The Thrall

by A.Lovely.Villain

New York City, 1925. When the sun sets, darkness reigns over the city that never sleeps... and an ancient evil awakens. Penny Dreadful inspired AU

5. Superstition

"Behind every exquisite thing that existed, there was something tragic."

~ Oscar Wilde, The Portrait of Dorian Grey

. . .

Harry's scalp screamed in protest as he gathered the thick strands at the root and pulled, spinning on his heel to continue his rapid pace along the rug. He saw Hermione shift from the corner of his eye, perched on the far edge of the sofa clutching her arms, shoulders drawn tight as she watched him wear a hole into her floor.

"Harry, please sit, you're making me nervous."

He rubbed a hand over his mouth, day-old stubble scraping against his calloused palm. "I can't sit still." He shook his head. "You were attacked. You could have been killed."

He raked blunt nails across his scalp once more, stomach clenching with nauseating guilt as he was transported from Hermione's dim office to Ginny's narrow closet in an instant, trapped by pressing walls, impending doom hanging overhead as surely as Damocles' sword.

I can't protect anyone I love…

He lowered his arms, fists clenched as he stared at the maps hanging on the wall ahead. "This is all my fault, I put you in the middle of this. I put you in that monster's path–"

"Harry." His head turned sharply, focus drawn by the hard edge of her voice. She held his gaze, tightening her hold on her arms. "Please. Sit."

He turned in place, eyes drifting to the busted wall as he slowly trudged to the couch. She scooted sideways, allotting him the cushion beside her. He drew in a deep breath, holding it in his lungs until they burned with the same raw fire as his blood, sitting at last. He tore his attention from the wall, eyes raking her rigid frame with meticulous care, lingering on the dark bruises on her biceps, the skin already blooming every shade of violet and blue. He clenched his jaw, teeth grinding loudly in the oppressive silence.

"I'm going to kill him."

Her spine somehow stiffened further. "You'll do no such thing. You're already wrapped up in one death, I'll not have you entangling yourself in another."

He braced his forearms against his knees, leaning forward while fighting to maintain his calm. "Tell me everything that happened."

She tilted her head, hair falling past her shoulder. "I already did."

"You left out details."

Her fingers clenched over her elbows. "What do you mean?"

He gestured to the wall. "You told me a man attacked and threw you against the wall. You didn't mention anything about the wall caving in."

She wet her lips, eyes darting forward, fixing upon the busted plaster and fallen debris. Harry tipped his chin towards the desk. "Or the chair."

He watched her hold her breath, eyes skimming the wood fragments piled on the rug. She leaned away.

"I…"

"Hermione."

She jolted violently as his hand found her knee. He lifted his arm at once, chest seizing at the unbridled panic on her face. She blinked and it was gone. But she continued to lean into the arm of the couch, the gap between their bodies as wide as the continental divide. His muscles clenched, desperate to strike out, to pummel and bloody the source of the haunted look in her eyes. His offending hand curled in the air, dropping to the cushion.

"What did he do to you?" His voice came out deeper than intended, nearly a growl. He felt his self-control rapidly slipping, the urge to pound his fists into the wall nearly overwhelming his senses. His vision hazed at the edges, heat swelling in his chest, an inferno set to explode.

Not now.

He swallowed thickly, knuckles cracking as his fists trembled at his sides.

Please, not here.

If he lost control there was only one possible recipient of his rage, and he'd saw off his limbs before raising a hand against her… Yet when the red saturated his vision, nothing mattered but appeasing the blood lust. He couldn't risk her safety. He had to keep his wits about him, no matter the cost.

His rising dread settled at her long sigh. Her limbs seemed to unfurl before his eyes, weight sinking back to the center of the cushion and closing the void between them.

"I'm alright, Harry. Just a bit…" She interlaced her fingers atop her lap, studying them. "Scattered." A heavy beat. She glanced up, hazel gaze gleaming with barely tamped emotion. "But I told you everything that happened. He grabbed me and pinned me to the wall, that was it."

He bit his tongue, nails pressing his palms, threatening to break the skin. The urge to reach out and pull her into his side was so great his arms shook with restraint. Something about her expression unnerved him deeply. It was far too calm, too well contained in the aftermath of such terror.

"How did the wall get destroyed, Hermione?"

She lifted her chin, eyes flickering in the lamplight. He recognized that look. Knew it as well as his own face in the mirror. She'd always been a terrible liar, far too pure and prosaic to pull off manipulation.

"Hermione. Look at me," he bid softly.

She pressed her hands tighter. He waited out the silence, heart thundering as she slowly peered up. He held her eye with calculated calm, carefully side-stepping her defenses. "You don't have to lie. Whatever happened… you can tell me."

She blinked rapidly, eyes filling with tears, her next words scattering his thoughts with stunning efficiency. "You believe he was a vampire?"

He searched her gaze, stomach churning anew. "Yes."

She shook her head. "I can hardly believe it and I was the one who met him."

He released a sharp breath, gaze snapping forward as he drew a hand through his hair, fringe standing on end. Her hands lowered to her sides, fingers curling over the edge of the cushion as she watched him carefully.

"Harry? What is it?"

His shoulders lowered as he forced the confession free before it caused any more damage. "The man who attacked us in the Park… he was a vampire, too."

He felt her weight shift beside him, eyes closing as he awaited the inevitable–

"What?"

He cringed as she reared back, only to surge forward with a vengeance.

"How could you not tell me, Harry?"

"I only found out today–"

"When you brought me the jar you said there was something different about him, that he wasn't ordinary. You failed to mention he wasn't human."

"Mione, I didn't know." Her stare turned blistering. "I wasn't certain. I could hardly tell you he puked a river of black slime all over me before shriveling into a husk. You'd think I was insane."

She blinked. "He did what?"

"Exactly. You're just like Nott, have to see it to believe it."

"Nott?" He saw the moment realization sparked in her gaze. "You brought the body to Nott. He's the contact you were waiting on."

He nodded. "And he confirmed what I already suspected. The man wasn't human. I came by to tell you everything."

She faced forward, eyes darting around the room. "This is madness… utter insanity."

He bit back a laugh of incredulity. "No argument there. But once again we've strayed off topic. What happened to the wall, Hermione?"

She gripped the cushion tighter, face paling. "It..." Her breath shortened as a visible tremor chased through her limbs. Harry braced himself in turn, readying for every worst-case scenario, bloodlust rising, red seeping into the hazy frame of his vision.

I'll rip the bastard to pieces with my bare han–

"It was me."

He blinked, thoughts shattering. Her spine straightened. "I did it, Harry."

His brow creased. "What do you mean?"

"I threw him across the room."

Silence encased them for several seconds, timed by the rapid pounding of his heart. He swallowed, finding his voice at last. "I don't understand."

"That makes two of us." Her hands released the couch to grip the hem of her skirt. "I don't know how I... everything happened so fast, it's such a blur." She closed her eyes, knees pressing hard. "He didn't believe me about the jar. Thought I had it hidden somewhere."

His chest tightened as her face twisted into a grimace of acute pain, no doubt reliving a nightmare behind her closed lids.

"Then he threatened to search Papa's room and turned for the hall and I–" She cut off abruptly, shaking her head, eyes snapping open, clouded by tears. "I grabbed him. I wasn't thinking. I was so scared. I barely touched him and he went crashing into my desk." She inhaled swiftly. "But that was nothing compared to…"

He leaned in, drawn by her account. "Compared to what?"

Tears over spilled her lashes. "He attacked me again and… I threw him clear through the air."

He searched her watery gaze, biting back half-formed questions as he watched her entire body tremble.

"My skin started to glow and I felt this overwhelming surge of strength and I threw him across the room and the wall broke and then you knocked on the door and everything–"

"Hermione." He reached out and gripped her knee, squeezing gently, taking comfort when she didn't retreat. "Breathe."

She inhaled sharply, wiping her eyes once more. "I know it sounds crazy. It is crazy. I think I might be sick. My mind is slipping away."

He shook his head, pulse thrumming erratically as he clenched her knee. "You aren't losing your mind and you aren't sick. I believe you."

Her breathing hitched, hands lowering to reveal red swollen lids. "You do?"

He nodded, voice thick with emotion and dawning fear. "Yes. But I need you to walk me through it, every part, no matter how inconsequential it might seem. I need to understand what happened so I can understand him. So I can understand all of them."

She stared at him with blatant uncertainty for several moments before nodding, shoulders squaring. He released her, tilting his head as her words replayed through his mind a second time.

"Wait… did you say your skin glowed?"

She sighed, sinking back into the couch and raising her hands, gazing at her palms. "That's not all. There's something else I need to tell you." His pulse skipped manically as she lifted her chin, gaze sparkling. "About the jar."

---

Lavender squirmed in place, knees and shoulders stiff from holding her position for so long. She finally settled into the utter bizarreness of her evening, until each strange turn of event became commonplace, fantasy giving way to reality.

Even so, her joints and muscles were tired of posing for the canvas, eyes burning from remaining open for hours on end. At least she was facing the floor-to-ceiling windows, awarding her a breathtaking view of the city lights from the highest vantage point she'd ever experienced. She had never gazed upon anything from such perspective and was completely absorbed in her bird's eye view.

Her prone position also gave her temporary reprieve from her host's penetrating stare. He'd taken up residence against the opposite wall, leaning back with his hands tucked into his pockets and head tipped to the side as he studied her at leisure. Yet she was spared from meeting his relentless gaze, certain she'd burst into flames at the raw intensity housed within. She'd never been the subject of such blatant scrutiny, and his sublime wealth and appearance only made her more aware of her many shortcomings and flaws.

Hours later and she still had no idea what the hell she was doing here. Not the faintest clue why his associate flagged her down in the street, deeming her worthy of such a man's time and attention. But she pushed the rampant ponderings aside, knowing the more she thought about it the more she'd squirm, proving just how undeserving of his hospitality she truly was. The gramophone continued to play on throughout the evening, filling the expansive room with a full-length symphony and reminding her just how far out of her depth she was floating.

At long last the artist adjusted on his stool, leaning away from the canvas to set the brush aside. "Alright. I think we have it."

She blinked, eyes tearing at the sensation as she whipped her head forward. But her eyes didn't move to the canvas or the man seated behind it. No. They went directly to her host, continuing to watch her from his spot across the room. His eyes remained focused upon her as he stood away from the wall and began a measured path forward, stopping just before her chair and holding out a hand, the corner of his lips lifting in a wry smirk. "Milady."

She reached out and accepted the offering without hesitation, fire racing along her limb and filling her chest as he pulled her swiftly to her feet, checking her momentum with his body by wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her into his side.

"Let's take a look," he murmured and then grinned, the sight weakening her already rubber knees. She leaned into him as he led her forward, fingers pressing her hip.

The young man met their shared gaze as he pushed his glasses up his nose, standing from his stool to allow them an unimpeded view of the canvas. She held her breath as they made their way to the front, gazing upon the image at last. Her heart skipped, lips parting of their own accord. "It's beautiful."

The young man beamed, bouncing on his heels with endearing enthusiasm. Her host tilted his head, expression unreadable as he studied the painting.

"I agree," he stated at last. And then his head lowered, lips grazing her neck without warning, warm breath chasing along her skin and sending chills in its wake. "And yet it hardly does your perfection any justice."

Her pulse thrummed, the overwhelming sensation pulling a bubbling laugh from her throat. She clamped her lips tight, mortified by her reaction, grateful when the young man stepped forward and effectively drew the attention away from her.

"Another success! I'll move it into the den to dry–"

"No." Her host raised his head, fully supporting her weight as he met the boy's eager gaze. "Leave it." His voice held a hard edge that made her neck stiffen, but his smile was quick to chase the unease away. "Thank you for your time and talent as always, Colin. Your payment is awaiting you at the front desk."

Colin blinked, eyes flickering behind his square lenses as he took in their pressed bodies, seeming to realize the charged and awkward situation at last. He cheeks suffused with color as he shuffled back and collided with the stool, nearly losing his balance. Lavender gasped, raising a hand on instinct, though her feet remained firmly rooted.

"Oh, yes, of course." His blushed deepened as he cleared his throat and found his footing, moving the stool out of his path before meeting Lavender's eye. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss."

She smiled, dropping her arm. "You as well. Thank you for painting me, I'm truly honored."

He shook his head, straightening his jacket as he beamed. "The honor was mine. Artists only dream of capturing such beauty on canvas."

She felt her own face heat with the compliment, watching as he nodded to his benefactor before departing swiftly from the room. She brought her focus back to the portrait, amazed to see her own likeness brought to life in such a way. As though she were someone important.

"I do believe young Colin was flirting with you, Lady Brown."

She gazed up swiftly, relieved to see humor dancing in his honeyed gaze. Jealousy was a dangerous creature in men and women alike, and she certainly didn't want to induce his wrath over something so frivolous.

"I doubt that boy's flirted a day in his life," she replied, attempting to match his jest with one of her own.

His deep laughter bled down her spine in a coaxing caress. "I wouldn't be surprised. Artists often become so lost in their work they hardly notice the presence of others."

She smirked. "Until their models move. He certainly noticed every time I blinked."

