before curtseying and scuttling out of the room.

A few minutes later, she returned, and through the glass, Jack heard her announce, "Mrs. Harrison would see you now."

Through the doorway, Jack watched with bated breath as a graceful but thin figure emerged. Her wispy white hair was drawn back in a neat bun, which contrasted sharply with her dark, modest clothes. Her face, though wrinkled, was kindly as she gestured to North to sit. Her voice was soft, so soft that even his enhanced ears could not pick it up through the glass. Helpless, he kept watch on her face. When North began to speak, the expressions on that wrinkled face began to change.

At first there was surprise, then skepticism. North handed her the letter, which she took with her trembling thin hands. She unfolded it and began to read. Jack watched as her brown eyes, so much like those he used to have, darted back and forth as they went down the paper. A small cry escaped her lips and she pressed her small hand against her mouth. Everything in Jack screamed for him to break through the window and leap to her side, to embrace her to and to assure her that the contents of the letter were not true. But fortunately, he couldn't do it and even if he could, North would stop him.

So he was on the outside looking in, watching as tears streamed down his sister's crinkled countenance. He did not move his gaze when she finally lowered the letter and North handed to her the items, one by one. She did not look at the brooch or the money, only clasping the gold ring in her hand and lifting it up. She did so with such reverence and care that one might think she was holding the world.

In a way, their mother's ring had been their world once - their little world, bound by the love of their late mother and their love for each other. A world that so, so much simpler, when they were just impoverished dreamers with tired bodies but energetic minds. Now?

He watched her shoot question after question at North and he realised that that little world had been shattered long ago.

"James! Slow down!" He suddenly heard a cry, coming from behind the house and further down the gardens. "You're going to hurt yourself!"

Jack swung his head in the direction of the childish laughter and a horrendous chill shot through his system. He needed to remove himself this place at once. He needed to escape, before he was see-

Too late. A child – a young boy – had come speeding round the corner, giggling in excitement. Following after him was a man in his mid-forties, well-built and rugged with the stature of a soldier. He scooped the boy up in his arms, making him scream with laughter. The man too was chortling his heart out, swinging the boy around. "Ahaha! You can't escape me! I'm the big Frenchman and I'm going to-" he broke off when he spotted the intruder in the garden.

The father lowered the lad down to the ground slowly, staring at Jack. Jack stared back, wanting to run but unable to move his feet.

Then the father said to him, "Hello."

"Hi," Jack answered after a great deal of thought, tipping his hat slightly.

"I wasn't aware we had visitors." The man frowned, before looking at the boy by his side. "Did your mama tell you anything?" This was answered with a shaking head, so both pairs of questioning eyes were glued back onto Jack..

The white-haired boy gulped, trying not to breathe too deeply as he said, "I'm Jack …Anderson. I'm just here with a friend whose meeting with Mrs. Harrison now." He jerked his head towards the window.

"I see." The man nodded, suddenly becoming more cordial now that the reason of his visit was revealed. To Jack's horror, he approached him, with his son still clinging by his side. The man stuck out a hand towards him, introducing himself, "I am John Bennett, Mrs. Harrison's son-in-law. This over here-" jerking his head to the little boy, who had suddenly become rather shy and hiding behind his father coat tails "-is my youngest son, James."

"A pleasure meeting you, Mr. Bennett." Seeing that there was no choice, Jack shook the man's hand, trying to focus on the scent of apple blossoms and not on the scent of blood pumping in the veins in the man and they boy. He edged himself subtly away from them as soon as he let go. "You have a lovely garden, Mr. Bennett."

"Oh, this estate isn't mine. The late Mr. Harrison was the owner of this establishment, and now my brother-in-law." Mr. Bennett let out a laugh, scuffling the young boy's hair. "I'm afraid my wife married a poor man."

So Emma had married well, and by the expanse of the land, really quite well. But had she been happy? He needed to know. "I'm sorry if this question seems odd, but … did your in-laws get along?"

"My wife's parents?" The expression on the man's face made it clear that he did think the question very odd. "Well, from what I heard from Katherine, her father adored her mother, and her mother was very fond of him in return. Why did you ask?"

Katherine. It was like a shot through his chest. His niece, whom he had never seen, had been named after her grandmother – his own mother. His eyes dipped down to the young boy, who had given up on being shy. He was now tearing up flowers from near the apple blossom tree and it hit Jack that this boy was his grandnephew – his flesh and blood.

And because of the blood part, he would probably never see him again.

"It's pretty warm out here." Mr. Bennett fortunately didn't wait for him to answer, but his next question was far worse. "Would you like to come in-"

"No!" the answer burst out of his mouth. North had told him that vampires could only enter houses that they were invited into, which was why he was adamant that he not be seen at first. That way, no one could invite him into the house that his sister lived in, and he would never be exposed to a temptation that would destroy his rest of his old life.

