She rapped her fist on the bathroom door. "THERE'S DINNER DOWNSTAIRS!"

"THANKS!" came the response from bathroom.

He had had a long day, and he had only gotten off work when it was already well into the night. Not that it really mattered, he had told her many times before. He didn't get tired the way she did. But she knew that he meant that in terms of physical tiredness. Mental fatigue was something no one was immune to, not even the undead.

Rapunzel picked up the clothes that he had scattered outside the bathroom door, deciding that this round she would leave off the scolding up his poor treatment of his attire. The truth was they were going to outlive these clothes any day, so maintaining them was quite pointless really. There had been a time when Eugene had been a lot more careful with his garments, but that had also been a time when he believed that his garments would actually out last him. In case you were wondering, well, they didn't.

After tossing the clothes into the laundry basket, she cast a glance towards the clock. It was almost time, so she headed towards the fridge to retrieve the relevant instruments and containers. Kicking the door shut with her foot, but careful not to trip over her hair, she then marched back to the bedroom. In the backdrop, she could hear the shower pattering down from the bathroom just two doors down, and made a mental note to check on the water bill. Even if his care for his clothes had worn down over the years, Eugene still enjoyed the luxury of long, hot bath far too much.

Setting aside thoughts about her husband's lack of frugality, Rapunzel turned her attention to the small vial and the syringe that she had set on the table. Setting the vial on the table, she unwrapped the syringe from the packet before screwing on its matching needle. She then uncapped the needle and jabbed it into the vial, sucking up every drop of the green liquid into the syringe. She then removed the needles from the vial and held the syringe upright, with the needle pointing up at the ceiling. Flicking her finger against the vial and pushing the remaining bubbles out, Rapunzel then rolled up the hem of her shirt to expose her abdomen. Pinching it, she about to inject the needle in when the phone on her table began to ring.

She hesitated. Hygienic procedure demanded that she complete the injection first, since waiting longer would expose the needle to more germs. But she knew in her case, germs would hardly have mattered.

Knowing full well that she would be disqualified in a medical exam if she did this, Rapunzel recapped the needle and picked up the phone. "Hello?"

"Is this Dr. Fitzherbert?"

She recognized it once. "Jack? Jack Guardian? What's wrong? Did the dressing bleed through?"

"No, no," the boy across the line answered hurriedly. "I'm fine, but, but-" she could hear him breathing hard and fast. If he were human, she'd be a lot more worried, but as it was, the amount of air he sucked in was really insignificant to his health "-someone in my family is injured. Like, it's quite bad."

She frowned. In her time that Jack had resided under her care, she had come to realise that he always called his coven his family. The fact that he didn't bother to edit his speech meant that this was fairly serious. She got to her feet, flying out of the room with golden locks trailing behind her. She headed straight to the medical cabinet in the storeroom, where she kept some of the supplies for the clinic. "Tell me what happened."

"Um, it's really long-"

She undid the lock and the doors on the cabinet sprung open. "Summarise."

"Well, he's been stabbed."

"Where? With what?" Rapunzel reached for a plastic bag and began pack anything she figured she would need. A mere first aid kit wasn't going to suffice in this case.

"A silver knife. We've taken it out and tried to clog the wound with a cloth-"

"You REMOVED it?"

He sounded puzzled. "Well, the wound can't heal with inside, can it?"

She let out a long sigh, forcing herself not to smack her forehead. Instead, she added a few surgical sets in her bag and locked the cabinet back up. She then marched downstairs, where all the freezer room was located. Phone snagged between shoulder and head, she said as calmly as she could, "Listen, Jack, do you have any blood in nearby?"

"We have animal blood."

"That isn't going to help." She stepped into the freezer room. It was essentially one of those big industrial-grade refrigerators that would usually be found in restaurants rather than in private homes. Hiring people to install it would have raised unwanted questions, so she had built it from scratch instead. Eugene might be the man of the house, but she was its engineer.

Shivering, she looped her hair over the hook on the wall so that it wouldn't touch the sticky floor below her. She then turned to the shelves of blood packets, all-lined up neatly across to type, rhesus type and date of collection.

"Um, Doc?"

She grabbed the cooler bag that she had brought in and tossed in some bags of whole blood, and as an afterthought, also some bags of plasma.

"Dr. Fitzherbert? Rapunzel?" His tone was panicky, and from the background feedback, he wasn't the only one.

"Okay, Jack, this is what you're going to do," she told him as she zipped up the cooler bag. "I want you to apply pressure to wound. Use a clean cloth, boiled in water, fold twice and place it over the wound. Apply all your strength against the wound to plug the bleeding. As a vampire, -" she slung the bag over her shoulder, before tiptoeing herself out of the fridge room and shut the door "-I expect that should be enough."

"Would that be enough to heal the wound?"

"No," she answered frankly. The undead, being unnatural in nature, did not usually have the inherent ability to heal themselves. Any ability in clotting and repair of wounds came solely from the blood and its component. Since vampires couldn't produce their own blood, vampires needed to consume considerable amounts of human blood to heal completely – or as completely as the undead could. Animal blood couldn't prompt healing, for the same reasons that humans couldn't be transfused with animal blood. "You'll just stop him from bleeding until I reach there."

"But that could be hours to get here from Corona!" There was a muffled screech in the backdrop and Rapunzel could almost hear Jack wincing. "I don't think he'll last that long."

"Have a little faith, Jack." She couldn't help but grin as she raced back up the steps, careful not to trip on her own hair. "I have ways."