His expression rapidly sobered, intensity sparkling in his gaze. "You're the most beautiful specimen to ever sit in that spot."

Her stomach clenched.

Jealousy was a dangerous creature indeed.

She bit her lip, taking care to keep her voice light, unaffected. "There's been many others?"

Despite her loose posture he seemed to sense the true nature of her inquiry, mouth curving into a wry and knowing grin that left her awash with embarrassment.

"Let me show you." He offered his hand once more, a gesture born of chivalry versus practicality considering their tightly pressed forms. She accepted his palm with bated breath, allowing him to maneuver her into the adjoining room, this one equally overcome by portraits.

"My mother immigrated to America by herself at only fifteen," he stated, rather unexpectedly. She peered up, watching the sharp edge of his jaw as he spoke. "She dreamed of a better life, opportunities well beyond what an impoverished young woman in Eastern Europe could hope to afford. She met my father a few years later and made quite the life for herself here. But she never let go of her people's traditions. No matter how unconventional."

"She sounds like an incredible woman."

He nodded shortly, the glimmer in his eye fading. "She certainly was."

Her heart ached at the melancholy in his voice, the sudden flatness of his tone. She longed to hear him speak with enthusiasm, passion, to break this dark spell. She squeezed his hand, smiling gently. "Tell me about her tradition."

He wrapped an arm around her waist as he led them across the glossy floor to the far wall. The gesture was so casual, so intimate it made her heart swell.

"According to the legend of her ancestors, to capture one's likeness is to capture a piece of their soul." His words pulled her from her dream-state and stuttered her pulse. He peered down, seeming to read the uncertainty in her expression. "Not to worry, pet. It's not harmful. It merely immortalizes a piece of you, forever encapsulating your youth and beauty."

She tilted her head, intrigued by the notion. "Immortalizes? What do you mean?"

"Long after our physical bodies perish, our souls will continue to live on through our portraits."

She gazed forward at the sea of frozen faces. "So she believed the portraits are… alive?"

He laughed once more, caressing her hip as they came to a stop before the wall of frames. "Not in the traditional sense, but that's one way of looking at it I suppose." He peered ahead, eyes skimming each portrait with unmistakable appreciation and awe. "She believed a person's essence would stay behind. Able to look out upon the world for all eternity. Or rather, for as long as the portrait exists."

"That sounds terribly lonely."

He blinked, gazing down at her swiftly, eyes burning bright. She flushed, quickly continuing. "To be forced to watch the outside world but unable to interact with it. Trapped in silence."

He tilted his head, watching her with quiet intensity. She bit her tongue, cursing herself. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean–" She swallowed heavily, sweat collecting at her nape. "I meant no disrespect to your mother's beliefs. I shouldn't have–"

"It's alright, pet."

He caressed her side once more, his warm palm sliding around to splay across her stomach. "Don't apologize. I find your outlook on the subject quite refreshing." His eyes narrowed a fraction, slowly cataloging her face. "You have an interesting view of the world."

She laughed shortly, shaking her head and glancing down, shuffling anew. "I wouldn't say that."

"Don't diminish the value of your thoughts or opinions."

Her head snapped up, eyes wide. He held her surprised gaze a moment longer before glancing forward, prompting her to do the same, thoughts spinning.

"This is Katarina Maria Leopold. Princess of Bulgaria," he stated lowly, words filtering through her mind at half speed as her gaze was held captive by the painting. The young woman wore an emerald ball gown and diamond headdress that framed her watchful almond eyes.

Lavender felt her mouth run dry. "She's stunning."

He tilted his head, examining the portrait with far less rapture. "As are all women, each in their own way."

She bit her lip, warmth pooling low in her abdomen at the words, kindled by his resting palm. She continued to walk the narrow plank between jealousy and desire, unsure which side proved the greater threat.

"How do you know her?" She asked tentatively.

His fingers thrummed just above her navel, the thin material of her dress doing little to mitigate the raw heat of his touch. "Kat and I were childhood friends. Her father, the former Tsar, was friends with my mother's second husband."

She released a slow breath, thoughts caught in a haze. "That's incredible."

He shrugged. "Not really. The monarchy in and of itself is an abstract concept to me, child of democracy that I am."

Her shoulders tightened, the floor shifting beneath her feet as the conversation moved steadily out of her depth. Matters of politics and government were as foreign to her ears as the French spoken downstairs. But to her endless relief he steered the conversation back to safe waters, directing his focus to the large portrait just beside the Princess.

"And this is Wendell Perry."

She swallowed thickly, feeling like a fool for not recognizing the name. The man was no doubt a famous politician or military leader.

Christ, Lavender, you don't belong here.

"He was the front desk manager when I first took up residence. Retired many years ago and moved to the country."

She blinked, gazing up at his profile. "The front desk manager?" Her shoulders eased. "You mean, from downstairs?"

"Hm."

She blinked again. "But…" She stared forward, gazing upon the smiling elderly man in confusion. "You have his portrait hanging next to a Princess?"

He glanced down, arching a brow. "Why not? There's over 300 portraits on display and nearly a hundred more in storage, plus countless others scattered throughout my remaining properties." He pulled her deeper into his side. "I hold no painting more valuable than any other." He peered ahead, tucking his free hand into his pocket. "Every single image, every subject, is just as important as any other. Just as worthy of being on display. Being seen. Regardless of wealth, name or race, at the end of the day we're all but one thing..."

A heavy, endless beat. She held her breath, blood surging as he met her gaze once more, eyes glimmering beneath the chandelier.

"Art."

She smiled, warmth permeating her chest and suffusing her limbs, turning them to melted wax. His amber gaze flickered down to her mouth. "Let's retire to the lounge," he whispered.

She nodded, allowing him to lead her away from the wall to the nearest archway. She studied each portrait they passed with deep fascination, a new found appreciation and curiosity blossoming to life within her. She wondered who each person was, what meaning they held to him and whether he took the time to tell them the story behind the tradition. Her thoughts continued to surge and crash upon each other, broken and fragmented until a particular sight caught her eye.

She blinked, step faltering. "What is that?"

He slowed his pace, glancing over his shoulder, following her gaze to a spot high on the wall. A large gold frame dominated the space, a handsome man in uniform at its center, facing sideways before a blurred background.

"That's John Buchanan. A famous military General."

She shook her head, pointing upward. "No, I mean the number at the bottom." Her gaze narrowed as she studied the writing. "1894." She dropped her arm, glancing sideways. "That's when it was painted?"

A beat.

"Indeed." He smiled, teeth glittering. "Inherited from my mother's collection."

She nodded, a cold draft stealing through the doorway and drawing her focus. She absently rubbed her arm and glanced upward again… only to freeze in place, cold seeping into the very marrow of her bones. She stared at the portrait of the General.

And he stared back.

She turned rigid.

Wasn't he gazing sideways?

She swallowed heavily, forcing the thought aside.

You really are an idiot, Lavender Brown. What a stupid question.

And then he was pulling her forward, the portrait disappearing from view as they emerged through the archway into the next richly decorated room. He released her hand halfway across the floor, gesturing to a tufted leather couch at its center.

"Please, sit, relax."

She smiled, crossing over and settling into the middle cushion, smoothing a hand over the satin folds draping her thighs as she fought the urge to fidget. Meanwhile, he made his way to an ornate cabinet at the wall, speaking over his shoulder as he opened its doors.

"Wine?"

She blinked, tongue curling inside her mouth. "I…"

His laughter surrounded her once more, echoing off the domed ceiling. "I promise not to tell if you don't."

She smiled, crossing her legs and interlacing her hands over her knee. "I'd love some, thank you."

She held her breath as he set to work, revealing the stocked bar at his front. Sparkling decanters stood at the top, a row of wine bottles situated beneath. She hadn't had alcohol in months, and even then only cheap moonshine Parvati procured from a pedaller outside the shop. It had been strong enough to strip paint off a car, the mere memory making her cringe.

Prohibition had hit the City hard. The crime rate was higher than ever as bootleggers and smugglers moved in from around the country to fill the ever-growing demand the ban created. The need for vices was at an all-time high following the war and shifting political climate. Most of it went far over her head, but one thing Lavender knew for certain was anyone caught in possession of alcohol could be arrested on the spot, and anyone caught brewing or selling would be awarded a one-way ticket to the shiny new prison on Rikers.

She watched him reach forward, dexterous fingers skimming along the bottlenecks. "Any preference?" He asked over his shoulder.

She shook her head, knuckles turning white as she gripped her knee tighter. "No, I'm happy with whatever you choose." She couldn't see his face but heard the smirk in his voice all the same.

"I have an inkling you prefer sweet to dry."

She wet her lips, sitting straighter. "Yes."

"Excellent. We'll go with the Sangiovese." He grabbed a dark bottle from the center of the row, turning it over in his hands to view the faded label. "This was imported directly from Tuscany, long before the ban." He pulled open a drawer and extracted a gleaming opener, swiftly plunging the spike into the spout. "It has a marvelous blend of cherry, currant and plum. I think you'll enjoy it."

She watched him skillfully loosen the cork, caught in a trance. "I'm sure I will."

"The name Sangiovese derives from the Latin sanguis Jovis." The cork pulled free with a soft pop. "The blood of Jupiter." He set the bottle and tool aside, reaching for two tall-stemmed glasses beneath the cabinet. "Jupiter was King of the Gods. The supreme master of man and immortal alike."

The glasses were tinged red at the base of their bowls. She tilted her head, admiring the design as he began to pour, the ruby liquid making her mouth water and fingers twitch with anticipation.

His lips curved wryly. "Tonight, we drink as Gods."

She released a slow breath, chest tightening as he set the bottle aside once more. "I used to love those stories," she admitted softly.

He grabbed both glasses, starting towards her. "Pardon?"

"Myths. Legends. I used to read books about them in the library across from our–" She blinked, blushing hot and shaking her head. "Sorry, I got carried away."

He stopped directly before her, extending a full glass. She accepted with a trembling hand, biting her lip and staring at the rim as she steadied her grip, lowering the crystal to her thigh.

He backed up a few paces, lowering into a leather armchair directly across. "Why are you apologizing? I'd love to hear more."

She shifted, pressing the crystal stem between her thumb and forefinger until she was certain it would snap. "I'd rather talk about you."

He leaned back, resting the foot of his glass atop the armrest and watching her carefully. "You don't like talking about yourself."

She swallowed heavily, flush spreading down her neck. "I just… my life isn't that interesting. Certainly not compared to yours."

"I already know everything there is to know about my life, making your story far more intriguing."

Her gaze lowered to the glass, fixing upon her berry-tinged reflection in the liquid. "That's all I was going to say. I used to read about Greek and Roman myths when I was young." She peered up at his prolonged silence, watching as he licked his lips. Her thighs clenched.

"Try the wine," he commanded softly.

She obeyed at once, slowly raising the crystal to her mouth, throat suddenly parched. She took a deep swallow, holding his gaze over the rim, heartbeat echoing in her ears.

And then she jolted, fire exploding to life in her stomach and chest, heat rising along her throat and into all four limbs, bleeding down down down to her ankles and toes and pooling in her sex. She gasped, uncrossing her legs to press her knees together, overwhelmed by the sensation.

"Good?" He asked with a knowing smirk, taking a deep swallow from his own glass.

She licked her lips, remnants of the bitter-sweet liquid lingering on her skin. Her mouth tingled. Her knees pressed harder. "Yes." Her voice was breathy and hitched. She squeezed the crystal stem in a vice as her vision stretched and sharpened, the colors in the room saturating, deepening, appearing more vibrant than before. But she couldn't pull her eyes away from Him, transfixed by the heavy bob of his Adam's apple as he took another deep pull from his glass, lowering it to his side without taking his eyes from her squirming form.

"Tell me more about yourself, Lady Brown."

She released a sharp breath. The shadows seemed to swell across the wall behind him, turning his eyes into two burning embers in the dark.

"What do you want to know?" She asked tentatively.

He traced the rim of his glass with an idle fingertip. She noticed a gleaming silver ring on his thumb. "How did you get involved in this line of work?"

She reared back, nearly losing her grip on the stem.

"Don't be ashamed." His finger continued its slow and measured path across the crystal, a low-pitch hum ringing through her ears at a thousand decibels, overpowered only by her staggering pulse. "I do not ask to elicit embarrassment. I genuinely want to know." He set his glass on the table beside the chair and leaned forward, ensnaring her completely with the intensity of his focus. "I must know."

She searched his gaze, trapped between the unrelenting walls of shame and desire. "Why?"

"Your portrait will be on display in my home for many years to come. I'd like to know the story behind it."

She pressed back into the cushion. "There isn't anything to know. I'm just… me."

He smiled anew, expression turning positively feline, exuding cunning and mischief. "Everyone has a story, pet. And I'd like to know yours." He braced his forearms against his knees and held her gaze without blinking, flames dancing in the heat of his eyes. "Tell me how you became a paid companion."

She took a deep breath, bringing the glass to her lips to take another convulsive swallow. But this time she relished the flood of heat across her limbs, seeking the inferno, willing it to consume her entirely and deliver her from this twisted reality. Alas, when she lowered the glass her surroundings remained unchanged, though the galloping tempo of her heart had slowed, the festering unease that gripped her by the throat slowly waning.