Of course, his aggressive reply earned a shocked expression from his niece's husband – not that the guy knew - so Jack hurriedly said, "What I meant is that this garden is really exquisite, and it would be a shame not to enjoy it properly."

"You're right about that," Mr. Bennett agreed, relaxing more now that Jack seemed relax. He gazed wistfully down the green lanes and hedges, watching as his son darted down to a nearby pond to watch the fishes. "I suppose it's fortunate that my son's grandparents own such a fine place. The dreary streets of London are no place for a boy to grow up."

"So you stay at London?"

"We used to, but I'm hoping to move to out of the town, like Wiltshire or Somerset."

"You have family there?"

"No." The man hesitated. "I don't have any family left as far as I know. I loss both my parents and my sister very early on."

"How unfortunate." And then it struck Jack that name Bennett was familiar. He slowly turned to look at the man properly. How old was he really? Could it be that…?

"Anyway, since I don't have many good memories of London, so I was hoping to get a fresh start somewhere. My eldest son thinks it's hilarious, of course." He let out a short laugh, but Jack didn't join in. "Finding a fresh start at my age."

It was. There was no mistaking it. He couldn't forget the eyes of the young girl that he had murdered so long ago when they were shining through the eyes of her brother. A horrible sensation started stirring in Jack's chest and it wasn't from his unbeating heart.

"Are you alright?" Mr. Bennett was asking him. "You look quite pale."

"Jack!" Thankfully, North's voice came booming across the garden.

The boy spun briefly to the man, nodding briefly. "It was nice talking to you. Good day, Mr. Bennett."

"Good day to you too." Mr. Bennett tipped his hat politely at him.

Jack hurriedly strode across the garden, back to the path, but he paused momentarily to observe the man going down to the steps to join his son by the pond. The little boy was jabbering on about something while pointing at the water, and the man laughed while ruffling his hair.

And then the boy looked up, in his direction, and Jack saw Emma's eyes looking at him.

"Jack!"

He spun on his heel, marching away, a fierce resolution boiling deep inside of him as he joined North back on the path. The big man gestured towards their carriage and told him to get on. He did, sliding down the wooden paneled seat so that North climb up next to him. The coach drive then helped them close the door and before long, Jack felt the carriage moving under them again.

As the rolling hills passed by, the white-haired boy could tell that North was going to tell him something. But before the Russian could speak, Jack spoke first, "I want to leave England."

"What?" The big man seemed surprised at his unexpected request.

"If I stay here, there's too high a chance that I'll hurt someone in my family, or at least, my sister's family," he explained, folding his arms to his chest. He did not look at North. For some reason, he couldn't bring himself to.

"You didn't hurt them today, did you?" North told him gently. "In fact, I think you handled yourself quite well."

"Only because I drank dry an entire flock of sheep this morning," was his moody reply. He was still uncomfortable to with the whole notion of consuming animal blood. It didn't taste half as good as human blood and it wasn't as filling either. Back in the day, the blood from one human could last him weeks on end. Now, with animal blood, he had to feed once every three days and always in large amounts. It was unsustainable and he knew it.

"The risk is too high, North. Take me with you." Jack was almost begging. "Please."

The big man hesitated, then removed from the inner pocket of his coat a small piece of paper folded up. Jack's mouth fell open with surprise when he proffered the folded piece to him.

"Even though Jack Frost told her that no reply was necessary, your sister insisted that I wait for her to draft one," the big man explained as Jack began to unfold it. "She scribbled it out quickly and begged me to take it to Jack Frost. She's quite eager to meet him – said she would even cross the ocean if needed." North let out a heavy exhale. "Jack, she still loves her brother very much, so much that she wants to meet a stranger just to hear a little more about him. It's not too late."

The white-haired lad lifted his gaze from the letter to stare at him. "What do you mean?"

The big man did not speak at once, as if he was thinking for the best way to phrase himself. At last, he decided that honesty was the only way. "She deserves to know that her brother is still alive."

"No."

"Listen to me. It could work out." It was North's turn to plead. "You need tell her the truth. It would devastate her at first, but when you show your efforts to control it, she would under-"

"No, she won't," Jack contradicted flatly, shaking his head. "She used to think the world of me. I won't ruin that for her."

"So it's your pride that keeps you from seeing her?" Trust North to hit where it hurts.

"I'm saying that she's getting old, and learning something like that would kill her. Besides-" the boy ran his finger through his white hair, guilty filling his gut "-I'm not going to put myself in a place where I can hurt her."

"Jack, just read what she wrote," North urged him. "Just read it, and tell me you don't want to see her too."

Against his will, his eyes lowered themselves to the letter, and he managed to make out the first few words:

Dear Mr. Frost,

Thank you very much for –

No. He couldn't read this. He couldn't.