Putting the phone on hold, she marched up to the shower. Throwing the two bags over her shoulder, she rapped on the door sharply, "EUGENE, DEAR! I NEED A LIFT!"

~~~0~~~

Palak Paneer (by Tooth)

What you need:

2 cups of Spinach

1/2 cup of Paneer cheese cubes

1/2 cup of Pork Blood Cubes

1/2 cup of Pork Blood

2 Onions, finely diced

2 Tomatoes, finely diced

1 Tablespoon of minced Ginger

2 Tablespoons of Butter

1 Green Chili, finely diced

1/2 Teaspoon of Garam Masala

1/2 Teaspoon of Cumin Seeds

How to Prepare:

1)In pot, add water. When boiling, add in spinach.

2)After 2 minutes, remove spinach from boiling water and blanch quickly. This is to retain the green colour.

3)In a saucepan, put over high heat and add a spoon of butter. Swirl in the centre until melted.

4)Add all the spices, including ginger, and stir into the butter.

5)Add in the onions. Stir until brown and aromatic.

6)Add Tomatoes in and stir. Allow to sit for a minute for tomatoes to wilt.

7)Pour cooled spinach into blender. Add liquid pork blood into it. Blend.

8)Pour blended mixture into the saucepan. Stir everything together and allow sauce to bubble and thicken.

9)Add in the paneer and blood cubes in. Remove from heat

10)Add cream if desired. Serve with naan or warm rice.

Note: The final mixture will not be green, like the original, but it will still be delicious!

~~~0~~~

"That was quick," Jack remarked as he pulled open the door, wiping off the blood off his hands.

After their call to door, they had taken turns to apply pressure on Bunny's wound. It was no pleasant duty, for the leaking wound was tender and Bunny, even in delirious state, was all too capable of making his displeasure known. After ten minutes of pressing on the wound, the boy was only too happy to pass the job onto the big Russian before going downstairs to receive their guests.

"Well, there are advantages of being married to vampire." The young doctor laughed lightly as she stepped into the house, and her braided hair just barely brushing against the tiles. The lean fellow behind her with the damp, disheveled hair appeared rather disgruntled. The way he hauled his two carriers and glared at Jack made it feel as if he was daring anyone to cheer him up.

Undaunted, Jack said, "Aren't you going to come in?"

"I was waiting to be invited," Eugene snapped irately. He made no show of being impressed as he stomped down the glided corridor, following after his fleet-footed wife. The white-haired boy just sighed and slammed the door shut.

Dr. Fitzherbert, or Rapunzel - he couldn't make up his mind what to call her, since both names stuck equally well – hurried up the stairs according to Jack's directions. It was easy enough to find the room, for Bunny was still howling a million and one curses and the blood-soaked North was not helping by shouting back.

Upon finally meeting the doctor they had heard so much about, the Guardians, all crowded in that humbled room that belonged to Bunny, quietened. Eyes fixed upon her young face and ears onto her beating heart. The doubt radiating off them was so palatable that Jack cringed. Stepping forward, he called to the elder vampire, "Guys, this is Dr. Fitzherbert. Let her take a look at the wound. North?"

Just before the big man removed his enormous hands, the blonde woman suddenly retorted, "No, don't."

Surprised glanced flew her way.

"Let me set up first." Her manner suddenly turned brisk and professional. "It'd be ridiculous to have ourselves splattered with blood before we even start." She raised her brow pointedly at the blood drips that decorated the path to the bed. "Eugene."

Without needing further instruction, the brunette fellow handed her the two bags, before ushering the rest of them out. "She needs her concentration," he told them as he waved them through the door. The only one who stayed was North, because he was already soiled in the split blood and the doctor needed another pair of hands. The click of the lock on the door made it clear, however, that no one else would interfere with the operation.

The rest of the time was just waiting. Tooth had taken to pacing outside the door, as if that would do any good. Sandy had gone to the kitchen to get them drinks. That just left Jack with the half of their two guests, who only now decided that he considered the contents of the mansion worthy of careful examination.

"17th Century, Murano," Eugene finally declared after studying a crystal chalice on one of the stands with great care. He turned to Jack for confirmation.

The boy stared blankly at him.

"Urgh, nevermind." The vampire scowled as he marched over to the next display. Silence fell back between them, only broken by the sound of Jack's shoes kicking against the carpet.

That was until the boy asked, "How do you do it?"

Eugene straightened up, glancing away from the ceramic plate he had been studying. "How did I what?"

"How do you two-" Jack scrambled his brains for the right question, one that wouldn't offend the other vampire "-stay together?"

"Ah." His reluctant visitor rolled his shoulders back, as if he had been anticipating the question. Given how much worse his reaction had been the first time Jack dropped a similar question, he probably had. Eugene plopped himself on the mother-of-pearl inlaid chair, across from Jack, folding leg over leg. "Well, my question back to you would be - why do you want to know?"

The boy rubbed his palms together as he peered down the corridor. Tooth remained absorbed in her task of pacing outside the door and Sandy made no sign of return yet. Seeing that he could speak freely, he confessed with a stutter, "Well, there's this girl – this human girl."

Eugene's brows rose with interest as he reclined back. "Isn't there always?"

"Yeah, maybe. But anyway." Jack massaged the back of his neck. "I kind of like her, she kind of likes me. We're sort of – testing waters, in a way-"

"Uh-huh."

"-and then she stabbed Bunny and ran off."

Eugene appeared puzzled. "Stabbed a what?"

"Bunny. He's the guy in-" he pointed down the corridor "-you know."

The other vampire made a face. "He's called 'Bunny'?"

"Bunnymund. E. Aster Bunnymund." Jack pressed his lips together. "I realise that doesn't really make it any better."