"That's the nicest title I've ever been given. Most people just call me a whore." She blinked. And then clasped a hand over her mouth, eyes widening. "I don't know why I said that." Her words were muffled by her palm, but he seemed to understand them nonetheless.

"The wine is quite strong," he provided, the corner of his mouth turning up.

She nodded, hand falling away. Another breeze swept past, disturbing golden strands of her hair and instilling her heated skin with blessed cool. She glanced around.

And jolted.

The portraits all stared ahead, facing the center of the room.

Watching them.

She wet her lips, forcing her gaze away. Back to him. "I never meant to become this." She didn't plan for the words, didn't anticipate their escape, and yet her chest felt lighter upon their release. A heavy weight melted away from her shoulders even as the heat surged anew, turning her core molten. And then the rest of the words came toppling out, as though they'd been awaiting this very moment and wouldn't miss their chance at freedom.

"My mother worked as a receptionist when I was young. One winter she slipped on the ice outside our building and broke her wrist. She couldn't type while her arm was in a cast and her boss was an asshole who didn't give two shits about a single mother struggling to make ends meet. He fired her a week before Christmas." She took a steadying breath. "We were in dire straights, couldn't afford rent, gas, groceries. She was desperate."

She took another swig from her glass, hand trembling, teeth clanking against the crystal. "She slept with our landlord to buy more time to pay. I think that opened the door, made her aware of the possibility of earning money with her body." She straightened, pressing down into the cushion, desperate to alleviate the mounting tension, the deeply-rooted ache. "She said she would only turn tricks until she was able to perform office work again. But the cast came off and she never stopped."

She rolled the delicate stem between her fingers, palms sweating. "I was ashamed of her. Embarrassed. And swore to become nothing like her." She gazed down at the remaining pool of ruby in her glass, her reflection distorted within the liquid, stretched grotesquely. "I have a lot of regrets in this life. But that's my biggest one."

He tilted his head, studying her stricken visage. "Following in her footsteps?"

She shook her head, gaze lifting. "No. Not being able to apologize." Her heart skipped painfully. "I finally understand." Her jaw worked from side to side, the remaining words stuck to her tongue. She pried them free. "I wish I didn't. But I do."

He held his body with such stillness he was rendered to marble in the moonlight, transformed into a Greek statue, Ovid's myth playing out before her very eyes.

"I appreciate you sharing that with me, Lavender." Her body throbbed at hearing her given name on his lips, the rumbling cadence of his voice sending vibrations into the floor, through the couch and directly into her center. "But that was your mother's story. Not yours."

A sweltering beat.

She clutched her glass tighter. "I know."

His golden gaze flickered down to her hands, sparking with electricity. "Finish your wine."

She did as bid without hesitation, emptying the contents in a single gulp. He took the glass from her nerveless grip and set it on the floor beside them. And then he stood, movements so fast and graceful she hardly saw him unfold from his seat. She leaned away, craning her neck to maintain his burning gaze, acquiescing silently as he held out a hand for the third time that evening, effortlessly pulling her to her feet.

She swayed forward and leaned into the hard wall of his chest, overcome by the burning heat of his skin, causing the flames trapped within her own flesh to snap and sizzle. The lapping heat climbed higher, desperate to claw free and consume everything in sight. He cupped her face and tilted her head back. And then their lips collided and the mounting pressure within her exploded at last. She grabbed handfuls of his coat, pulling him forward as his hands roamed her body, fingers pressing hard, bruising and relentless. Their teeth clanked, mouth starved, feral, desperate to devour the other whole.

A distant voice whispered in the back of her mind, mysteriously familiar, telling her this wasn't right. Beyond the raw, gnashing hunger that overtook her in a matter of seconds and the raging inferno threatening to consume them both, there was still the unsolvable enigma of the man before her. The mystery of why her. Why any prostitute when his looks and wealth afforded him the company of real-life Princesses.

In Lavender's brief but varied experience, when men of power and means bought their pleasure they were buying silence as well, usually in an effort to protect their reputations. Their careers, their families. But other times… other times they harbored a far more sinister intent.

Some men were so disillusioned by their wealth they sought pleasure in the extreme, craving eccentric perversions that required an agreement of secrecy. She'd seen the aftermath of such contracts countless times. Girls sporting blackened eyes and broken limbs for weeks following their fateful encounters, swearing up and down the money was worth the pain and terror, the humiliation and aggravation, the haunting fear that lingered in their gaze long after the marks faded and the flesh healed–

Her rampant musings broke apart as he began to lower the zipper on her dress, the thin material parting smoothly across her spine. Cool air met her overheated skin, causing her to go rigid in his hold and pull back from the kiss. He grabbed the back of her neck with his other hand, fingertips pressing her pulse as his hot breath panted against her swollen lips. His pupils were blown wide, the thin band of amber barely visible.

She opened her mouth to speak but instead choked on a gasp as he pushed a thin strap from her shoulder, prompting the other to slide free and the rest of the dress to follow suit, hitting the floor in a pool of shimmering silk. She reared back, trapped in place by his tight grip, and raised her hands to cover her breasts. He caught one of her wrists and gently pulled it away, shaking his head.

"You're utter perfection," he whispered against her parted lips.

She swallowed heavily, then moaned as the hand at her nape began a coaxing caress down her bare spine, pressing her lower back and pushing her fully against his body. He leaned forward, mouth intent on possessing her own, but she turned her face away and inhaled swiftly, lungs starved. "The window," she whispered, glancing at the brightly-lit city just beyond her shoulder.

His low laughter rumbled beside her ear, setting loose another series of tremors through her frame. And then his mouth lowered, teeth grazing her shoulder, her throat, her jaw.

"Shy?"

She clenched her thighs at his gravel-filled voice and then keened sharply as his hand slid between her legs, cupping her sex through its thin covering, palm hot and possessive.

"You're artwork, Lavender… artwork is meant to be seen. Meant to be worshipped."

The soft pads of his fingertips pushed the fabric aside and traced along her seam, gathering her wetness, and then they were pressing in, a thick digit sliding past her clenching heat, then another, kneading her delicate walls and stretching her passage. She gasped into his mouth, vision clouding as his blunt nails scraped along the innermost parts of her, sparks of electricity zapping through her limbs and behind her lids, setting her skin ablaze.

The hand at her back pushed forward while the one inside pressed up until she was forced onto her tiptoes, gasping into his mouth as he began walking towards the window, holding her flush against him as she staggered back blindly, gripping his arms for balance, lost to the molten heat. And then her back was colliding against a hard, cold surface and his fingers were slipping out of her, a thick trail of wetness stringing down her inner thigh. She opened her mouth, moaning her protest at the loss of contact before he gripped her hips and spun her around. She gasped, bracing her palms against the massive window as he pressed her forward with a hand between her shoulder blades, the other tearing her underwear down her thighs.

Her fingertips curled, nails scraping the glass as she heard him unbuckle his pants, protests dying on her lips as raw hunger overtook her senses, mind shutting down in the wake of visceral need. She peered down at the sparkling cityscape, watching cars zoom through the streets and pedestrians roam the pavement hundreds of feet below while her naked body stood on full display, backlit by the glittering chandelier. And then large hands were fondly her breasts, thumbs roughly grazing her nipples before skimming past her ribs and down her sides, tightly gripping her waist as thumbs pressed against the edges of her spine, fingertips gripping the slope of her pelvis.

A rigid heat prodded at her opening. He kicked her ankles apart with the toe of his shoe and she squirmed with anticipation, mouth parting wide and head tipping back as he drove into her at last, meeting little resistance beyond the tight heat of her saturated entrance. She moaned low and guttural, clawing frantically at the slick glass as he gripped her waist in an iron-clad hold and set a driving, relentless pace. The room quickly filled with her broken sobs and the deafening slap of skin as he bottomed out with each thrust, pelvis brutally slamming her ass and driving her forward until her breasts smashed flat against the cold pane. She turned her head to the side and panted desperately, breath steaming the glass.

His hands slid to her hips, gripping her flesh by the handfuls as he tugged her ass further back, forcing her spine to dip and arch until he had her positioned just how he wanted, the new angle allowing him even deeper entrance, until his length prodded the back of her womb and ignited an even fiercer blaze inside her. She clenched her sex repeatedly, unable to control her muscles as her lower half spasmed violently, overtaken by raw animalistic need, content to be bent and rutted until she couldn't support her own weight. She gasped as he released a thunderous growl, the resonating tremor shaking the wall and vibrating the pane beneath her palms. He released one hip to grip her by the hair, pulling her back against his chest in a powerful tug, the sweat of their bodies snapped and sizzled on contact, and then his mouth was at her shoulder, teeth bearing down without warning.

She keened, a sharp sting erupting beneath the blunt edges of his teeth. This wasn't a playful nip. This was a predator's jaws trapping her in place, pressing down down down until the skin parted beneath the onslaught, blood welling up to meet his lapping tongue. She cried out, overwhelmed and overtaken, but not by pain or fear. As a bead of red ran down the length of her trembling arm an earth-shattering sensation tore through her body, starting at her core and working its way into every finger and toe, more powerful than any orgasm she'd ever experienced with a partner or by her own hand. Her vision flashed white, then black, the ground parting beneath her feet and casting her into freefall, the restraining arm around her middle her only anchor to the surface. She gasped for air and collapsed into the glass, lost to the blissful heat, the rhythmic clench and release of her muscles as the throbbing pressure of his cock stretched her wide. He continued to fuck her without pause, each powerful thrust amplifying the rapture tenfold until she was boneless with pleasure, waxen by the scorching blaze.

And then his head lifted, teeth pulling from her skin. Blood coated his tongue and lips as he pressed savage open-mouth kisses to her neck, free hand wedging between her stomach and the glass, sliding up between her breasts to wrap around her throat and force her head back. Their eyes met. His gaze was completely black. Inhuman. Utterly captivating. She turned lax in his hold, weakened by the sheer power and force of her body's release. He pulled out of her, heavy erection pressing against her lower back, throbbing in time to his rapid heartbeat.

"As much as I love showing you off to the mortals below, I believe a bed will suit our needs much better."

She was too far gone to comprehend the words or formulate a response, giving over completely to his hands as he peeled her limp body away from the glass. He dipped low, sweeping an arm behind her knees and rising swiftly with her in his arms before striding for the archway with single minded-determination. A powerful surge of heat washed over her in a heady rush, as though it had never been quenched at all. She reached for his face without hesitation or fear, pulling his head down for another searing kiss as they entered the hallway, submerged into darkness.

---

Tom continued his brisk path across the street, eyes fastened to the modern high rise dominating the city block. He paused in the empty lane, allowing a horse-drawn carriage to pass. The braying creature eyed him warily, steps faltering as it drew near. The driver blinked, trying to right the animal's course to no avail. The horse whined sharply as it darted past, the carriage wheel scraping along the curb as it surged forward, swinging wide as the animal rounded the corner and disappeared from sight.

Tom set his jaw. Just fantastic. He was obviously emitting an air of danger beyond his control. He did his best to conceal his true nature in public venues. Humans were much more easily managed when they weren't screaming their bloody heads off and running for their lives. But alas, he had no hope of managing his faculties following the events of the last hour. His gums still throbbed, fangs slow to recede after he'd fled through her window like a common criminal. But he needed to put distance between himself and the clever little human. Needed time to regroup, to disseminate the new information he'd discerned from the brief and charged encounter.

To unravel the burning mystery that was Hermione Granger.

He continued across the street, stepping onto the sidewalk and passing a row of vibrant redbuds, reliving the bizarre interaction in his mind yet again, starting from the moment she first opened the front door. She was nothing he expected, in any sense of the word. Based on her reputation at the Met he'd anticipated someone at least twice her age. But his surprise at her youth was quickly cast aside by the overwhelming cloud of her scent. The fragrance overruled his higher functioning for the span of several heartbeats, leaving him a shell of raw hunger and need. If not for his inability to cross the threshold he was certain he would have drained her on the spot, and for the first time ever he was grateful for the ancient curse, the impenetrable barrier allotting him a few blessed moments to gather his sanity and regain control.

Still, her smell was a burdening distraction. The remnants of her scent left behind on the clipboard paled in comparison to the rich fragrance of her warm skin and surging blood, heightened by her rising fear and desire. It had been decades since he'd encountered a mortal so tempting.

He shook his head, crossing to the building's entrance.

No. He'd never encountered anyone so divine. Otherwise, he'd have turned them simply for the indulgent pleasure of opening a vein whenever he saw fit. His fingers tensed around the handle, threatening to warp the metal. He took a deep breath, releasing the air in a rush as he opened the door and stepped into the opulent lobby, forcing his mind to the relevant topic at hand. His reason for visiting the unassuming brownstone in the first place.

The Relic.