He folded the letter back up. Before North could ask him what he was doing, he had ripped it into shreds, crunched them up in his hand and tossed them out of the window.

The Russian was horrified, his large hand shooting out of the window, but the pieces had long slipped from his grasp. Swinging back, he stared at the boy, almost shouting, "What have you done, Jack?"

"I came here today to bury the past, not to dig up," came the cold reply, though he felt a burning pain inside him. It was like that time that he had accidentally touched an ash tree while walking in the woods, only that this pain gnawing him on the inside, consuming him.

"You'll regret this one day." North shook his head, still unable to believe his own eyes.

"I'd regret it more if I keep hurting her." Jack leaned himself back into the hard carriage seat, drawing the curtains of the window to keep out the sun. He forced his sorrow down his throat as he asked, "So, where is it that we're going?"

The silence was so thick that one could dice it, slice it and serve it with a side of mash potatoes and corn. Finally, he heard a heavy exhale and then – "Calcutta."

"Calcutta," Jack repeated, unfamiliar with the name. He then turned to North with suspicious eyes. "That's not in France, is it?"

~~~0~~~

Blood Chow Mein (by Bunny)

Two cups of Fresh Chow Mein noodles

1 sliced spring onion

1 carrot

1 Chinese cabbage, sliced thinly

1 sliced onion

1/4 cup blood with anticoagulant, dilute to preference

1/4 cup soy sauce

1 teaspoon of vegetable oil

1 teaspoon of sesame oil

How to Prepare:

1)Boil noodles for five minutes, or according to preference, and drain.

2)Heat a pan and add vegetable oil

3)Once oil is hot, add carrots, cabbage and onion. Stir-fry for until cabbage and onion are browned and wilted

4)Add cooked noodle, blood and soy sauce. Toss in the pan with vegetables till well mixed.

5)Turn off heat and transfer to serving plate. Garnish with spring onion.

~~~0~~~

"No features, no faces?"

The girl shook her head.

"Even clothes?"

She creased her forehead, then shook her head.

"Well, that's really unfortunate then." The officer let out a puff of air as he stood to his feet. "A description would have really helped. Hmm, okay. Let us know if you happen to remember anything later."

"Of course she will," the girl's older sister interrupted. Her tone was harsh, almost deadly. "We want nothing more than to see that monster responsible brought to justice."

The officer eyed the blonde girl sitting at the chair next to the patient, considering her carefully. He then bade the two of them farewell and took his leave from the ward.

The younger girl sighed as she leaned back into her bed, rubbing her temple. "This really stinks. I'm pretty sure I saw the attacker's face, but somehow-" she scrunched her nose in disbelief "-I can't remember anything about it. It's just…blurred out."

"Give it sometimes. Maybe you're still in shock," was her sister's quiet assurance. But there was none of the usual warmth in it, just a layer of cold – as if she were just going through the motions of saying things.

Her sister noticed this and frowned. "Are you alright, Elsa?"

The blonde blinked at her. "Why wouldn't I be? You're the one who got attacked."

"Kristoff told me that you had a mental breakdown yesterday."

"Mental Breakdown?" she repeated, scoffing. "He's exaggerating. I was just tired, that's all."

"But he said that you had to see a doctor and they put on you on medica-"

"He's mistaken," the interruption was sharp, almost angry. "I'm perfectly fine, Anna."

The girl fell quiet, clutching her elbows uncertainly. She was trying to hide it, but Elsa could tell that she was hurt. She almost wanted to apologise, but something in her just kept her mouth closed. She feared that if she spoke now, the truth would come pouring out too. Anna didn't need to know about her troubles – she had her own to bear.

"You should change out of the hospital garments," Elsa suggested at last, trying to soften her tone this time. "The doctor said you could be discharged soon."

Anna nodded and reached for the bag sitting at the foot of her bag. Carrying over her shoulder, she slipped off the bed and headed into the toilet outside the ward. As she watched her sister disappear behind the door, a tremor ran over her hands as she recalled the horrible experience she had within it.

"It's just hospital," she told herself. "It's just this place that's bringing back bad memories." She didn't feel all that convinced, however.

"Miss Arendelle?"

She jumped when she heard the voice, swinging rapidly around to find the doctor standing behind her. When the doctor had approached her, she didn't know. Frankly, Elsa was starting to realise that she wasn't as observant of her surroundings as she usually was. All this rumination and stress was starting to get to her.

"Sorry if I'd shocked you." the doctor said, straightening her glasses. "I just wanted to inform you that your sister can be discharged at twelve this afternoon. We just need your guardian to come and sign some documents."

"Great. I'll contact him."

Just as Elsa whipped out her phone however, the doctor lifted a hand at her. She had not finished speaking. "Miss Arendelle, I also need to discuss your breakdown yesterday night."

"It wasn't a breakdown."