"Yeah." The guest shuddered. "And I used to think my name had issues." Realising that he might revealed something that he hadn't intended to, Eugene quickly changed the topic, "So, this girl of yours – she's knows you're a vampire?"

"No. Well, maybe." He tugged against his white locks as he groaned. "Oh, I didn't tell her, but I guess she's worked it out somehow, come to think of it. I mean, she started wearing a silver ring, she brought a garlic dish for dinner, and then she did use a silver knife, so hey, she was pretty prepared for this and…"

"Wait." Eugene paled – or pale as much as a vampire could, but still no match for Jack's snow-white skin. "Your girl's a vampire hunter, and you invited her for dinner? What was she – the main course?"

"No!" Jack was disgusted at the accusation, and offended. "Elsa's not a hunter, and we don't drink human blood in this house!"

"That's impossible," was the returning retort. "Any other diet is unsustainable. When Rapunzel told me about you and your 'animal blood' diet, I wanted to tell her that you were downright fibbing, but then I didn't, because she looked excited and I'm not one to pour cold water over-"

"Okay, okay. You know what? Let's get back to topic." The boy massaged his temple. "Basically, bottomline thing is: I like this girl, this girl likes – liked me – but now I think she's know we're vampires, and she-"

"-wants to kill all of you," finished Eugene.

"-thinks she wants to kill of us," Jack corrected with a distinct frown. "So basically, I'm asking you for advice on what to do."

The older fellow ran his thumb against his goatee as he pondered, brows furrowing as he did. Jack leaned forwards, expectant and eager. At last, Eugene spoke, "If you know any witches, you can magic some amnesia on her. Problem solved."

"Magic? Amnesia?" He was incredulous. "I don't want to give her amnesia!"

The other vampire looked annoyed that his suggestion was shot down so quickly. "Well, that's the only way to keep her from tattling on your deep, dark secret."

"I'm not doing something like that on her. I don't trust magic. Anyway, -" a memory surfaced in his mind, back to his first 'date' with the girl in question "-I don't think she'll tell."

"Really?" Eugene was skeptical.

"No." Jack let out an uneasy exhale. "She'll think that no one would believe her."

"That's probably true, as long as she doesn't have any hard evidence." The brunette vampire glanced up at him. "Does she have any hard evidence?"

"Of course, she d-"