He'd sensed it nearby the moment he reached her stoop. He had yet to glimpse the object in person but could feel it all the same, an electrical current pulsing along his skin in heavy waves the moment he crossed the threshold. He knew it was nearby. And he knew the young woman was hiding it. But to his great frustration, he hadn't been able to extract the information the simple way. He wasn't surprised she was able to twist free his mental hold within moments. Intelligent and resilient minds were always much more difficult to control, and he certainly hadn't been at peak performance, storming the gates on an empty stomach, foolishly thinking he would be in and out of the property within minutes when gaining an invitation inside had been a taxing feat in itself.

Playing to her emotions had been simple enough. Despite her keen intelligence, she was ruled primarily by her heart, as most mortals were. Her quivering assistant at the museum informed Tom about her father's condition and the reason for her recent part-time status. He'd rejoiced at the news, formulating a sob story in his mind that all but guaranteed her invitation into her home was signed, sealed and delivered.

Still, there had been a moment of hesitation in her eyes, a flash of realization that left his muscles tensing, mind rapidly constructing a new plan of attack. But in the end she'd relented to his bidding against her better judgment, a fault widely prevalent in her gender. The fatal desire to please all others, even strangers, to always do as told. The female was the more aggressive and dangerous sex in nearly every predatory species on earth. He couldn't fathom why humans conditioned their daughters any differently. A great folly on their part, one he seized full advantage of whenever it suited his purposes.

He strode across the gleaming Italian marble, hands tucked into his pockets and curled tight as he passed the large entry desk.

"Good evening, Sir," a familiar voice spoke.

Tom continued to gaze ahead, cutting a path through the lounge area.

"Good evening, Finnbar."

"Beautiful weather we're having."

Tom fought to keep his composure, the elderly man's weak heartbeat deafening to his ears. "Indeed," he replied without inflection.

The attendant smiled and took his seat behind the desk, joints popping loudly. The frail man was one of the few humans Tom had yet to fantasize about rending limb from limb. He refused to let his crippling hunger get the better of him. Discreet and reliable help was impossible to come by these days.

He stopped before the row of silver elevators, pushing the button and studying his reflection in the doors. His gaze drifted to his shoulder, dark jacket cast grey with crumbled plaster. He casually flicked a chunk of lingering debris from the fabric, the corner of his lips turning up.

An interesting evening indeed.

The lift to his right chimed, the doors gliding open smoothly. He stepped inside, hands interlaced at his back as he faced the lobby, staring ahead at a row art deco sculptures as the doors closed and he began his ascent, mind drifting once more.

She smelled human.

He wet his lips, tilting his head to either side to alleviate the growing tension in his neck.

Correction. She smelled like sex and dinner… but perfectly mortal nonetheless.

And yet clearly there was something he missed. She'd thrown him through the air with easy grace, a task few of his own kind were capable of. His superior lineage came with as many rewards as consequences, but it was all reduced to child's play in her hands.

He studied his reflection in the doors once more.

Then again, she appeared as shocked by the turn of events as he felt, as though she didn't know her own strength… And her skin. Radiating like a beacon in the dark, the moon in a starless sky. There was only one explanation. Only one that made sense, given all the circumstantial evidence surrounding her. The reason he could sense the relic but couldn't find it. The reason he was able to pin her against the wall in one instant and was catapulting through the air in the next.

It seemed Ms. Granger had done more than simply handle the relic. And if his suspicions were true, then she was far more valuable than the jar itself. But most significantly, and far more importantly, she was his. Same as everything else in this godforsaken city.

She just didn't know it yet.

The car slowed to a halt, rocking gently before the doors slid wide, revealing a long and narrow corridor. His spine straightened, shoulders drawing back as a familiar scent washed over him. It filled the air like a toxic poison cloud, sickly sweet with death. He was halfway down the hall when the door at the other end opened, his General appearing on the other side, face tense. He opened his mouth but Tom silenced him with a severe look.

"Where," he bit out, arms tensing.

The man moved swiftly aside, closing the door at his back. "Your bedroom."

Tom closed his eyes, exhaling through his nose as he made his way through the living room to the hallway beyond.

"Of course," he muttered, red seeping into the corners of his vision.

Moonlight filtered through the windows, walls awash with the glow of city lights from eight hundred feet below. The distant hum of traffic and voices faded away as he strode into the adjoining hall, senses filled instead by a muffled heartbeat from beyond the double doors at the far end. He gripped the handles with force and pushed the barrier wide, ready for the interaction to end before it even began.

His gaze immediately found her, sprawled on her back across the center of his four-poster bed, torso propped on her elbows and dark eyes gleaming. She bent a knee, bare skin revealed by the wide slit in her black gown, stiletto spikes pressing the plush cushion of his bedding.

His jaw clenched. "Get out."

She tipped her head back and laughed, exposing the long pale column of her throat. Her plunging neckline pulled taut across her cleavage, an acorn-sized ruby glittering from its permanent home between her breasts. She wet her lips, mouth painted a deep berry hue for the unjoyous occasion, and lowered her chin with measured ease. "And here I thought you'd be happy to see me."

He dismissed her from his sight as he headed for the closet on the opposite wall. Her voice never failed to induce a pounding ache in his skull. It seemed tonight was no different. "I'll be happy to see you depart. Now piss off."

She hummed low in her throat, rolling onto her stomach to continue tracking his movements. "I could listen to you curse my name for all eternity, darling, as long as I get to hear that delicious accent of yours." She perched her head on her hands, nails filed to lethal points and painted the same rich wine as her lips. "How fortunate your time in America hasn't diminished it."

He opened the door to the walk-in closet but remained positioned outside, wanting to keep her in his peripheral. "I've been in this country longer than you've been alive, luv."

She blinked coyly, expression of demure innocence undercut by her kohl-lined eyes and dagger-tipped nails. "Meaning?"

He shrugged out of the plaster-caked jacket. "Meaning I'm not going to indulge your petty and childish bullshite tonight. I'm in charge of the City." He reached for a hanger, meeting her narrowed gaze over his shoulder. "You don't have to like it. But you will accept it and you will obey me. Do you understand?"

She tilted her head, the blunt edge of her swing bob grazing her collar bone as she grinned wickedly. "The homicidal longing in your voice makes me positively vibrate. The way it deepens and rumbles. Utterly divine."

He shook his head in exasperation, forcibly jamming the hanger back into its spot and slamming the door.

She licked her lips. "Have you eaten? You're always a right bastard when you're hungry."

He drew a hand over his face, patience fully depleted. "What do you want?"

She pushed back onto her knees, smirk widening. "I'm happy to offer you my vein." The ruby glinted brightly, gold chain catching the light. "Unless you've actually developed a taste for filthy vagrants."

He ignored her goading, turning away and heading for the windows. She rolled her eyes in turn, expression falling as she dropped back into the pillows with a dramatic sigh. "Christ, you're an absolute bore tonight."

He raked a hand through his hair, a white cloud of dust disrupted by the motion. He glared at his palm. Fucking hell. How much of her bloody wall did he take home with him?

His unwelcome guest tilted her head, amusement etching her sharp features. "Though it appears you've had quite the evening already. Do tell me who dropped a house on your head, darling. I simply must buy them a drink."

"Bella." Her smile melted away at the glacial edge in his voice. He met her reflection's gaze in the thick pane before him. "Enough games. Why are you here?"

She draped her arms over the pillows and leaned against the headboard, crossing her legs, dress tugging high on her thigh. "Why must my appearance always inspire suspicion? We're business associates. I merely came to update you on the Club."

He held her gaze. "If you continue to lie to me I'll end this conversation by throwing you out the window."

She sighed once more, rolling her eyes. "Fine." She crossed her arms petulantly. "Father said you've been avoiding his calls."

He couldn't suppress his cringe, awarding her the reaction she clearly hoped to elicit with her farce of an endearment. Her eyes gleamed triumphantly, voice laced with sinister pleasure. "He wants to know if there's trouble with the package."

He turned on his heel, pinning her with the full intensity of his glare. "Since when do you talk about such matters behind my back?"

Her eyes flashed. "We love talking behind your back. Your backside is positively my favorite side."

He rolled his head atop his shoulders for the second time that evening. The tension rapidly spread, muscles clustering tight throughout his neck and back. "I'll talk to him," he said at last, hands curling like claws. "We're done here."

Her smile faltered, arms dropping as she searched his expression for a more satisfying response. "Is there a problem with the package?"

He raised a dark brow. "And why would you think to ask me that?" He watched her carefully, taking in every reaction.

She pushed forward, expression lit with eager anticipation. "It's here then?" She slid to the edge of the mattress and swung her legs over the side. "May I see it?"

He stepped back, gesturing to the open doorway. "Goodnight, Bella."

She scowled, rising to her full height, heels clicking sharply across the hardwood as she approached. "You may be his favorite son." She stopped directly before him, tipping her head back to maintain his gaze. "But I'm his favorite daughter. Don't underestimate my power or influence, Tom."

He tilted his head and scanned her face with flippant dismissal. "When you no longer run around the city as his little errand girl I might consider taking you seriously."

Red bled across her dark gaze, fangs lengthening. And then a faint rustling drew both their focus to the hall. She peered past his wide shoulder, face splitting in a feral grin.

"Speaking of errand boys…" Her fangs receded as she crossed the threshold, hips swaying down the hall before stopping in front of the man situated at the far end. She placed a hand on his chest, laughing as his eyes remain fixed ahead, body rigid as stone. "Always a pleasure, Brax." She drew her hand along his ribs before grasping the mink stole hanging off his extended arm, winking as she wrapped it around her shoulders. "My, my, Tommy certainly keeps your leash strung tight, doesn't he?"

Abraxas broke from his frozen state, pale eyes flickering down, cold as death. "Have a wonderful evening, Bellatrix."

She tipped her head back and laughed anew, the venomous sound causing both men to tense. And then she stepped forward, leaning up to peck the man on the cheek, much to his dismay. He drew back swiftly, nearly colliding with the wall in his haste to escape her reach. Her laughter deepened as she started for the main room, clearly overcome with delight. Tom moved forward swiftly, passing Abraxas and rounding the corner in a single beat.

"Bella."

She paused in the middle of the room and turned in place, expression lit with unbridled amusement.

His eyes narrowed, flames dancing at their center. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about the sudden rise of missing humans, would you?" He watched her carefully once more, this time for an entirely different set of reasons. Alas, the tempo of her heartbeat remained the same, as did her Cheshire grin.

She held his gaze across the great expanse, voice laced with malevolent glee. "And why would you think to ask me that?"

Hearing his own words parroted back only confirmed his gnawing suspicions. He raised his chin, eyes darkening. "If I find out you're connected in any way, the consequence will be severe."

She licked her lips and raked her gleaming claws through the thick stole, undeterred by his menacing threat. "Careful, Tommy. It almost sounds like you're starting to take me seriously." And then she blew a kiss, eyes glittering. "Until next time, big brother."

His stomach clenched as she made her grand exit, the door slamming loudly at her back, the echoing click of her heels fading at the elevators. The lift chimed, he listened to her board, and then the car started its smooth descent.

Abraxas sagged in relief, stepping free of the hall. "Do you think she has the relic?"

Tom's eyes remained fixed upon the front door, the presence of their unwanted visitor still thick upon the air, tinging the room in a dark haze. "I know she doesn't."

Abraxas blinked, studying his profile. "What changed your mind?"

Tom turned away from the entrance and started for his bedroom, lips curving up beyond his control. "The nation's leading Egyptologist."

---

Parvati's nose twitched as she tilted the palm in her hand, spreading his fingers back with her thumb.

"Your travel line is strong. Do you take many trips?" She asked, tone decidedly bored.

The man seated across the narrow table leaned closer, causing it to rock on its rickety legs. "Just got promoted. Acquired three new sales territories." He winked, lips spreading in a pleased grin. "Came with a hefty bump in pay as well. I'm flush."

She bit back a sigh, as she'd been doing since the finely dressed idiot wandered into the small establishment ten minutes prior. "I see." She continued to peer down, refusing to meet his wolfish gaze. "Well, that aligns with your head line." She traced said groove with her thumb, ignoring the hitch in his breath as he leaned closer yet. "Deep and long. You have great focus and determination."

His eyes skimmed her face with careful precision. "I'm determined alright." He cast his voice lower. "And very good at getting what I want."

She set her jaw, eyes narrowing as she squeezed the hand in her grip, nails pressing the skin. "Your heart line is waved and begins beneath your middle finger." She finally drew her gaze up, careful to keep her expression free of the acidic derision burning a path up her throat. "You're selfish when it comes to love. More interested in cheap thrills than commitment."

He blinked, drawing back at her cool tone. But the heat quickly reignited in his gaze, eyes shimmering with clear purpose. "Who says the thrills have to be cheap?"

She gazed back down, swallowing her groan. "Your life line is short and shallow." Her lips twitched as he stiffened in his seat. "And broken in the middle." She released his hand, tucking her own beneath the red tablecloth and wiping them on the gauzy fabric of her skirt, eager to be rid of his taint upon her skin. He left his palm flat on the counter, brows drawn with confusion.

"What the hell does that mean?" He demanded.

She held his gaze steady, voice firm with resolve. "You're going to suffer a tragic accident. Best to take care, especially when venturing into less savory parts of the city."

He leaned back swiftly, nearly tipping back in his chair as his face twisted in a scowl, color heightening. "Is that a threat?"