"I don't if you've realised it, but the symptoms you displayed indicate that this whole incident with your sister might be stressing you out. You're not well."

"You think I'm crazy." She didn't know why she said that. Elsa knew herself to be very careful with her speech, but for some reason, this topic was bringing out the worst of her.

"I never said that," the doctor said cautiously. "I'm just saying that you might want to talk to someone about this. We have a resident psychologist here. I can book you an appointment -"

"That's kind of you to offer, but I can't afford to spend time travelling back here anymore," Elsa cut in, shaking her head. "I need to be at home to care for my sister."

"Well, in that case, maybe I can refer you to a psychologist or counsellor nearer town. Would you like that?"

Elsa could just imagine it happening, sitting across the room with the shrink taking notes while she, almost seventeen, spoke of how she had nightmares, only that the nightmares happened while she was awake. These nightmares were visions of darkness followed by a taunting voice, who seemed to know her name. And how on Earth was she going to explain what she had seen in the mirror?

"Thank you, but no thank you."

Seeing that she was not going to be moved, the doctor finally gave up. "Well, I wish you the best then, Miss Arendelle."

After the doctor departed, the blonde girl returned back to the ward to pack up all the things in the room. There were flowers, baskets and cards that all wished Anna a speedy recovery. They never realized how quickly Anna's recovery was really going to be, and Elsa herself wondered what was the purpose of this attack if her sister had emerged from the incident relatively unscathed. She didn't remember who attacked her, nor did she seem terribly traumatized by the incident. Perhaps her worry for her sister was unwarranted after all.

No. No, it wasn't. Not while the attacker was on the loose. Whoever had done to Anna would pay dearly. Elsa had no idea how she was going to make certain of this promise, but she was determined that she saw it through.

It was then she felt a light vibration in her hand, so she glanced at the phone screen. As much as it embarrassed her to admit it, her heart began thump heavily when she saw the name attached –

Jack F. Guardian:

10:43am: Hey, I'm sorry for not replying earlier.

10:43am: Like, this is really late. I'm really sorry.

10:44am: And you're right. I do owe you an explanation.

10:44am: Meet me at the Art Museum at Special Exhibit at one-thirty today. Come alone.

She frowned, and typed back, "Why?"

10:45am: Things are … complicated.

10:45am: Just trust me, okay? I promise you it'd be worth your time.

10:45am: Don't give up on me yet.