And that's when Sandy came dashing down the corridor, waving his hands frantically.

~~~0~~~

"That book is sacred!"

"Oh, relax. It's just a book. It's not as if we don't remember its contents, yes?"

"That's not the point." Tooth scowled. All the event, ranging from her unhappiness with Jack, the awkward dinner with Elsa and now Bunny's injury, has seemed to brought out the worst of the usually cheerful vampire. "It's our legacy as Guardians."

"I concur," came the self-declared Australian's weak response. "The bl'udy book s'always been part of us."

Though the operation was complete and the wound largely patched up, the doctor had been unhappy to have her patient disturbed. "He should be resting," Dr. Fitzherbert had insisted. Even now, her work was not done. She was still shifting around, inserting tubes in various parts of Bunny's body and checking his vitals – or there lack of - as well as adjusting his bandages.

The discussion however couldn't wait, for their great secret was at risk. Thus, the four healthy Guardians gathered around their wounded comrade and began to debate on what exactly to do.

"Legacy aside," the small vampire signed, "the book could reveal much about us."

"Not necessarily," Jack argued. As the person responsible for much of the mess, he felt obliged to throw in some optimism – well, as much optimism as he could grant in an already dire circumstance. "The book just reveals that we like eating blood, and it doesn't say human blood either, so it's not illegal. So we're just a weird bunch of people with a high-iron diet. No biggie."

North stroked his beard. "He does have a point."

"But the girl is onto us, isn't she?" Bunny hissed. He was trying not to talk to loud, because his usual volume apparently shifted his chest in a manner that was not comfortable. "As long as she thinks she's right, she's gonna keep digging. Eventually, she's going find something. And she will find something," he insisted, against the blocky Russian's skeptical expression. "She's a smart one." He winced, tugging against his bandages. That earned a frown from the doctor, who immediately undid the knot of the wrapping so she could tighten it up. "I won't be surprised if she winds up being one of those hunters."

"She's not a hunter, Bunny," the boy insisted crossly. Why did people keep bring that idea up?

"Well, if she ain't hiding a Van Helsing tattoo under those gloves of her, then what's she hiding, eh?"

"She's not a hunter, so stop saying that."

The room was quiet under the sounds of Rapunzel working and her patient's grunts of pains. All the members of the Guardians silently contemplated what Bunny had said, and by extension, the consequences of it being true.

Finally, it was Sandy who suggested, "We need to leave Burgess."

"Leave?" For some reason, the notion astounded Jack, as if they hadn't done it a dozen times. "But we can't!"

"If we were to leave so hastily, it's bound to create some spectating," North murmured gravely.

"Speculation," Bunny corrected in a wheezy tone.

Tooth smoothed back the coloured strands on her head. "Well, it won't matter what people think if they can't prove anything, and they can't prove anything if we're not around."

The big vampire's expression was unhappy. "We'd have to burn the mansion down, no?"

"And its contents?" was Sandy's hurried inquiry. He did not seem to like the idea of moving any more than North did.

"We bring what we can. The rest will have to be destroyed," was the heartless conclusion from Tooth. She sighed. "We'll have to start over. Again."

"This time can we move to Australia?" Bunny tried to reach up to scratch his nose, only to realise that he couldn't move his arm without jostling his wound. Eventually, he gave up, wrinkling his nose. "I mean - we never go to Australia."

"There's a reason why skin-disease is so common amongst humans there." Tooth shook her head. "If they can't bear their sun, we don't stand a chance."

"In that case, might I suggest Siberia?"

"I put my foot down on that freezing hell- OW!"

"Please stop moving," the doctor chided. "You're gonna leak through the dressing."

"Can anyone hear me?" Sandy signed furiously as everyone else started stating where they should move. "We should move to Greenland!"

"No one wants to go Greenland, Sandy."

"What's wrong with Greenland? It has great scenery."

"Well, for one-"

And on and on when the discussion until Dr. Fitzherbert got fed up and chased everyone out. It was just as well, for Bunny was starting to nod off and no amount of bantering with North was going to keep him awake. After the rest had departed, Jack, who had grown silent after the unexpected turn of the conversation, lingered behind.

Eventually, the patient went out cold on his bed, and the doctor's work on his tubes and needles became a good deal easier. Stabbing silver in a vampire's flesh, even in the form of IV needles, caused an uncomfortable kind of numbness and it was amazing that Bunny could slept on while she punched another line into his stomach.

As she stripped herself of her plastic apron, her mask and gloves, the woman with long blonde hair noticed the tarrying boy. Concerned, she inquired, "Are you alright, Jack? How are your wounds?"

"Oh, um." The boy lifted his shirt slightly, peering at the swathes of bandages below them. "They're fine. A bit of pain, but the discomfort isn't obvious."

"That's good." She disposed the consumables into the bin, before checking the large bag of blood that hung towards next to Bunny's bed.

Even though the tubing from the bag to patient was completely sealed, the sight of the bright fresh blood was enough to make Jack's mouth water. He had to shake the notion away. It had been a few hours since dinner – it was 2 am in the morning, after all. Perhaps he should get a drink for himself to quench the thirst.

Noting that he had not moved from his spot, Rapunzel then inquired, amused, "Is there something you want to talk to me about?"

He hesitated a little, before suggesting, "Maybe over some tea?"

They headed down to the kitchen, which had been wiped cleaned from all that the blood that Bunny's spilled over it. A jug of blood tea was in the fridge as always, so Jack poured one glass for himself, then another for his guest when she said that she'd like to sample some.

"Cheers." The boy clinked their glasses jokingly before he took a gulp of his.

The doctor imitated his example, but stiffened up halfway through. She dashed up to the sink and spat it out, gagging as she did. Jack then took the glass from her hands as she wiped her mouth with the napkin he had her. "Sorry," she apologised, embarrassed. "I guess I'm not really a blood person."

"It's alright." Jack waved it off, as he poured the remnants of her blood tea into his own glass. "I wonder what your husband would think of it, though."

As it was, Eugene had dozed off on one of the couches during the earlier discussion. Vampires didn't technically need sleep, but living so long with a mortal wife like herself, Rapunzel had explained, had granted him a body clock of sorts. She had done a few studies on him in attempts to discover if the process was a physiological one rather than a psychological one. The answers, as of now, still evaded her.

"I'm afraid Eugene has very specific tastes," Rapunzel said, giggling lightly. "He's a bit of purist, you see. He despises all forms of human cuisine, even just garnishing, so he'd never drink this."

"He doesn't know what he's missing," the boy muttered as he sipped his crimson beverage. He stopped short however when a thought occurred to him. "Wait, Eugene hates all forms of human cuisine?"

"Mmm-hmm."

"But when I was at your house-" memory came to him in the form of images "-he drank the tea you made. And ate the cookies you baked."

"Mmm-hmm."

"But he hates them."

"Yep."

"Then-" Jack scratched his scalp, confused "-why is he torturing himself?"

"Well." A mysterious smile crept onto the long-haired doctor's sweet countenance. "I like cooking – always have – so there's always human food on the table, and he eats it with me. I never asked him to, told him to stop even. But he insists in showing me that he appreciates my food, even if his taste buds can't."

It suddenly clicked. "He really loves you, doesn't he?"

Rapunzel's expression turned into something more sombre, more sorrowful. "More than he should."

"Hmm." He swallowed down more tea, trying to figure out a tactful way to pry. Eventually, he settled on, "So… how did you guys meet?"

"He broke into my home. I hit him with a frying pan."

There was a pause after that. "Oh."

"He used to be a thief back then, centuries ago, but he straightened up a lot since. More for my sake than any prickling of conscience, I admit." She laughed a little, but Jack could tell her heart wasn't really into. "I apparently have a good deal of influence over him. I sometimes wish I didn't."

He leaned back against the kitchen counter, face scrunched up. "How's that a bad thing?"

Rapunzel fiddled with the empty glass, eventually settling for washing it up in the sink. "Well, -" Her voice was so quiet, like she didn't mean for him to hear it "-love can sometimes make you do terrible things."

~~~0~~~

Baked Blood Fries (By Sandy)

What You Need

2-3 Pork Blood Cubes

Salt

Pepper

Paprika

Olive oil

How to Prepare:

1)Preheat oven to 350F.

2)Cut up pork blood cubes into 1/2-inch-thick sticks.

3)After washing, lay out on a rack to dry for 15minutes.

4)Lay the blood stick out on a baking tray lined with a baking sheet.

5)Brush all the stick with olive oil. Sprinkle salt, pepper and paprika onto the fries.

6)Bake in the oven half an hour, or until the fries are cooked on both sides.