She lifted her chin, smiling. "Of course not. It's your fortune."

He gripped the edge of the table with both hands, baring his teeth as the flush bled into his forehead and neck, giving him the appearance of a cartoon steam engine. "You made all that up. This is a fucking scam!"

She tipped her head calmly, relishing his rising anger, eager to inflict even a morsel of the agony trapped within her own heart onto someone else. "I merely interpret the lines. You don't have to like the message."

The table rattled in his grip. "I'm not paying you a fucking dime."

Her smile fell away, eyes narrowing. "And I don't want your money. Get out."

He snarled, pushing to his feet and stepping towards her, veins throbbing in his temples and neck. "You little bitch–"

"You should return home, Martin Everett."

He froze in place, glancing up as a new voice entered the room, soft and delicate as wind chimes. He spotted a narrow figure in the doorway ahead, concealed by a beaded curtain.

"Your wife is waiting up, wondering where you are. Such stress is dangerous during the third trimester."

He blinked, paling. "How did…" He stepped back, fists loosening at his sides as he gaped at the shadowed figure. "How do you know my name?"

Parvati scowled and folded her arms, metal bracelets clinking. "You saw the sign on the door."

He glanced down at her, anger seeping back into his ruddy features. "Tell me how she knows my name!" He gazed forward again, face twisted with rage and panic. "How do you know about my wife?"

The figure in the doorway tipped its head, long hair revealed in the dark silhouette. "Is this the type of behavior you want to teach your unborn son?"

He swallowed thickly, the serene voice seeming to echo off the narrow walls for another handful of seconds before he found his voice. "Who…"

Parvati pushed back from the table, chair scraping across the floor. "You got your free reading. Now leave."

He blinked. And then met her gaze, senses slowly returning. He backed up several paces and straightened his coat, pinning her with a look of disgust. "I suppose I should count my blessings. Filthy fucking immigrant, you're probably crawling with disease."

She drew in a sharp breath, pushing to her feet, hands bracing the table.

"Sabine," the voice behind her spoke in clear warning.

Parvati grit her teeth, forcing her feet to remain in place as she watched the stinking pile of shit leave the shop. The bell above the door chirped as it closed behind him, the air feeling cleaner already. She sighed heavily, tearing the cumbersome turban from her head and glaring over her shoulder.

"I had it under control." She threw the headpiece down, nearly knocking over a foggy crystal ball in her haste. "You didn't have to come out."

Pale hands lifted, parting the beads down the center. "He was going to hurt you."

Parvati watched the other girl step into the main room. "He's a spineless pissant."

"Yes. And his shortcomings make him lash out at women he deems inferior." The woman tipped her head, pale hair cascading over her shoulder in a flowing river as her eyes took on the same cloudy quality of the crystal ball. "He seeks the company of prostitutes for the sole purpose of injuring them during the act."

Parvati drew back, brows creasing at the center. "You saw all that in your head?"

The blonde blinked, eyes returning to their normal state, sparkling like blue topaz. "Yes."

Parvati gripped the back of her chair, shaking her head. "Christ, Luna. Every time I think I'm jealous of your gift…you remind me what a curse it really is." She watched her friend cross the narrow shop floor. "I don't know how you stay sane, seeing such awful shit play out in your mind every day."

Luna stopped before the shelves, licking her thumb and forefinger and pinching the ends of the burning incense. "It's not all bad. There's great beauty in the world as well."

Parvati's laughter billowed free in a cloud of bitter smoke. "In the world? Maybe. But certainly not in people."

Luna peered over her shoulder, expression smooth as a placid lake. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing." Parvati cringed at the harshness in her tone, crossing her arms tightly and gazing at the threadbare rug.

Luna lifted a pale brow. "You've been on a short fuse all night."

"That asshole really pushed my buttons."

"You've dealt with far worse clients than him."

Parvati forced her eyes up. "Can't you just read my mind?"

The blonde turned gracefully on her heel, facing her fully. "Is that what you want?"

Parvati swallowed, nails digging into course sleeves of her costume. "It would make things easier."

Luna held her gaze in eerie silence for another endless beat. And then she glanced away, shaking her head. "I'd never violate your privacy in such a way. If you'd like for me to know something, you'll tell me."

Parvati blinked, arms dropping to her sides as a crushing weight sat upon her chest, pressing against her lungs. "You're too good for this place, Luna." She struggled to take a full breath. "Too good for this life."

Luna peered at her once more, a knowing glint in her eyes. "Something happened between you and Lavender."

Parvati drew back, colliding with a candle display, quickly settling the table with her hand. "I thought you weren't going to read my mind."

"I didn't. You always talk this way when thinking about her."

She released the table, spine snapping straight. "No, I..." The blonde held her gaze with calm patience. Parvati rolled her eyes, throwing her hands up. "Fucking Christ, I'm trying to lie to a psychic."

"I don't have to view your thoughts to know what's on your mind." Luna moved closer. "Would you like to talk about it?"

Parvati ground her teeth, glaring at the window ahead. "No."

Luna nodded, starting to turn for the door. "Alright then. I'll start locking up. Would you mind putting–"

"I just don't understand how she can accuse me of judging her when I've never said a single thing against her."

Luna stopped in place, turning calmly, hands folded atop her flowing skirt.

Parvati shook her head, continuing to glare at the pane unseeing. "I've always been supportive– of everything– no matter how dangerous or fucking stupid! And yet she has the nerve to accuse me of being a terrible friend?" She began to pace the floor, hands gesticulating wildly. "If I were a terrible friend then I'd actually tell her what the hell I'm thinking! I'd tell her how much I hate her fucking job! How terrified I am every single night, wondering if she's hurt or trapped or dead..."

She inhaled sharply, vision hazed, and rubbed a palm across her chest, a deep ache trapped beneath her breastbone. "But I don't. I keep my mouth shut and I grin and I nod and I let her do whatever the fuck she wants because that's how fucking fantastic I am at being a fucking fantastic friend!" She stopped at the edge of the rug, eyes wide and gleaming, panting furiously.

Luna continued to watch on from her corner of the shop, tone calm and gentle. "Do you feel better now?"

Parvati blinked, remembering the other woman's presence. She flushed, smoothing her hands over her middle. "A little, yeah."

The blonde nodded. "Good. Expressing emotions is healthy. Keeping them bottled inside is toxic to one's mental clarity." Her gaze remained penetrating. "It's toxic to relationships as well."

Parvati glanced up sharply, shaking her head. "If I said any of this to her she'd hate me forever."

"It seems she already knows what's in your heart regardless of words. Perhaps it's the duplicity that upsets her. Saying one thing while thinking another. Honesty can be painful, but sometimes necessary."

Parvati looked away, pushing her bangs aside and running a finger over her long braid. "I can't be honest with her. Not about this. She isn't like us. Things don't roll off her back." She swallowed lightly, the ache deepening. "Lav's sensitive. It would break her heart." She shoulders drew tight. "I can't bear to hurt her."

"You can't bear to lose her."

Parvati turned her head, heart stuttering. Luna smiled softly. "But you won't. She cares for you, Parvati. She wants your love, your acceptance." Her chin lowered, eyes seeming to brighten. "She's just as fearful of losing you."

Parvati's hands clenched at her sides. "She thinks I look down on her." Her voice was thick, throat coated in a corrosive substance, making each word burn on release. "But I don't. She's the strongest person I've ever known. I could never think less of her. Never."

Luna nodded, as though already knowing as much. "I think she would enjoy hearing that."

Parvati's vision suddenly hazed. She turned her head, wiping at her eyes and cursing the useless outpour. "Thanks, Luna."

The blonde shifted at her back. "You're very welcome." By the time Parvati glanced forward her friend was halfway to the door.

"It's getting late. We should close up," Luna said, withdrawing a set of keys from her skirt pocket.

Parvati took a step closer, hands curling tightly. "Luna." The girl stopped at the door, turning in place once more. Parvati wet her lips, voice tense. "You said that man hurts street girls?"

Luna's pale gaze flickered, and for a moment Parvati thought she was in the midst of another vision. But then she blinked and all appeared normal.

"He looks for women in alleys and on corners. Lavender isn't likely to cross his path," Luna said, tone disturbingly unaffected.

Parvati's limbs turned to stone. "Not his." Her jaw ticked. "But there are others. Hiding behind tailored suits and glittering watches… just as violent as the drunks beating their wives in the slums."

A sweltering beat.

And then Luna nodded. "All creatures are dangerous in their own way. Lavender included."

Parvati couldn't contain her laugh, steeped in misery as it was. "Lavender couldn't be dangerous if she tried."

Luna lifted the keys and turned for the door. "You underestimate her." The brass lock clicked loudly as she twisted the metal. "A feral hunger lies within all our hearts, waiting to tear free." She turned the deadbolt by hand. "The hunger to survive. Turning each of us into a lethal predator." And met Parvati's gaze over her shoulder, pale eyes glowing in the darkness. "If properly provoked."

---

Lavender opened her eyes.

And groaned, squeezing them shut as she lifted her head from the pillow, muscles screaming in protest. Her body was stiff, arms heavy as anvils as she attempted to press a hand to her throbbing temple. Her stomach clenched as she tried to sit, the pain nauseating. She collapsed back into the mattress, swallowing heavily, throat parched as she stared at the silk canopy above.

The room was dark, shadows cast by moonlight streaming in through the balcony doors. Her head continued to pulsate in time to her heart. She'd suffered many a hangover, but nothing like this.

She sensed a presence beside her and turned her head, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes from the effort. He laid beside her, facing away, the muscular wall of his back illuminated in the pale glow as he breathed steadily, deep asleep. She blinked, eyes tracing the claw marks marring his tanned flesh. Her stomach clenched again at the sight, prompting her to press her hands to her middle, biting back a cry. She'd never experienced such cramping, hungover or not.

Oh, God, please don't get sick.

The thought of throwing up in his marble covered washroom was too humiliating to bear. And yet… She lurched from the bed, stomach flip-flopping with the motion. Better the marble than the sheets.

She staggered naked from the mattress, cool air meeting her over-sensitized flesh. The feverish heat from earlier still lingered, though far less intense. She glanced around the floor, searching for her dress to no avail. She glanced back to the bed and cringed. The sheet was wrapped firmly around his legs and the comforter was too cumbersome to drag with her. But she really didn't fancy the prospect of running into the asshole butler completely starkers, assuming he was still on the premises. She couldn't remember seeing him later in the evening… then again, she didn't remember much of anything about her evening. The events bled together like watercolors, impossible to carve out separately. All she knew for certain was that she didn't want to see the uptight man again, little less in the buff.

She began spinning in circles, searching for anything of use–

Her heart leaped as she caught sight of a pale sleeve on the ground. She scurried on tiptoes around the bed, desperate not to wake her companion in her current state of nausea. She picked up his discarded dress shirt and slipped it on, cringing as the fabric glided across her arms and back. She paused, examining her limbs in the moonlight. The bite mark was larger than she anticipated. She'd barely noticed it while pressed against the window, consumed by raw fire. All she had felt was the pounding pressure inside her and the hands gripping her tight. But his teeth had left their mark alright, breaking cleanly through the skin.

She swallowed, deeply unsettled by the notion now that she was free of the lust-filled haze. She pulled the sleeves into place and drew a hand over the back of her hip, gasping softly at the sting her fingertips induced. Another bite. Received in the bedroom during their second round. And another mark adorned the back of her thigh, left sometime after their third session. She'd been bitten during sex before, but this was a far cry from the playful nips of adventurous lovers. Then again, she'd never met a man so virile. Surely such stamina wasn't natural...

She shook her head, pushing the thoughts aside and fumbling with the tiny buttons along the front, relieved to see the fabric covered her to mid-thigh. And then she set off through the open doorway, pressing a hand to her middle as her stomach churned anew. She paused at the start of the hall, either wall riddled with closed doors, prompting a sigh of frustration.

Where do the rich hide their bathrooms?

She started forward, grabbing the first handle.

Locked.

Shit.

She crossed the floor to the opposite side, but the handle on the second door was equally frozen. She briefly considered waking him, asking for directions… The marks on her arm and back throbbed. She shook her head, checking the remaining doors before turning the corner and embarking into one of the grand rooms. As she crossed the floor the remaining aches and pains in her body blossomed to life. The moonlight illuminated her pale skin brighter than before, revealing the fingerprint bruises along her calves and forearms. Her heartbeat throbbed in her swollen passage. Every part of her felt like she'd run a marathon.

I suppose I did.

Her stomach gurgled. She closed her eyes, taking a steadying breath.

Don't puke on the rug don't puke on the rug…

Her steps faltered as a floorboard creaked at her back. She gasped, spinning around. But only empty air met her gaze. She swallowed thickly, the motion getting caught in her throat, still painfully dry. She backed away slowly, eyeing the dark doorway she'd just emerged through, wondering if the butler was awake–

A cold breeze swept past. She rubbed absently at her arms, glancing to the window. The pane was shut tight. She shook her head, forcing aside her growing unease and continuing her path to the opposite archway.

When she felt the unmistakable sensation of eyes upon her.