Elsa let out a long breath, staring down at her cracked screen. Kristoff had given it back her in this condition and up to now, she had no idea how it had happened. After a moment of contemplation, she answered, "You better be there."

~~~0~~~

He woke to the sound of tapping.

As his eyelid peeled back open, he became aware that he wasn't in his bed. The ceiling was unfamiliar and the texture of bedsheets were all wrong. He tried to push himself off the mattress, only to realise that he was incredibly exhausted. His muscles hurt in ways he never thought they could and there was a funny sensation along his chest.

The tapping sound was getting louder, so without lifting his head from the pillow, he sought it out. Eventually, he discovered that it was coming from his right, at the table. There sat a teenaged redhead girl, earphones plugged and pencil in hand. Her face was contorted into a grimace as she stared down at the worksheet in front of her, tapping her pencil against the table as she did.

She happened to look his way at that moment and was startled to note that his eyes were fixed on her. Removing her earphones, Merida said to him, "You're awake."

He wanted to give her snarky answer, but realized that his mouth was very dry.

She noticed his expression of distress. "What's wrong?"

"Drink," was all he managed to croak out. There was a weird sensation down his throat and he lifted his hand to feel at it. It was covered with a bandage.

The young witch immediately got up from her seat before moving off somewhere out of his line of sight. Eventually, she returned carrying a glass. She handed to him, gingerly as to make sure that he could actually support the weight in his hands.

He lifted his head up slightly as to take a sip, only to frown immediately after. "This is water."

"So?"

As tired as he was, he summoned enough strength deadpan her, thrusting the glass back in her hand. "I'm a vampire."

"Well, sorry." The girl huffed at him, setting the glass on the table. "There's no way in hell I'm feeding you blood. Besides, you've got enough going into you." She gestured behind him.

He twisted his neck in the direction of her gesture about – wow, that action really hurt. It was then that he saw a bag of blood hanging off a pole, connected to a tube that led straight down towards him, sliding past his arm and down to –

Jack pushed back the covers and pull up his shirt.

- his stomach.

He didn't know how long he stared at it, the tube full of crimson liquid. How the needle had been stuck into him, he didn't know, but the fact was, it was there. He wanted to laugh, actually. Just a few weeks ago, he had joined a team of students to run a blood donation drive and here he was, receiving a donation himself.

Then his amusement faded, replaced by horror. Swinging about to face the witch once again, he demanded, "What kind of blood is this?"

The girl raised a brow at him. "What? You mean the blood type? I didn't know vampires were that picky."

"No!" His free hand shot up to grab her wrist, making her gasp. "The organism it was harvested from. What is it?"

She pried his hand off her own, looking quite displeased at his act of force. "From people. Where else?"

A chill ran down him at once and he let out a gasp that actually hurt. So many years, he had managed to avoid the taste of human blood. Now, it was introduced back into his system, threatening to revert him to his blood-thirsty behaviours and his cravings for more. He couldn't allow this.

Reaching under his shirt, he tore at the tape from which the tube emerged from. Merida noticed his action and shot forward, grabbing his hands. "What are you doing?"

He pushed her away without even needing to try, making her tumble back and toppling a chair over as she did. Even in his weak state, he was still much stronger than her. However, it seemed that his fine motor skills were still a mess, for he couldn't quite remove the tape no matter how he scraped at it.

"Doctor! Help!" was the witch's cry.

Jack's sharp ears heard the scurrying of feet before the door of the room flung open. A young woman, perhaps in early twenties, appeared at the door. Her long blonde hair flew in the air as her gaze darted from the fallen girl to the patient on the bed. She shot over to Jack's bedside, grabbing his hands. "Stop! You're only hurting yourself."

"It's human blood!" he yelled, pushing her away as he did with the witch.

The young doctor however seemed to expect this, for she did not stumble back. Instead, she whipped something out of her pocket and pointed it at Jack's throat. "Don't move!"

He stared down the barrel of her gun, undaunted.

"These are loaded with silver, okay?" the woman warned, cocking her pistol.

It was only then that his hands stilled. His blue eyes flickered over her, her grim expression and her small body, then to the small tag that sat on her blouse. "Rapunzel Fitzherbert, M.D."

"Listen to me," this small doctor said slowly, gun steady in her grip. "You lost a lot of blood. If you don't do the blood drip, you're either going to suffer in agonized dehydration or go on a feasting craze. I am not allowing either of that to happen."

"But-"

"Besides, why're you so adverse to it? Aren't you a vampire?" She turned to the witch. "He is a vampire, right?"

"Yeah," Merida confirmed, rubbing her back as she rose on her feet. She scowled at him. "But he's a weird one."

"Well." Dr. Fitzherbert returned to glaring at her reluctant patient as she lowered her gun, slipping back under her white coat. "Now, you're going to lie down here for another three hours." She marched over to the IV stand to examine the bag and tube, rolling her fingers over the openings. "As long as the tubing is air-tight, the smell of the blood shouldn't get to you, and you won't get triggered in frenzy feeding mode. Is that clear?"

Jack gawked at her.

"I said, is that clear?" One of her hands reached back in her coat, as if prepared to use force.

Groaning, he leaned himself back down, biting his lip in annoyance.

"Good." Dr. Fitzherbert finally drew herself away. To the witch, she said, "I'm seeing a human patient next door. If he gets agitated-" she eyed him critically "-put a peg on his nose."

"Noted."

With that, the doctor departed, leaving Jack lying back forlornly in his bed. Merida plopping back on her chair and hooked her earphones back on as if nothing had happened, returning her focus to the worksheet on her desk. Watching her work reminded the boy that he had a French assignment due on the following day, which made him sigh, because he never liked French – the language or the people.

He didn't feel inclined to go back to sleep, as worn as his body felt, so he stared up at the ceiling. It got boring after a while, so he asked her, "Where's my phone?"

"What?" The girl ripped off her earphones, looking questioningly at him.

"My phone," he repeated, frowning. The hospital gown that he was in had no pockets and he couldn't see any of his belongings in the room – at least, from his position. "I'm bored."

She shrugged, curling bobbing up then down. "I don't know."

He frowned. "What do you mean 'you don't know'? You lost it?"

"Well, I was too busy trying to save your wretched undead life," Merida shot back, irritated. "Oh, and you're welcome, by the way."

Jack sighed. So maybe the circumstances weren't the best right now, but she was right. She hadn't needed to save him, but she did, and at a risk to herself too. "Alright," he mumbled grudgingly. "Thanks."

The redhead nodded, satisfied, before her eyes fell back to her work once again. She didn't replace the earphones, however, which indicated to Jack that she was waiting for him to go on.

Her expectations were not very off, for Jack couldn't help asking her the very next moment, "How old are you?"

"Sixteen."

"I'm not asking the age that you look like," he clarified. "I mean, your actual age."

She seemed puzzled. "Sixteen."

The boy slowly spun his head towards her, blue eyes towards her.

Merida must have felt the weight of his stare, for she raised her head to stare back. "What?"

"You killed a man," he said slowly. "And you're only sixteen."

"He was going to kill you," was her justification. She didn't seem very disturbed, and that's precisely what made him feel disturbed. "It was the only way."

"You're-" his voice was thick with disbelief "-you're just a kid."

"Traditionally, a witch reaches adulthood at thirteen," Merida answered nonchalantly, fiddling with her pen whilst reclining back in her chair. "By then, she's supposed to decide whether she wants to apprentice herself to a senior witch, or get a mate and breed."

Witches and their weird customs. No wonder Bunny was never very impressed with them. "You make it sound like there aren't any wizards."

"There aren't." That answer came as a surprise. "That's just made up by people who can't tell the difference between sorcerers and witches."

Jack pressed his lips together, trying to process all this information. "Wait, so, do you even have a dad?"

"Yes, but he's normal. He doesn't know that mum and I are witches." Merida sniffed contemptuously. "Pity though. I'm closer to him."

"So, if traditionally a witch is to either apprentice herself or get a mate by thirteen-" he paused, lifting a feeble hand to scratch his head "-why're you in high school?"

"To get an education. Besides-" she sent his way a sardonic smile "-traditionally, a witch should also rip out the eyeballs of a vampire to make a immortality potion."

With how her eyes were glittering at him, Jack suddenly felt a little unsure of himself, especially with how vulnerable he felt on the bed.

Seeing his concern, the witch sighed, exasperated. "Oh, relax. I'm no fan of tradition. Anyway, it's my turn to ask you a question." Rising from her seat, she marched straight up to him and thrust her worksheet in his face. "How good are you at calculus?"