7)Eat on its own, or serve with sour cream dip, mixed with herbs and blood.

~~~0~~~

"For you. Please wait-"

Hiccup took the sealed envelope and immediately tore it open.

"-three days before opening it," Jack finished lamely. He groaned and threw up his hands. "Why did I even bother?"

The auburn-haired boy pulled out the sheet within it and unfolded it, eyes rapidly running over it. He raised his head in alarm. "You're leaving Burgess already? But it's been – what, four years?"

"Five." The vampire let out an annoyed puff as he opened up his lunch box, setting it on the table. "Yeah, but it's still pretty short considering."

"And you lost the copy of Hamlet that I lent you two years ago but couldn't tell me till now?" Hiccup's voice was reeking incredulity as he continued reading. "Seriously? I might have hated it, but it still costs ten bucks!"

"Fine, fine." The white-haired boy pulled out his wallet and flipped it open, only to find that it was empty. "Okay, I'll pay you back tomorrow."

"You mean, if you're still around." His friend shook his head at him as he picked up his beef burger. "Forget it. You're not going to remember all this with moving, farewells, packing-" he stopped short, turning more serious "-wait, does Elsa know?"

The name alone made him stiffen up, and he glanced around them. Fortunately, no one else in the cafeteria seemed to have heard them – not that they would have understood the conversation entirely.

"Hey." Hiccup's voice brought his focus back. "Have you told her?"

"Weeeellllll." He rubbed his hands nervously. "She might know that I'm a vampire."

"YOU TOLD HER?"

"…No..."

The other boy blinked. "She worked it out on her own?"

"I think so." Jack pursed his lips. "Unless someone else told her."

"Who?"

"No clue. Not many people in this town know about it." He began to count them off his fingers. "There's me, you, the other Guardians, the doctor from Corona and her husband, and there's-" the pace of his speech slowed considerably "-the witch."

"The witch?"

"Merida Dunbroch. That redhead two years younger than us? But I don't think she and Elsa ever met each other, and there's no reason she'd split on me when I know her secrets."

"Wait – Dunbroch?" Hiccup frowned, eyes widening. "Haven't you heard? Merida Dunbroch's go-"

"JACK!" Their discussion was interrupted by a frantic shout.

For one second, the white-haired lad contemplated leaping to his feet, but it was not the blonde girl – just her younger sister. Anna's freckled face was flushed with exertion, and just a few paces behind her was thick block of muscle known as Kristoff Bjorgman, who was running down the cafeteria too but not looking the slightest out of breath.

The girl grasped her arm before he could pull away from her. "Jack, we have a problem! A horrible-terrible-vegetable sort of problem!"

"What?" Dread engulfed him. "What is it?"

"Basically, we're getting a lot of last minute phoning in and arrangements to do, but we can't do it because my sister-" Anna wrung her hands tragically in the air "-is out of commission!"

"Out of commission?"

"Sick," Kristoff translated. "She got caught in the rain yesterday after coming home from your place."

"Oh." Jack felt very relieved to hear that, as unfortunate as it was for Elsa. He wasn't sure he could face her after what she had done last night, and he wondered if she would have stabbed him as readily as he did Bunny. A hand subconsciously ran over his belly, which was still covered with bandages under his T-shirt.

"Oh, yes." Anna suddenly cooled, asking quite casually, "How was the dinner yesterday?"

"It was-" in his brain, so many images were flashed – the awkward dinner, the oddly vulnerable confession of affection, the making-out on his bed, the stabbing "-weird. She did have a bit of food poisoning though." He added the last bit as an afterthought.

"Maybe that might be part of the reason," the girl mused, before resuming her frantic manner. "But anyway, my sister's sick, and there's so many stuff that needs to be done for tomorrow, so we need your help. Now, in fact."

"Tomorrow?" Bunny's warning rang in his ears. "Guy, I made it clear last time that I'm not coming down tomorrow."

"Why not?"

"Because-" he scrambled for an excuse, and being unable to come up with one, shot a pleading look at Hiccup.

"Because Jack has haemophobia," the scrawny auburn-haired boy helpfully threw in. Noting Anna and Kristoff's bewildered expression, he explained, "He's scared stiff of blood. You send him in there, he might have an epileptic fit and wither into a pile of bones."

"Well-" the boy in question narrowed his gaze at the diner across him, who was wearing an innocent expression "-that's a tad of an exaggeration."

"But, Jack, if we don't have someone to lead us, the whole donation drive will fail." The girl abruptly fell to her knees, clasping her hands together. Immediately, this earned the attention of everyone in the cafeteria, much to Jack's dismay. Anna however was oblivious. "Please, please, please, Jack!"

"But Elsa's the real president of SASS!"

"She mightn't recover by tomorrow," Kristoff pointed out.

"Then why don't you take charge?"

"I have no social skills."

"Okay." Jack spun towards the girl, waving a hand to her, "Then why not Anna-"

"No."

"But-"

"Not unless you want the school to explode, no."

"Hey!"

"Look, feisty-pants." The blonde boy turned to her. "You're great at lots of things, but being the president of a society is not one of them."

"But-"

"You don't work good under pressure and you don't have a good sense of judgement."

"What?"

"You know it's true."

"Hmmph." Anna marched back up to her feet, snorting.

Kristoff was unmoved as he turned to the seated boy. "So that leaves you, Jack."

"But, I-"

"There's no alternative."

"But-"

"We need a leader."

"Think of all the poor kids in the hospital who have to transfusions every day," Anna pleaded, her eyes suddenly being becoming wide and impossible to resist. "Think of all the old people so weak and frail that they need blood pumped in them. Think of the people who get into accidents. Blood can save lives. We can't cancel this project."

The white-haired boy hesitated.

"We need you, Jack."

He was going to regret this, wasn't he?