She stopped again, spinning around a second time. But once more the room remained empty, filled with only moonlight and passing headlights from the road far below. She shifted from foot to foot, hands tightening on her arms.

"Hello?" she asked slowly, holding her breath.

Silence.

She stepped back, heart in her throat. Screw the washroom. She needed to find her clothes and leave. She'd worry about sorting out the payment later.

Home. I want to go home.

Parvati's face flashed through her mind unexpectedly, causing her intestines to squirm like a barrel of eels. She placed a hand to her mouth and spun to face the wall, willing the contents of her stomach at bay when her eyes were caught by a strange sight. The portrait hanging directly before her featured a young woman in an elaborate gown, gaze narrowed and fixed upon her. Lavender shifted to the side but the eyes remained steady. She shook her head.

It happens with all portraits, idiot.

But the woman's eerie gaze wasn't what drew her attention. Rather, it was her arm, held aloft at her side, finger pointing to the left side of the frame. Lavender blinked, eyes automatically following the motion as though the stationary figure was directing her to something. And then her eyes fell on the portrait beside it.

She swayed back, heart skipping painfully. The young man in the neighboring frame stared at her from a handsome chiseled face, hand held aloft and pointing to the left as well. She rubbed her eyes, taking a deep breath.

They're just posing. It doesn't mean anything…

Her half-hearted assurances did nothing to alleviate her rising dread. And she could no longer deny the simple truth of the matter. Shit was getting weird.

She tore her gaze away, walking ahead with her shoulders drawn back, braced for whatever madness lie ahead, only to slow her steps a second later, unable to ignore the watchful eyes tracking her every movement. Her fists clenched tight, knees locking in place as her eyes flickered to the portraits hanging beside her once more. She'd inadvertently progressed in the direction they indicated, and the third painting in the row was no different from its predecessors. Another young man pointed to the edge of his baroque frame, eyes staring out from a haunted visage. She released a slow breath, trying to keep her racing thoughts contained, helpless to keep her feet from following his silent command.

Only to stop at the fourth frame.

This portrait was unlike the rest, featuring not a person but a landscape as its subject. The windows on the opposite wall cast bright moonlight across the massive canvas but did nothing to diminish the dark atmosphere the picture exuded. It was a heavily wooded terrain, the trees tall and narrow, twisted into grotesque shapes, their long branches petrified and dead. The sky was a stormy grey, as void of life as the forest beneath. She felt chills erupt along her arms and bare legs as her heartbeat echoed through her ears on an endless dizzying loop.

But what was most unsettling was the realism of the image, the stunning detail captured in every brushstroke. In fact, the longer she stared upon the portrait the more it seemed to come to life before her very eyes. The dead branches swayed in the same gentle breeze she felt ghost across her skin, dried leaves dancing along the forest floor as the raging sky churned above, treacherous dark cloud sweeping in. She held her breath, squeezing her eyes shut for the space of several stuttered beats before prying her lids open, muscles tensed.

The painting was lifeless once more, trees frozen in place, clouds flat and two dimensional. She shook her head, stepping back.

I'm losing my mind.

She ran a hand over her sweat-slicked face.

I must still be drunk…

Not an appealing prospect, but certainly superior to madness. She started to turn away when her eyes fell upon the surrounding portraits. Their eyes remained fixed upon her with such intensity it was as though they were set to burst free of their canvases. A bead of sweat trickled down her nape, cold as death. She released her breath in a rush, hesitating beneath their watchful gazes. It was as if they were waiting for something. Almost like…

She turned her focus to the wooded landscape a second time.

Like they want me to do something.

She spent no time reflecting on the sheer insanity of the notion, long past rationality. She stepped closer to the wall, studying it more closely, wondering what made this painting worthy of a place in his collection. She raised a hand, hovering it above the image, inexplicably terrified of touching it. So she reached for the frame instead, gripping the corner of the metal and gasping as it gave way at her touch. At first she thought the portrait was falling off the wall, but the center of the painting remained fixed as the corners rotated. She wet her lips, tugging a bit harder, jolting when a loud click sounded from behind the canvas.

And then the wall opened.

She turned rigid with shock, staring at the dark gap behind the exposed panel, stepping away to gaze fully upon the revealed doorway. The seam along the edges was nearly invisible, easily disguised by the sea of portraits. She started to step forward–

Only to rear back, hands raised against an invisible force drawing her in.

This is crazy. You have no business going in there.

She took a steadying breath, arms dropping.

Close the damn wall, find the bathroom and then find your dress.

Yes. Going home sounded marvelous.

And yet, for reasons she couldn't begin to fathom, she started forward once more, reaching for the panel and pulling it wide, revealing a short dark hallway and closed door at its end.

Shut. The. Fucking. Wall.

She stepped into the narrow corridor, glancing over her shoulder to the empty room at her back, searching the shadowed corners for signs of movement.

This is the most stupid thing you've ever done and that's really saying something…

She turned forward, progressing swiftly over the cold floor, pulse skipping in time to her hurried steps, reaching the door in a blur of seconds. Her hand hovered over the knob, a great weight pressing upon her chest.

What am I doing?

She separated from her body, hovering directly above it as she watched her fingers wrap around the handle, turning slowly and pushing the barrier in. It gave way without effort, the hinges silently bending to reveal a pitch black interior. And suddenly she was plummeting back into herself, staring through her own eyes and swaying in place, dizzy with vertigo. She placed a steadying hand to either side of the frame, inhaling sharply as her senses slowly returned.

She pushed back from the doorway and spun to face the hall, eager to put as much distance between herself and the darkness as possible when a gentle gust of wind hit across her back, blowing strands of her hair forward. She shook her head, refusing to look.

"Lavender."

She gasped, jolting a foot into the air before spinning in place… facing the dark swirling abyss with wide eyes. The disembodied whisper seemed to emanate from within the room.

"H-Hello?"

She cringed at her own stupidity.

You imagined it you imagined it you imagined it...

And if she didn't, she certainly didn't want to start conversing with it. But she felt the strange out-of-body sensation from before taking hold, mind splitting from her motor skills, her feet padding softly ahead of their own accord. The phenomena frightened her far more than the strange whisper. Yet surely the disturbing connections were interlaced, both symptoms of budding insanity.

Marvelous. Something new and exciting to contend with.

And then her feet were crossing the threshold, submerging her into total darkness.

She came back to her senses a moment later, scrambling backward and colliding with the wall just beside the doorway, something hard prodding into her spine. She slid aside, fumbling for the light switch, gasping with fear and relief as light flooded the room at last, blinding her with white. She squinted, shielding her gaze from the overhead bulbs as her eyes adjusted, hazy shapes appearing. She held her breath, blinking rapidly as her vision cleared but the white remained.

Sheets. Covering nearly every surface.

The room itself was small and densely packed, items lining every wall. She assumed they were tables at first, but as she edged closer and pulled back a corner of pale fabric she saw a flash of gold. Frames. She dropped the material, glancing around once more, the rectangular outlines suddenly apparent. Portraits were stacked in rows and tilted against every bit of wall space. There must have been over a hundred.

He told you there was artwork in storage.

Another breeze swept past, tugging at the hem of her shirt and the ends of her hair, drawing her gaze with it. The room bore no windows. But something did catch her eye...

She blinked, gaze affixed to a standing portrait at the center of the room, covered like all the rest. But unlike its neighbors this one stood on an easel, raising it to eye-level. Her pulse throbbed in her wrists and knees as she drew closer and closer, standing directly before the canvas at last. She reached for the sheet, fingers hovering at the corner of the fabric as her vision dimmed at the edges. She gathered a handful of material, holding her breath as she slowly pulled it back–

"There you are."

She screamed, releasing the fabric and colliding with a stack of portraits, flushing hotly as she met a familiar pair of amber eyes. She swallowed heavily, pressing a hand to her chest as her heart raced uncontrollably. "I'm so sorry," she said without thought.

He raised a dark brow, tucking his hands into his pockets and stepping fully into the room. He wore loose cotton trousers and no shirt, muscled abdomen on full display and bearing scratches and bruises that caused her blush to deepen.

"You apologize far too much, Lady Brown."

He started a measured path towards her. She drew back at his approach, only to breathe a sigh of relief as she saw the blatant amusement in his expression. She brought a hand to her arm instinctively, covering the area of his bite with her palm.

He followed the movement with gleaming eyes. "I was worried when I woke up to an empty bed."

She tried not to fidget. "I didn't want to wake you. I was feeling–"

"Hungry."

She blinked. "No… I felt ill."

He tilted his head, searching her face before stopping a few feet away. "And got lost looking for the washroom no doubt."

She burned hotter yet, certain her face would catch flame at any moment. Her muscles tensed beyond her control, as though her body was preparing for something without bothering to clue her in on the plan.

"I…" she started, but she was too overcome by tonight's events to construct a seamless lie.

He smiled, the rest of his body eerily still beyond the steady rise and fall of his chest. "It's alright. I have nothing to hide."

She quickly shook her head, gripping the covered frames at her back. "Of course not, I didn't mean…" Her thoughts stuttered. She settled for something simple. "I shouldn't have come in here."

His eyes were unrelenting, swallowing her whole. "How did you find this room?"

She took a slow breath, opening her mouth but no words emerged.

His smile deepened. "I was right about you."

She blinked, gripping the frames tighter. "Right about what?"

"You really do see the world differently. More than anyone could possibly know or appreciate."

She swallowed. "I don't…"

He reached forward swiftly, brushing the hair from her shoulder. "Don't be nervous. You've made it this far with your head held high, don't cower now."

She blinked again, pressing further back, a prickling sensation erupting along her nape and down her spine, electrifying her.

"What do you–"

"Did you look beneath the sheet?" He gestured to the standing portrait beside them.

Her thoughts surged and collided, folding in on themselves until the only concept she could grasp was fear. She released a slow breath, voice barely above a whisper. "No."

He leaned in, speaking low, as though conveying a secret. "Would you like to?"

Her arms drew taut as she gripped the metal frames with all her strength. "Actually, I should be going." His resounding silence echoed through her head, more deafening than her own heartbeat. She tried to force a smile, failing miserably. "I've had a wonderful time, but the hour is late and–"

"Lift the sheet, Lavender."

She blinked, vision spotting as tears filled her gaze. "I don't want to."

He licked his lips. "Yes. You do." His eyes flickered rapidly between hers. "They all do."

She held her breath, pushing away from the wall with every intent of sprinting for freedom. Yet her feet remained firmly planted, body swaying precariously with the heavy throb of her arteries. She blinked twice as he drew closer, effectively closing off her escape route.

"Go ahead." He gestured with his chin, eyes unnaturally bright. "Look."

I don't want to look. Please don't make me...

But she lifted her hand all the same, eager and desperate to leave, willing to do whatever it took to appease him. She bit her lip and gazed at the covered portrait, grabbing the edge of the sheet once more.

She took a deep breath and pulled, wrenching it off the canvas in a single tug, ready to get the unnerving task over with. The painting came into view. She gasped, dropping the fabric and staggering back, screaming outright when her back collided with a warm wall of flesh. He stood behind her. She never saw him move…

He grasped her arms in an iron grip, holding her captive before the image, trapped in the midst of the sinister energy it emitted, raking across her skin like static, coiling around her limbs like vines. He lowered his head, lips at her ear. "Everyone has a story. I won't let yours be forgotten." She tried to wrench forward but he pulled her back, spine pinned to the solid wall of his chest. "Shh, it's alright, pet."

She screamed, throat scorched raw by the effort, the sound cut off abruptly as a large hand grasped her neck, squeezing her airway shut. She gasped and sputtered, thrashing wildly, clawing at the restraining hand as his other arm looped around her waist and pressed until she was certain her pelvis would break. He continued speaking softly in her ear as she fought for her life. "No more pain. No more suffering." White spots appeared before her vision, muscles seared by fire, screaming out for oxygen. "Your beauty won't go to waste."

She clawed at his forearm, nails caked red with his blood, head swelling like a balloon, the pressure so immense she was certain her eyes would pop out of their sockets and roll across the floor.

"You'll live on forever, Lavender."

Her feet went cold, legs numb, strength leaving her all at once. He sank with her to the floor, hand squeezing tighter, but the pain was less. The lights were less. Everything was less.

Her arms went limp next, falling useless to the ground as tears overflowed her bloodshot eyes, soaking into her hairline. The cold spread higher and higher as though she was sinking into an ice lake. Her vision filled with white, only his smiling face visible at the center.

"Just as I promised."

The words came from a great distance, their meaning lost to her fading mind. And then he disappeared from view. Her head sank beneath the dark water, the white dimmed to black.

And then there was nothing.

---

Hermione carefully sidestepped a pile of broken glass, accepting Harry's offered hand as he helped her navigate a path down the debris-strewn alley. She'd insisted on coming with him to visit the lab, needing to see the evidence with her own two eyes to truly wrap her mind around what was happening. She'd witnessed something bizarre last night, but this morning it all felt like an intangible dream. Her office wall remained as broken as her memories, but viewing the corpse would solidify this new terrifying reality.