~~~0~~~

Hot Wings (by Sandy)

For Wings:

15 raw chicken wings

1 Tablespoon of paprika

1/2 teaspoon salt

1/2 teaspoon cayenne pepper

4 Tablespoons of melted butter

3 Tablespoons of hot sauce

3 Tablespoons of blood

For Dip:

1/2 cup of sour cream

1 cup of chicken blood

1/2 cup of yogurt

1 Tablespoon of Honey or Agave

1 Tablespoon of White Wine Vinegar

Preparation:

1)Preheat Oven for 1 hour.

2)In a large mixing bowl, add blood, hot sauce, melted butter, salt and paprika. Mix well.

3) Add raw chicken wings into bowl. Use gloved hand to marinate thoroughly. Set aside for two hours in fridge.

4)Lay out marinated wings on an oven tray, over a cooking sheet.

5)Allow to cook for thirty minutes. Using thongs to turn over chicken and cook the other side.

6)When chicken is ready, serve with blood dip. If more nourishment is required, increase the blood proportion substantially, or even turn into a soup.

~~~0~~~

"Stop hovering over me," he complained. "I can't get this done with you buzzing over my head like a hummingbird."

"Well, you're not getting very much done in the first place, are you?" Tooth muttered as she pushed him aside so that she could see the screen properly. The page, however, told her quite uninformatively as before that it was still loading. "Why's it taking so long?"

"Maybe because it finds all your pacing and snapping annoying," Bunny retorted, folding his arms when she took hold of the mouse. "I know I do."

Just as Tooth sent him a deathly glare, the big Russian entered the computer room. It was called so, because that's where they dumped all their computers – the ones that they had bought in the nineties all the way until now. The only one of them who had personal computer in his room was Jack, because he was also the only one of them who has yet to have thrown a brick at his computer screen.

North then asked the duo, "How goes the search?"

"Still loading," the young woman answered at the same time as when the man said, "Unnecessarily painful." He earned a sharp nudge in the ribs.

"I thought this technology would help us find Jack's phone," North said, squinting at the screen himself, which unfortunately resulted in Bunny being squashed between himself and Tooth. "Why does it speak of 'loading' instead, and what does it load? Cargo? Bullets?"

"Urgh, I've had!" The ex-Australian yanked himself away from the two other Guardians, rising to his feet. "You two can watch the screen. I'm going to get a drink."

With that declaration, Bunny removed himself from the computer room and headed down the long corridor, past the paintings and statues that North had collected over the years. As he came across Jack's bedroom, he couldn't help stopping for a moment. He pushed back the door so that he could take a look at it.

In many ways, Jack's bedroom was very much that of a typical teenager. It was messy, with clothes strewn all over the place and covers tossed over his unmade bed. Bunny sniffed in disapproval, for a messy room reflected a messy life, in his opinion. But then again, none of their lives had exactly been spotless.

That imbecile of a boy. Why couldn't he just stay out of trouble for once?

The biggest pity had been that the police had found his car before they did. Someone driving from the hospital had called them once they saw the crash. By the time the Guardians had arrived back, there had been cops crawling all over the place.

The car plate instantly revealed the crashed vehicle to be his, which meant that the cops had come around to question him about it. Why had he left his car parked along the highway? Did he have any idea why his car had a huge hole ripped through its floor and one of its doors ripped clean off? Why were there so many holes through the windows? Had there been anyone inside the car?

He had lied. What else could he do? It was clear that damage had been inflicted by Jack, but he couldn't tell them that. They wouldn't believe him anyway - that some skinny, white-haired teenager would smash his car with his bare hands before running off because he was mad with his guardians.

At least, that was what Bunny hoped had happened. Considering alternative theories made him very uneasy.

He had downstairs after that, going straight to kitchen. Opening up the fridge, he removed the jug to pour himself a nice big cup of blood tea. It was freshly brewed, and probably prepared by Sandy. He hadn't seen the small man all morning, though. It was Sunday, so there wouldn't be work.

As he sipped on his tea and flipped through the paper on the table, his sharp ears caught the ringing of the doorbell. Frowning, Bunny left the paper, but took the tea, as he departed the kitchen and headed down the corridor towards it. Over the years, people had come to assume the blood tea was just some fancy fruit infusion, so he wasn't really afraid to be seen with it.

He opened the door to find a police officer there.

"Morning, sir," the man greeted him, removing his cap and tucking it under his arm. "I'm apologise for the interruption, but is the Guardian house?"

Bunny blinked, before nodding.

"Oh, good. I was afraid I missed it." The officer laughed lightly, then cleared his throat under Bunny's level expression. "Anyway, I'm here to see Jack Guardian? I believe that he's a witness in a case."

"Not home," was his short answer.

"Oh, I see. Hmm." The officer pursed his lips together. "Well, do you know when he'll be back?"

"Nope."

"I see. Well, here's a number." He thrust a small slip of paper into Bunny's reluctant palm. "Please let me know when he returns. Any information he can provide might help us immensely."

"Sure."

"Well, I'll be off then." The officer set the cap back on his head, and was about to step down the porch when his eyes flitted to the glass in Bunny's hand. "I say, what's that?"

"Tea."

"Hmm. Interesting colour." The man stroked his chin, then shot him a grin. "Well, thanks for your time, Mr. Guardian."

Bunny didn't tell him 'no problem', because he hadn't liked the conversation in the slightest, but he didn't say anything as he watched the policeman climbed into car. He sighed as it occurred to him that he no longer had ride.

"Darn it, you cocky little twerp," he muttered under his breath as he drew the door shut. "Where are you?"