~~~0~~~

"Thank you for meeting me on such short notice." She shook the hand of the small, stout gentleman.

"It's no problem at all." His voice was deep and thick with a wisdom that could only come with age. "It was such a peculiar request. I couldn't resist." He gestured a short hand towards the door labelled 'staff-only'. "Let us study this find of yours, shall we?"

Her sickness was no feign. When Elsa had awoken this morning, she had been very pale and tired, shivering though she didn't have a fever. Later in the day, however, she had managed to recover some of her strength and banished her tiredness with a strong cup of coffee. With that, she had attempted to study the leather book that she had stolen - ahem, retrieved – from the Guardians' mansion. She had, after all, stabbed a person in order to attain it, so it had better be worth the guilt she felt.

However, after an hour, she had come to the conclusion that there was nothing here except recipes. What more, there wasn't anything very incriminating in the recipes either. All the blood in them was always 'pork blood' or 'cow blood', or another animal blood. While exotic in taste, it wasn't illegal.

In other words, this couldn't be used as evidence for her suspicion.

It was then that she decided to study the book itself. It looked at least a hundred years old – or more. She needed an expert opinion to date the book though, so that hopefully the age of the book would provide her with some of the answers she needed.

She hadn't expected her email to the Burgess' Gallery of Art to be answered within minutes of her sending it, with one of the curators willing to meet her that very afternoon – 'if she was free, of course'. With her sister still at school, Kai at work and the sun mostly covered under the clouds, she decided to head down to the gallery herself.

Pabbie, the curator who had invited her, gestured for her to set her prize down on a square table as he slapped on a pair of rubber gloves. She removed the book from her bag and placed it down.

"Fascinating binding style," the old fellow murmured as he squinted on the side of the book. "Whoever made this was quite a skilled workman. Where did you find this book?" He lifted up the leather cover, feeling it in his gloved hands. "Well-maintained."

"A friend gave it to me," she lied glibly, her own gloves twisted behind her back as she watched observe his handling of the book. "Do you have any thoughts on its age yet?"

"I would have to stare at it for a good while before I can know for sure, my dear." Pabbie headed to his workbench to reach for a pair of forceps and magnifying glass. "Meanwhile, perhaps you'd like to take a walk around the gallery? We have a temporary exhibition on Art and Folklore. You might find it quite interesting."

"It's alright. I'll just wait here." Elsa found a nearby chair by another desk and settled herself on it. She didn't want to let the book out of her sight.

The old fellow shrugged, but his expression revealed that he thought her rather silly.

Perhaps she should have followed his advice, because in less than fifteen minutes, she found herself nodding off, unable to even keep up with browsing her phone. She was so very tired after all, and travelling here had taken out more of her than she had expected.

When she awoke, it because she felt a shaking on her shoulder. Blinking, Elsa found herself face to face with the kindly curator. "Come, my dear," he beckoned her to the office adjacent to the one they were currently in. "Let me tell you what I've found."

The adjacent office, Elsa realized, was much darker than the one she was in, and in fact, it wasn't an office. It functioned as some kind of storeroom, if the paintings and sculptures everywhere with their numbers and stickers were anything to go by. Under the lowlight, the curator led her to a small study table where the leather book was.

"There are so many odd things about this book," he told her as he flicked on a small lamp by the book. "When I first looked at it and saw the recipes in English in it, my conclusion was that the book was made two centuries ago, and all the words in here are all modern vandalism - pardon my terminology. I do not mean to call your friend a vandal."

"It's alright." She could only wish Jack were merely a vandal. That would be the least of her problems

"But then I realized – the writing."

"The writing?"

"Yes. In the first few pages, -" he flipped those delicate pages with a pair of forceps for her to see "-these ones which are not in English, they are written with different tools. This one is with charcoal-" he pointed to a set of scary black words, then to lighter coloured one "-and that with ink. Here, this one was written with a brush, and that one a quill. And the I realized that all the non-English ones were almost as old as the parchment they were written on. The parchment, my, the parchment-" he ran a gentle hand one of the pages "-it's some of the finest I've ever seen, and not all of them were of the same make."

"Pardon?" She was overwhelmed by all the information loaded on her.

"The front few sheets were all made individually, thus they vary in age, type and style of making. I suspect that initially all these non-English recipes were written individually, before being compiled into the book. That would explain why they all look so different."

"Then what about the English ones?"

"They were written on newer parchment, and I suspect they were written after the compilation took place." Pabbie flipped one of the pages. "I'm no linguist, so I can't confirm whether the non-English ones are recipes as well, but the layout suggests it quite strongly."

"I see." She watched him as he turned the pages to the recipes in English. "Could you make out when these were written? Or that they are all by the same people?"

"The same people?" Pabbie appeared doubtful. "I don't think so. The style of writing changes quite drastically as you go down the book – probably reflecting the changes in writing equipment and across the years. My best guess is that this was a family recipe book, passed down from generation to generation."

"Oh." That was not the answer was she was looking for. "What about the non-English recipes in the front?"

The curator rubbed his chin. "I suspect that it might've been just a way of collecting a bunch of unrelated manuscripts. It's a careless way of storing such fragile documents, so I'm surprised it lasted this long."

"I see." Dead end. There was absolutely nothing she could use. Nothing she could learn. This book could easily be one of the dozen curios in the Guardians' house. Her suspicions were nothing but that – suspicions.

Elsa shook her head, berating herself inwardly. She was going crazy. That was the only explanation. Sneaking around, listening to mysterious conspiracies, prying into things that she wasn't meant to She could only hope the Guardians didn't press charges.