Harry had spent the remainder of the night sitting guard on her couch, as restless as she felt. She'd eventually gone into her father's room and taken up residence in his armchair, watching him sleep while her mind warred against her, overcome with the evening's many revelations.

Vampires.

Needless to say, she only breathed a sigh of relief the moment the sun broke the horizon. Harry had insisted the creatures couldn't expose themselves to the light. Still, it had been a harrowing feat leaving her father behind in Susan's keep. Hermione trusted the young woman whole-heartedly, but she doubted the stranger cared who he hurt on his path to get to her.

"We'll speak again soon, Hermione Granger."

His parting words rang through her ears, insistent as an alarm. She shook her head, desperate to dispel the lingering fear. Harry seemed to sense her unease, glancing sideways as they navigated around a busted crate.

"You okay?" he asked, voice measured with false calm.

She nodded quickly, tucking her hair behind her ear as she glanced their surroundings, desperate for a change in topic. "Yes, just shocked to see the state of things. The neighborhood has really gone downhill."

He continued to study her carefully. "Please tell me you haven't come down here alone."

She met his eye. "Of course not. I haven't spoken to Nott since before you left."

He nodded, gazing ahead with an expression of contentment. Her chest tightened, dark emotions rapidly surfacing.

"I'd hoped he might reach out to me." She pulled her hand from Harry's grip, crossing her arms as they continued forward. "But it was just another dead end."

"I'm sorry, Mione."

"It was foolish to expect anything. Research hospitals have endless resources at their disposal and still can't find a cure. Nott works out of a warehouse for Christ's sake."

"Still… he's smart."

She nodded, eyes fixed on the door ahead. "I know. But even the most brilliant minds need funding." A heavy sigh escaped her lips. "I should know." She blinked, glancing up as a flush stained her cheeks. "That sounded terribly conceited. I didn't mean–"

"Relax, Mione, I know what you meant." His grin was warm. "And you are brilliant. I don't know why you're so reluctant to admit it."

She smiled lightly, carefully leaping over a stack of rotting newspaper. "Perhaps I grew tired of hearing our schoolmates brag about their social pedigrees."

His smile faded at once. "Fair enough. Malfoy certainly tossed around his father's name with more precision than a fucking ball."

She shook her head. "You're never going to let that go are you?"

"He lost us the championship."

"You were so hungover you couldn't walk straight."

"Maybe so. But I threw straight, that's what mattered."

She rolled her eyes. "The two of you are impossible."

He raised a dark brow, steps slowing as they approached the far wall. "Wait. Does that bastard still talk shit about me?"

The corner of her lips turned up as she came to a stop. "Let's try and focus."

His jaw tensed, emeralds glinting in his faceted gaze, but he let the subject drop, directing his attention forward. She squirmed anxiously as he pounded the side of his fist against the metal gate, the booming echo vibrating through her bones.

Her spine straightened as he sidled closer, casting his voice low. "Remember what we talked about."

She swallowed, nodding shortly as footsteps sounded on the other side of the barrier. Locks slid free and then the door was opening, a familiar pale face appearing, outlined by eerie green light. His eyes narrowed on Harry first and then flickered to her, widening. "Granger."

She tipped her head in polite greeting. "Hello, Nott."

He shifted back, continuing to stare at her unblinking. Harry glanced between them, raising a brow. Nott broke the silence at last. "I…" His mouth hung open for several beats. "I wasn't expecting you."

Harry stepped closer, earning the other man's attention. "I brought her to see the body."

The words seemed to free Nott from his momentary lapse. He drew back, opening the door wide. "Of course. Come in."

He shifted to the railing, allowing them room to pass, meeting her eye as she crossed the threshold. She read the conflict in his expression, surprised by his reaction but understanding it nonetheless. She nodded gently and knew her message was received as he breathed an obvious sigh of relief, shoulders relaxing as Harry entered next, seemingly oblivious to their silent exchange.

Nott closed the door and led the path down the narrow metal staircase. Hermione clung to the railing on either side, slowing positioning her heels atop each step as they descended. She stumbled on the last one, gasping with relief as Harry's rapid-fire reflexes kicked in, strong hands grasping her waist from behind and steading her before she fell. She smiled in gratitude as she emerged on the lower level, watching in amusement as he hopped the last two steps and landed beside her with a boyish grin. He was ten-years-old again, and for just a moment everything was alright.

And then Nott cleared his throat, drawing her gaze forward and reminding her just how far from alright they all stood.

Harry shifted forward, glancing at a metal table in the center of the room covered in equipment. "Where is it?"

"Storage. I needed the counter space."

She eyed the endless sea of beakers and Petri dishes, watching the colorful steam pour from the top of a bubbling mixture at the center of the mess. The scene was straight out of a gothic horror novel. She was transported back to her childhood for the second time in as many minutes, reminded of the many nights she and Harry avoided sleep by reading fantasy books by flashlight, huddled beneath the comforter. The memory invoked a strange pain in her chest, quickly dispelled as Harry pulled her attention back to the present with his next words. "What is all this? I thought you were focusing on the vampire?"

Nott cringed, shaking his head as he approached the center table. "These are all derived from the researchsubject."

Harry rolled his eyes before stepping to the edge of the workspace, eying a row of blood cultures with disinterest. Hermione doubted he knew what he was looking at. "Didn't we clear this up last time?" he asked.

Nott scowled. "I'm not going to throw around that utterly ridiculous term, Potter. Vampires aren't based in reality. I intend to strip away the fantasy and expose the scientific truth behind whatever this condition truly is."

Harry's gaze narrowed but before he spoke Hermione stepped forward, hands tensed at her sides.

"He really burst into flame in the sunlight?" She asked tentatively, trying to keep her tone unaffected.

Nott met her eye swiftly… and smirked, clearly unfooled by her calm demeanor. "Would you like to see?"

She shared a loaded look with Harry. Then they both glanced forward, speaking in eager unison.

"Yes."

. . .

They crowded the narrow landing, shoulders nearly pressing as they hovered before the door, Nott standing at the center with a thick glass plate in hand. A tissue sample sat at the center, bloody and ominous. His rubber gloves creaked loudly as he slid the lock aside, glancing to his left and meeting her eye.

"Ready?" he asked.

She nodded, adjusting her goggles and stepping back, allowing Harry room to shift forward and pull the barrier away.

Sunlight streamed in.

Her eyes fastened to the dish, mesmerized by the transformation already taking place. The skin sizzled and popped, rapidly blackening and curling in on itself before erupting into a powerful blaze. She gasped, leaping in place as the flames shot up, incinerating the small mass before dying out, leaving behind a mound of charred ash.

Hermione slowly glanced up, meeting Harry's wide gaze through the thick goggles, his expression largely mirroring her own. And then she glanced to Nott. He grinned maniacally, eyes glowing brightly.

"Brilliant," he whispered, voice edged in awe.

Harry drew a hand over his mouth. "That's not the word that comes to mind."

Nott's enthusiasm burned away as quickly as the fire. "It must be difficult having such limited vocabulary."

Harry scowled, starting to respond but Hermione shifted closer, ignoring their exchange. "How is this possible?" she asked, still focused upon the dark ashes.

Nott looked up from the dish, sunlight reflecting in his gaze. "That's what I intend to figure out."

. . .

Minutes later they surrounded the metal table once more. Harry braced his hands along the edge while Hermione folded her hands before skirt, listening with attentive care as Nott gestured to each item in turn.

"I started with the blood. I was looking for possible explanations for the advanced coagulation that manifested within an hour of the host's expiration." He held her gaze from across the long workstation. "White and red blood cell count appear normal, but their walls are abnormally thick. I found this to be the case with the bone, skin and muscle samples as well, allowing the cells to survive an abnormal length of time."

She blinked, heart skipping as she leaned forward, drawn by the mystery his words invoked. "Apoptosis?"

He raised a brow, eyes sweeping her face as though impressed. "That possibility had crossed my mind, but I was able to rule it out after extended observation. The cells do eventually die…" The floor vibrated beneath her feet with the intensity of his words. "However, they don't seem to age."

She swayed back. "Age?"

"Programmed aging and cell death are two distinct processes. The cultures show no evidence of cellular senescence or DNA oxidation or methylation."

She absorbed his words. "But that's…" and shook her head, at a loss. "That's impossible. All complex organisms age."

Nott arched a dark brow. "This one seemed to have stopped."

She drew in a slow breath, eyes drifting to the various beakers as he began a slow pace around the table.

"Which led me to perform amino acid dating." He stopped before a metal contraption she'd never seen before. "Naturally I became curious about the age of our subject, and the state of his corpse upon arrival left few clues to shed light on the matter, pun intended."

She couldn't help but smirk at his ill-timed quip, shocked he was able to maintain a sense of humor in the midst of such brewing insanity. But her mood rapidly sobered as she took in the rest of his statement. "What was wrong with the body when it arrived?"

Harry crossed his arms, standing guard at his side of the table. "He looked like a shriveled cock."

Hermione scowled, glancing at her friend with sharp disapproval. "Honestly, Harry."

He met her narrowed gaze without shame. "That's God's honest truth."

She shook her head, peering back at Nott. "Ignore him. Please continue."

He did just that, focusing all his attention on Hermione. "As I was saying…" Harry rolled his eyes but offered no retort. "Based on the bone sample, the subject was approximately a century old at the time of his death."

Hermione felt the blood drain from her head, swaying with the sudden rush. Harry seemed similarly affected, arms slowly dropping to his sides, voice barely above a whisper. "Fucking hell. They really are vampires." His emerald gaze alighted on the other man, who once again appeared supremely annoyed. "You can't be serious, Nott. Listen to your own goddamn words! We're dealing with a hundred-year-old creature that bursts into flames in the sunlight!"

"I already told you, I'm approaching this from a strictly scientific standpoint."

"And what difference does that make? It doesn't change what they actually are."

"Perhaps not. But it will help us understand how they work, and perhaps even how to combat the infection."

Hermione stepped forward so quickly she nearly lost her footing. "Infection?"

Nott blinked, seeming to recall her presence. "Yes." He turned to face her fully. "I believe the DNA is being altered by a virus originating in the white blood cells."

Her eyes widened. "You've isolated it?"

"I've attempted to." He gestured to the organized chaos spread out before them. "I'm still in very early stages obviously, but I'm trying to discern how the virus attacks healthy DNA and RNA."

Her brows drew together, heart racing. "Using what as your control?"

"Mice."

Harry pushed away from the table in a startling burst of motion, throwing up his hands. "This is ridiculous! We already know what it does. We don't need an army of vampire mice, we need a way to stop these bastards!"

Hermione swallowed, unsettled by this uncharacteristic hostility. "Harry, calm down."

He rounded her, the gold surrounding his pupils seeming brighter than moments before. "I can't calm down! You were attacked, Hermione!"

Nott drew back, turning to her as well. "You were attacked by one of the infected?"

She sighed, drawing a hand through her hair. "Yes. Last night."

Harry nodded, stepping towards the other man with his shoulders drawn back as though poised for a fight. "Which is why we need to know how to kill them when the sun is down."

To his credit, Nott didn't seem phased by the threat presented. In fact, he glanced away from Harry altogether, staring at the table with a faraway look in his eyes. "There's more of them…" He rubbed a hand along his chin, eyes gleaming. "Which means it really is a virus." He smiled. "I was right."

Harry scowled, stopping his approach with only a few feet to spare. "And we're all very happy for you. But it doesn't matter how they work, it only matters how they die."

Nott's head snapped up, gaze narrowed. "It's all connected, idiot. I must understand the basics of how they operate to know how to cease that operation."

Harry's fists clenched, prompting Hermione to leap forward, placing a staying hand on his arm as she attempted to redirect his focus.

"How did you stop the man in the park?" she asked quickly.

He blinked, tensing as he peered down at her. "A steel pipe through the chest."

Nott scoffed loudly, drawing both their focus. "I'll say. You nearly severed his heart in half."

Harry's arm tightened beneath her touch. "A stake through the heart… just like the legends."

Nott rolled his eyes, stepping away with blatant dismissal. Harry pulled free of her hold, following the man around the table. "Until you can disprove otherwise I'm not ruling anything out."

Nott stopped in his tracks, laughing bitterly. "What sound logic, Potter. Perhaps I should swing by the market for some garlic then?"

"Why not? That's your kink, right? Experimentation?"

Nott turned to Hermione. "How can you tolerate such stupidity?"

She cringed, sensing the mounting storm brewing within her friend. Gold lightning struck in his gaze, threatening to overtake the green. She wet her lips tentatively, stepping closer. "Perhaps Harry has a point."

Nott stiffened, staring at her as though she sprouted a third arm from her stomach. "You can't be serious."

She carefully maneuvered herself around her friend's rigid form, standing between the two men, confident Harry would never risk her safety no matter his rising temper. "Until we know more I don't see the harm in taking extra precaution, no matter how foolish we may think it is."

Nott scoffed once more. "I am not stringing garlic around my laboratory." And then crossed his arms, his ill-fitting lab coat stretching tight over his chest and arms, making him appear more petulant child than mad scientist. "Besides, I can't abide the odor."

Harry raised a dark brow, voice sardonic but blessedly calm. "This place smells like a rotting corpse."