~~~0~~~

1:32pm: "Where are you?"

So it had been only a few minutes after the agreed time, but she was getting impatient.

She had only been to Burgess' Gallery of Art twice in her life and both were during school trips. For such a small town, the Museum was actually one of note. It had belonged to a wealthy European lord or some kind who had migrated to America in the fifties. He had settled in south of the town and had poured his money into various institutions, including the university and the bank. When he had died, he had donated his personal collection of art pieces to the town council and they had built a gallery to house it. It was a tourist hotspot; one of the few legitimate hotspots in town, actually, other than the usual souvenir shops nearer the town centre.

She was seated in front of an 18th Century Italian painting of a nude Aphrodite, whose hand triumphantly raised the golden apple that Paris had presented to her, proclaiming her title as the most beautiful. By her side, Athena and Hera seethed in jealousy, for they had not gotten the prize though their own beauty was well-matched. Around them, shadow shrouded, with faint images of weapons and bones that signified the looming war of Troy due to Paris' actions.

"Vanity is fatal combination of beauty and pride," had been her tutor's comment on the painting, as far as Elsa's remembered it. "For it was vanity that divided Aphrodite from the other goddesses. It later drove Paris to steal Helen away, and the Greeks to attack the Trojans, and so on. Beauty itself was often regarded a virtue in the Classical art, but this painter had chosen, rather extraordinarily to show the vices that could emerge from what is meant to pure."

Beauty plus pride equals vanity equals destruction, essentially.

Eventually, she got bored of looking at the same painting, so her gaze rolled over to the others in the vicinity. 'The Devil's Brow' – some painting of French armies by a Russian painter who was convinced that Napoleon was Satan and the French invasion was the End Times. 'Portrait of an Ugly Aristocrat' was literally a portrait of an extremely ugly unidentified aristocrat. Apparently, the portrait had offended the extreme sensibilities of some viewers over the years, so a bullet-proof case had been set over it – just to prevent anymore deranged gunmen from shooting it. 'The Sight of Blind' was a modern piece by some artist who thought it was great idea to paint while blindfolded. The random splatter on canvas, he claimed, depicted the inner turmoil of the mind.

Elsa sniffed as she glanced down at her gloved hands. As if the painter knew anything about the turmoil of the mind.

"It's Elsa, isn't it?"

She whipped around to find herself staring up a familiar young man. "What are you doing here?"

"To give you the explanation I promised." The redheaded young man sat herself down. Noting her confused expression, Hans removed a phone from his pocket, holding it out to her. The screen read:

Elsa:

1:30pm: Where are you?

The girl lifted her head at him, her eyes widening.