"There is one curious thing though," the curator told her as he handed the book back to her, though this time wrapped in tracing paper for protection. "I noticed that the covers smelled very strongly of iron. Not sure why, but I suspect that if the readers of this book really prepared dishes from blood, they might have spilled some on it. All the same, the iron smell is quite strong though." Pabbie hummed thoughtfully. "Perhaps your friend had used it quite recently before passing it to you."

"Perhaps that is it."

Drained and discouraged, the weariness she felt from before weighed down her even more now. Elsa tucked the book hurriedly in her bag, attempting to suppress her disappointment as she did. This trip had been wasted. Her suspicions of Jack and his family were unfounded, and even if they ended up being true, no one would believe her. Back to square one, or maybe even further back.

After thanking Pabbie, the girl prepared to depart from the storeroom when she noticed one of the painting sitting near the door. It was a very horrible-looking portrait of a very old, very sickly man, riddled with bruises, scars and discolourations all over his skin. His eyes were yellow with jaundice, with flecks of an ugly red over them. His hunched body forward from the chair, with his bony thin hand clutching a sword that he could barely lift. Looking at the grotesque image was enough to send bile up her throat, but she couldn't help feel that she had seen it before.

The girl gestured towards the painting as she asked the curator, "Was this on display recently?"

"'Portrait of an Ugly Aristocrat' – yes, but we had to take it down for restoration again. It's quite fragile thing, that's why we have to handle it with such care." He stepped up next to her, surveying the hideous figure in the frame with a morbid sort of appreciation. "Considering that it was created in the 17th hundreds were aesthetic beauty was highly prized, it's quite daring for a painter to produce something this horrendous. What more, it's said that the longer you look at it, the more hideous the painting becomes."

"I see," Elsa murmured, feeling slightly sick. She quickly made her way out of the office, shuddering.

By the time she left the gallery, it was already closing time. When she got on the bus, the sky had turned crimson and the clouds purple. When she finally alighted at her stop, evening had already fallen over the land, though the sky was still alight. As she headed down the dirt-tracked road that would lead her home, she was surprised suddenly to find a figure standing in front of her. "What on-" she glanced up.

It was the strange gentleman who had escorted her back home the night before. What he was doing in this area, she didn't know.

He didn't exactly offer an explanation, merely tipping his hat her. She had no idea why he had one, or why he was dressed in a fashion with a 19th century vibe, but somehow, it suited him. "I'm glad to see that you're well."

"Oh, right." Elsa wasn't sure how to respond to that. On one hand, she could barely keep her eyes open, but at the same time, she was hardly going to explain to a stranger why she was sneaking out when she was technically sick. So instead, she opted to change the topic, "I never really got to thank you. For yesterday. The rain, and you know." Was she usually this articulate?

"It was no problem." He let out a small chuckle, one that was supposed to be disarming, yet felt oddly chilling. "No problem at all."

There was something in his laugh that felt familiar. Yet, with how distinctive his angular-shaped chin and cheekbones were, Elsa wondered how she could possibly forget meeting a person like him. On impulse, she found herself offering, "My house isn't that far off. Would you like to come in and have a drink?"

He appeared a little surprise by this invitation, but that vanished when he answered, "Well, far be it from me to refuse such generosity."

So she led him down the road and they exchanged polite conversation. With the sky still quite light, she was better able to see him now, and realised how strange the proportions of his body – from his towering height and his trim form – were. His accent made clear that he wasn't from these parts, and indeed he explained himself as 'a tourist enjoying the idyllic town life, no?'.

But his 'British' accent sounded too … affected, as if it was being performed rather than natural. Not to mention his clothes, and the way he walked, and the way he moved. His mannerisms were exceptionally graceful, his every action full of poise and intentionality like an actor on a stage. She could very well have believed that he stepped straight out an Austen novel, if anyone had told her such.

When they arrived at the door and she had it unlocked, Elsa was surprised that he didn't enter immediately. Instead, the strange gentleman merely stopped to stare at the doorframe, then at her door, then down to the doormat. Was he waiting for permission to enter? How weirdly polite.

"Come in. Just wipe your shoes first." She grimaced down at her own feet. "The roads are pretty muddy."

"I wouldn't dream of doing otherwise." The grin he flashed revealed his immaculate teeth that contrasted with the ashen hue of his skin.

There something gnawing her at the back of her head, but she brushed it off in favour of playing the good hostess. So Elsa took him to the living room, urging him to sit while she headed over to the kitchen. "Coffee or tea?"

"Whatever's convenient would do." He didn't take up her offer on a seat, rather occupying himself with surveying his surroundings.

Elsa moved to the kitchen and filled a kettle to boil. Following that, she then retrieved two tea bags – the more expensive ones that were only for guests – and placed them on the saucers next to the cups. Once the kettle was done, she filled the cups and set them each on a tray. She then lifted the tray and carried it over the living room.

Her guest was amidst studying a small photograph on the shelf and merely grunted when she had announced the arrival of their beverages. He instead gestured to the object of his interest and asked, "Is this of your family?"

The girl blinked, and then realised the photo that he was pointing was of a family vacation to Disneyland. It had been the last family vacation that they had with their parents. In fact, it might have been the last vacation ever. "Yes."

"Your mother's very beautiful," the strange gentleman mused, thumb pressed against his own chin. "You clearly take after her."

"Oh." She didn't know how to response to this out-of-the-blue compliment. "Thank you."

After he took a seat across her, the conversation became much less awkward. For his strange airs, the dark-robed gentleman was surprisingly easy person to converse with, despite their obvious age gap and the lack of familiarity between them. Or perhaps it was because of the lack of familiarity that she could speak with such ease. After all, the people that she currently didn't want to deal with were the people that she knew, and knew too well.

"You seem troubled, my dear," her guest commented with some measure of concern. "Is something wrong?"

Elsa shook her head, and only then realised that she had added too many spoons of sugar into her own tea. Placing down the cup on the tea table, she let out a breath that she didn't know she had been holding in. "It's … nothing."

"You need not fear in sharing with me. As an outsider, surely I would be the best candidate for a neutral opinion."

Normally, she was not one to share her thoughts, especially with strangers. But somehow, something in her felt compelled to tell him – this mysterious fellow whom she had happened to run into just the day before. After all, what harm could there be? He was just a stranger, after all. "Well, I suppose it's sounds silly, and helplessly adolescent, but-" she sighed "-it's about a boy."

The blonde girl then poured out the story to her cordial listener, filtering out all the bits about vampires, the incident with Anna on Valentine's Day and her possible homicide attempt. Instead, she shared frankly on Jack's secretiveness, her own doubts and disappointments, and the peculiar chemistry that swung back and forth like a pendulum between the two of them.

When she was done, Elsa plopped her two gloved hands down on her lap, filled with embarrassment. "You probably think this is just some silly teenage drama," she admitted at last, her mouth curled into a wry smile.

"No, no," the strange gentleman contradicted kindly. "Please don't deprecate yourself so. The concern is valid, for someone your age."

This reassurance relaxed, and the girl found herself telling him, "To be honest, I don't know what to do."

"Hmm, well." His index fingers were pressed together against his lip as he pondered her dilemma. At last, he spoke, "Might I ask, my dear, what do you deem the purpose of a courtship?"

By now, she was quite unaffected by his strange way of speaking, because, for some reason, she found that she could understand him perfectly. "I suppose - for me at least - it would be to find a companion for life." The girl glanced towards the photo hanging off the wall. "Like my parents, I suppose."

"That is the purpose of seeking a 'relationship', as you called, isn't it? But what is the point of the courtship itself?"

Elsa frowned, trying to follow his line of enquiry. "Well, I suppose the 'courtship' phase is to see if two parties can be happy together?"

"Yes." The left-corner of his thin lips tugged upwards, presenting the lop-sided half-smile she had seen the night before. "Attraction is fleeting, and feelings too fade with. Thus, any relationship built on those alone cannot be sustained."

"But…what about love?"

"Love?" There was a mocking glint in his eye as he repeated the word. "Love is but a mere emotion, too fond of disappointing its seekers and betraying its believers. Nay." He shook his head emphatically. "Have love as the foundation and any endeavor will fall apart."

The girl wasn't too sure of this opinion. In her practical mind, it made sense, yet… "Well, if not love, then what?"

His half-smile grew into a full white one, sending chills down her spine for reasons she still couldn't place. "Compatibility. The matching of wits, priorities and values. That is what builds a relationship that lasts, and one to be reckoned with."

"Compatibility," echoed Elsa, digesting the phrase herself.

"From what you've told me, it is clear that you have feelings for this young man, and him you. However, there is very little else that holds you both together." He let out of thoughtful sound as he sipped on his tea. "If that happens right from the start, any relationship established later on is doubtful to last. Which makes me wonder-" he tilted his head at her "-why hold onto this infatuation at all?"

Now that he put it that way, suddenly her whole issue with Jack seemed a good deal smaller, and in fact, it seemed very unimportant. Perhaps the whole notion of romance had gotten to her head. Perhaps she had allowed herself too caught up in the dream of the drama, and lost her grip on reality. These conflicted feelings were unnecessary and she had been harbouring them too great a personal cost.

Perhaps, she should just let him go. After what she had done to Jack's brother the night before, he would probably be more than willing to do the same for her.

"Thank you for the advice," Elsa breathed out at last. "I'll really think about it."

"Do that, my dear." He set his empty cup onto its saucer, beaming down at her with a strange warmth. "I'm glad to be of service."

"Might I ask, are you in a relationship yourself?" she couldn't help wondering out loud. A glance at his hand revealed no ring.

He snickered. "Not at the moment. But-" his voice lowered, as if sharing a secret "-soon, I expect. Soon."

~~~0~~~

Wassup, folks?

I'm really tired. I should sleep. ZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Palak Paneer with blood? Yep, I just ruined a vegetarian dish. That said, I really, really love Palak Paneer and I tried cooking it this week. It turned out pretty good, but I didn't have naan, or paneer, so… it was pretty sad.

The book? Ah, yes. The book. Is it important? Well, I don't know. This entire story is named after it, so what do you THINK?

I'm kidding. The book actually plays an incredibly small role in this whole thing.

If you haven't realized it by now, or if I haven't mentioned (which is weird, because I thought that I have, so….), this story is meant to be a sort of tribute to the classic gothic horror, plus some modern influences. But generally, I am aiming for a sort of gothicky frame. Time to gear up the Hitchcock factor. Welllll, technically he's more 'thriller', but, in those days, wasn't much difference between the two.

Guest Mailbox:

Tq (Oct 6): You thought Elsa was in trouble before? Well, now it only gets worse. And worser. And Worsest! Worser than my destruction of the English language! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Alene Mask: Aww, thanks. You make me blush. Oh, wait, no. I'm too tired too blush, so…sorry. But I'm glad that somehow the romance was not completely weird. Haha, I like reading romance too, but writing it – man, it's tough not to sound stupid. Seriously. I guess that's why there are so few good chick flicks around.

So, bye!