"He should have put a lock," was his calm comment as he slipped the phone back in his pocket, as if it were perfectly normal to have someone else's phone in his possession. "It wouldn't have been so easy to break in otherwise."

Elsa's brow furrowed together, suspicion and concern pooling in her stomach. "Why do you have Jack's phone?"

"Oh, um." He glanced down at his watch quite nonchalantly. "He dropped it while trying to kill me."

The blonde girl blinked, taken aback by this bizarre declaration. "What?"

"He dropped it while trying to kill me," the redhead repeated plaintively, annoyed. "The only reason why he hadn't finished the job was because I managed to stab him back. One of his cronies had taken him away before I could finish the job though." He grimaced.

Stabbing? Killing? Bleeding? "What are you talking about?"

"I promised to give you the truth." Hans drew up his sleeve, revealing the tattoo that she had only caught a glimpse of before. "I am not a volunteer from the hospital. Rather, I'm a member of the Van Helsing Brotherhood, dedicated to eliminating creatures that pose a threat to humanity."

"What?" She couldn't believe her ears. He was mad.

"I know you find this hard to believe, but it's true. I assure you. In fact-" he let out a loud exhale, as if what he wanted to say was very difficult indeed "-one such creature is responsible for the attack on your sister. She is very fortunate to have survived the creature." He rolled his sleeves back up, covering the tattoos once more.

Despite her incredulity at the entire situation – what from meeting Hans instead of Jack, and discovering that he had lied - Elsa couldn't help wanting to know what exactly 'creature' this. "What creature are you talking about?"

His head swung immediately in her direction, not a flicker of jest as he told her, "Nosferatu."

She eyed him quizzically.

"Blood-suckers." There was an edge in his voice, just barely hiding his detestation. "Vampires."

As disturbed as Elsa was by his behaviour, it was nice for once not to be the problematic one. "You're mad."

"Hardly." He scoffed at her. "Just better-informed."

"You're absolutely bonkers." The girl rose to her feet, a tremor of fear running up her spine, followed by a wash of anger as she tried to suppress the fear. Glancing around her, she realised in her horror that she was alone with him in the Gallery. "I'm leaving." She spun around, clutching her gloved hands firmly in front of herself as she stomped hastily away.

"You know that such creatures exist, Elsa, even if you never knew what they were called," she heard Hans – was that even his real name? – shout out to her, even as her steps echoed through the gallery. "How else do you explain the 'shadows' that killed your parents?"

Against her own volition, her feet stopped, her heart nearly stopping as well. Slowly, the blonde girl turned back around, marching straight up to the redhead man, who smirking that at his little reveal. "You-" clenching a fist at him "-how do you know?"

"The Brotherhood had access to your medical files. I read your testimony, and also how no one believed you." He stepped towards her, unafraid of her proffered fist. It was only then that she realised how well-built he was, like a soldier. "Like the way you don't believe me."

He had a point. She lowered her arms, dropping them back down by her sides, but her doubts were still not settled. "What do you want with me?"

"I only desire your cooperation so that we can catch your sister's attacker." He pursed his lips. "Or attackers."

"There's more than one of these things?" Elsa was aghast. It was hard enough imagining that one of these vampire-things (she wouldn't call them vampires till she saw it with her own eyes.)

"Yes. In fact, many of them live in groups. It improves the hunt." He gestured for her to sit back down on the bench, and she did with warily. He followed back down and sat with her. "I have been tracking one of these so-called 'families' in this town in hopes of learning more about them. Unfortunately, they have discovered my presence and are now trying to kill me."

"Okay, but-" she gestured towards herself "-how am I involved?"

"Right. Um, how do I put this-" Hans pressed his fingers together as he pondered, making a face "-well, it's your boyfriend's family."

~~~0~~~

This story is on the roll! Whooo!

If you don't remember, back in Chapter 4, when Mrs. Bennett was killed, it was mentioned that she had two children. Jack killed the eldest, leaving the son which is now his niece's husband.

Jack's dislike of French is supposed to be the prejudice during his day when England and France were fighting. A LOT.

The idea of witches in this story is adheres more to medieval ideas of witches, because they are somehow always female and pretty brutal. So…hence this interpretation.

Oh, Rapunzel from Tangled. Eventually I was going to bring her in. As assuming as the idea of a silver frying pan is, I couldn't really see the scene work out.

Bunny … doesn't really get on that well with humans.

Hans isn't dead. Tada! But how? That's the question.

Lock your phones, guys. It's not an 'if' – people will try to steal your data.

Guest Review Mailbox:

Alene Mask: Thank you for your lovely review. So glad that you've enjoyed these ROBTFD stories, though they are a dying breed...sigh. I love sarcasm in stories. It makes the simplest stories a good deal of fun to read.

Reviews as always are appreciated.