"Thank you for that astute observation."

Her shoulders relaxed, confident they were past their trivial argument. "It's alright. There are other things we can do." She turned to Harry. "Crosses, right?"

Nott made another sound of discontent but remained silent. Harry ignored him, holding her gaze. "Yes. And mirrors."

She tilted her head. "Mirrors?"

"Vampires don't cast a reflection." He shrugged one shoulder. "Supposedly."

She bit her lip, gaze drifting back to the table. "Alright..." Her mind raced, trying to turn the information into something useful. Inspiration struck. She stood straighter, glancing up with a smile. "Then we'll carry vanity compacts when we're in public–"

"Granger."

She blinked, jaw snapping shut as she turned to face Nott. His arms were still crossed, feet spread in a stance of defiance.

"You're far too intelligent for this bullshit."

She sensed movement at her back, hearing Harry's sharp intake of breath as he prepared to speak. She pressed a hand to his chest, silencing him while she continued to hold Nott's eye.

"Yesterday morning I would have readily agreed with you, Theo." She watched him rock back, struck by the force of hearing his first name. She released Harry, continuing calmly, though her words radiated a quiet intensity. "But last night a man came into my home and hurt me. Then he threatened to hurt my father."

Nott swallowed, arms lowering to his sides.

"I've never felt so scared and helpless. And I'll do whatever it takes to never feel that way again. No matter how silly. No matter how far-fetched." She lifted her chin, eyes glinting in the green light. "If there's even the faintest chance one of these things can protect me and my loved ones then I'm going to do it."

A heavy beat.

"And I hope you will, too. You're in just as much danger as us. If the infected are truly ageless they've been able to protect their secret for a very long time. How do you think they've managed that?" She held his gaze steady. "Please don't place your pride before your safety. And if you aren't as concerned about your life as I am, then think about the research. I know that matters to you."

The silence following her impassioned speech was heavier than the words themselves. But as he finally broke from his rigid stance she sensed surrender in his posture. He shifted back, walking slowly to the table and gripping the edge.

"Holy water," he muttered, facing away.

She blinked.

And then smiled, nodding with enthusiasm. "That's right." She turned to Harry, eyes bright. "We can collect some from St. Augustine." Her mind raced for other possibilities. A random thought occurred to her, half-formed from hazy childhood memories. "What about silver?"

Had she not already been focused upon him she would have certainly missed his reaction for he worked to mask it as quickly as it came. But she caught it. The flash of fear in his eyes. The same look he bore when he burst into her house last night following her desperate pleas. She searched his gaze, noticing the gold had faded once more. Surely it had all been a trick of the light. Another unsettling illusion festering within her mind.

But her observations were abruptly halted as he spoke, voice strangely hollow. "Yeah." He cleared his throat. "It burns their skin."

She nodded slowly, still studying his face when Nott drew her focus to his perch beside the table.

"If we're really going to base our assumptions off fairy tales, then theoretically we should all be safe as long as we stay indoors after sundown."

Hermione shook her head, chest tightening at the memory of her evening. "Trust me, a locked door isn't going to stop them."

Nott released the table to lean against the edge, facing them with casual repose, seeming to embrace the absurdity at last. "A vampire can't enter unless invited."

Hermione blinked. His words echoed through the vast caverns of her mind followed by a faint, distant hum. She swallowed thickly, swaying in place. Nott raised a brow, eyeing her speculatively.

"What's wrong?"

She turned around slowly, knees stiff and hands clenched as she met Harry's gaze. His expression matched her own line for line. And for the second time that afternoon they uttered the same thought in unison.

"Shit."

---

Ron kicked at a stray rock, eyes narrowed as he watched it skid along the sidewalk and bounce off the side of a fence post, rage still simmering.

The Idiot Duo had forced him to walk home after his impromptu visit to their flat, but not before laughing outright in his face and calling him a gullible horse's ass. According to the twins, Harry was having a good old fashioned laugh at their youngest brother's expense, which they were more than keen to share in. Then they'd kicked him out, refusing to drive him back to the Burrow before their shift started.

If only Charlie had been home. He was the traveler among the group, the adventurer, the one who'd seen and done the most. Surely he'd encountered enough weird shit during his exotic escapades to believe Harry's story, or at least not dismiss it outright.

Ron drew a hand through his hair, glancing away from the cracked pavement to the stretch of homes ahead, finally turning onto his street after trekking across nearly half the damn borough. Money was tight and he refused to waste a single dime on an overpriced cab when he had two perfectly functional legs. Shame over his recent unemployment was a lingering burden and he intended to conserve every penny unless it strictly related to finding his sister. His parents had agreed quitting his job was for the best, no sacrifice was too great where Ginny was concerned. But not being able to contribute to the monthly bills was a great blow to his pride, especially since his father took on twice the workload just to make the mortgage payment. And all the while, Ron had yet to find a single solid lead on his sister's whereabouts. No shred of proof she was even alive…

Until now. Because he knew with every fiber of his being her disappearance was connected to whatever the fuck he and Harry dragged into Nott's secret laboratory. Just as he knew she had been kidnapped. Just as his mother knew she was still alive. For the first time in two weeks he felt a surge of hope, bright and intoxicating, and he planned to chase the lead down to its very bitter end, no matter the danger or cost.

The Burrow came into view at long last, the muscles in his thighs and sides burning in protest even as his heart skipped in relief. He swallowed heavily, fantasizing about a tall glass of cool water when movement caught his eye on the porch. Someone stood from the swinging bench. He blinked, steps faltering as he caught sight of a feminine shape, their face blocked by a hanging plant.

Blood rushed to his head, his pulse a deafening thud in his ears.

Ginny…

He sprinted forward without further thought, sneakers pounding the sidewalk hard as a heady rush of adrenaline suffused his limbs. He leaped over a flowering bush, toes kicking red petals into the air as he stumbled on the landing, quickly regaining his momentum and racing closer closer closer–

He skidded to a stop, nearly toppling over with the force of his shock as the woman's face came into view. She held his gaze, stepping to the edge of the porch, arms tightly crossed. He blinked, drawing a hand over his sweaty face before walking numbly to the picket fence. "Patil?"

Her eyes narrowed to murderous slits as she stomped down the stairs. "It's about goddamn time, I've been sitting out here for an hour."

He blinked again. "What…" And shook his head as she started up the stone path. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to talk to you. Obviously."

He wet his lips, finally convinced this wasn't an exhaustion-induced hallucination. "How did you find my house?"

She continued to hold his gaze steady, face pinched in acute derision. "Apparently everyone in Queens knows your family. Seems your brothers have stolen from every block between here and Woodside."

"More like Elmhurst."

She rolled her eyes, perching her hands on her hips as she stopped on the other side of the gate. He adjusted his stance, leveling her with a distrustful look.

"What's going on?"

She was silent for several moments, jaw tensing as though chewing on the words, unwilling to share them. Finally she relented, arms dropping and hands curling to fists. "Lavender didn't come home last night."

He tilted his head. "What do you mean?"

Her scowl deepened. "What do you mean what do I mean? How stupid are you?"

"Fucking hell. Take it easy, you came here."

"Trust me, you were the very last resort."

Now it was his turn to award her with his most irritated glare, shoulders leveling beneath his sweat-drenched shirt. "I'm sure Lav is fine."

"And I'm sure she isn't."

He drew in a slow breath, forcing his expression and body to relax, a harrowing task. "She was meeting a new client. She probably just stayed the night."

Patil shook her head, dark eyes flashing. "She never stays the night."

"There's a first time for everything."

She huffed loudly, reaching for the fence door. "I knew coming here was a mistake. You're as useless as I thought." She pulled it open and started to push past. He grabbed her arm on instinct, opening his mouth to attempt and reason with her once more, only to stagger back as she violently wrenched free, drawing her other arm back with a raised fist, poised to strike. He lifted both hands, backing away quickly.

"Whoa! Take it easy!"

"Don't ever touch me without my permission!"

He opened and closed his mouth, hands still raised. "Trust me, I have no desire to touch you either way."

She searched his face and slowly dropped her arm, though her fist remained balled. He took it as a truce, pushing forward before their argument exploded to life once more.

"Alright." He crossed his arms, tone calm and paced. "Why do you think she's missing?"

She swayed in place, seeming to contemplate storming off anyway. But after another tense beat she continued, voice tight and clipped as though forcing the information free. "Because she never stays out all night. It's part of our agreement."

He tipped his head, brows knitting together. "Agreement?"

She glanced away, eyes darting aimlessly across the overgrown lawn. "At first I figured she was trying to punish me, but when she didn't show this morning I knew–"

"Wait, wait, slow down–"

"There isn't time to slow down!" Her gaze snapped to attention, bright with hell flame. "Are you going to help me look for her or not?"

"What do you mean punish you?"

She groaned, tossing her hands up and stepping back. "Forget it! You'll only slow me down anyway!"

She spun on her heal, dark braid swinging as she started down the sidewalk, moving with great speed and purpose. Ron cursed silently and darted after her. "Parvati, wait." He'd hoped using her first name would earn her attention but she continued forward without pause, rounding the corner in the next beat. He was hot at her heels, hand reaching up to grab her shoulder–

He sighed, dropped his arm and racing ahead, turning to face her as he held both arms aloft, blocking her path. Her face twisted with rage as she attempted to duck beneath or around his reach. He stopped her at each turn, careful not to touch her outright. She stomped her foot and met his gaze at last.

"Move asshole!"

"I want to help."

She shook her head, attempting to dodge around him yet again. "I don't want your help."

"I know. But you need it."

She froze in place, one foot on the grass and one in the street, meeting his eye with equal parts resignation and anger. He slowly dropped his arms, continuing before she took off again.

"If we're going to work together we have to put our differences aside." A beat. "For Lavender."

The weight of his words set upon them both. She swallowed heavily, stepping back onto the curb and lifting her chin. "Something really is wrong. I'm not being paranoid."

He nodded slowly. "I believe you." And gestured to the house. "My parents are out, come inside and tell me everything you know." He held her gaze. "And then we'll search for her."

She drew in a deep breath, expression carefully blank. "We have to find her. If we don't…"

His hands curled around empty air at his sides. "We will." He took a step back, starting up the sidewalk. "We will."

---

Theo rubbed his stiff shoulder, leaning away from the microscope with a pained groan, unable to stare through the lens a moment longer. He stretched his arms overhead, tilting his neck to either side to alleviate the tension. His eyes burned with strain and exhaustion but sleep was out of the question. There was too much to do, endless hours of work ahead, countless formulations to try and trials to run… he could sleep when he was dead.

He lowered his arms and pushed to his feet, glancing to the clock on the far wall as he stretched his legs. Perfect.

Feeding time.

He made his way to one of the storage shelves and grabbed a small metal dish, filling it with dried fruit, seeds and grains from the neighboring container. He crossed the room to the sheet covered cages, gently shaking his bounty.

"Lunchtime, darling." He grabbed the corner of the fabric and started to pull it up. "And how's my favorite patient do–"

He stopped short, blinking upon spotting the empty cage.

"Abigail?" He pulled the sheet higher, revealing the side of the enclosure. The metal wires were bent and gnawed, creating a small opening that fed into the neighboring cage. He pulled the sheet higher yet, suddenly realizing how strange the silence was.

The bowl fell from his hand, hitting the cement with a metallic clatter, dried pellets scattering in every direction as he took in the horrific sight before him. He stood frozen, transfixed, cold sweet erupting along his entire frame–

A loud pounding sounded at the door. He jolted in place, releasing the sheet and spinning on his heel to stare at the landing above, mind still racing. Until his thoughts stuttered to a single memory. Granger's ominous warning from hours earlier.

"You're in just as much danger as us."

He swallowed tightly, eyes rapidly darting around his lab, searching out a possible weapon. He didn't keep a firearm on sight. In the event the police came raiding his stores he wanted one less charge to his name. Gun violence was rapidly on the rise and authorities didn't take kindly to civilians in possession of automatic weapons, registered or otherwise.

But now that precaution felt foolishly short-sighted. The banging echoed through the room once more, loud and insistent. His visitor wasn't going anywhere. Theo paced to the center table and grabbed a long and narrow beaker constructed of double-plated glass, heavy enough to strike an injuring blow. If he had the nerve to take the swing.

He crossed to the steps, hesitating at the bottom for several moments, heart in his throat. He finally began the trek upward as the knocking took on a hurried quality. His shoulders tightened even as he tried to reassure himself with half-formed platitudes.

Vampires would hardly knock. They'd wrench the door off the frame…

Or turn into a bat and come through the ducts.

He shook his head at his own stupidity. It seemed fear and intelligence were mutually exclusive. Or perhaps Potter was finally wearing off on him. The latter prospect was even more terrifying than a supernatural killer in his midst.

He raised the beaker overhead as he reached the landing, the railing pressing into his lower back as he stood as far back from the door as possible without plunging headfirst to the cement. He wet his lips, a powerful tremor running the length of his body as he called out. "Who is it?"

A mind-numbing pause.

"You're favorite supplier!"

Theo scowled, lowering the beaker as his muscles uncoiled. "Fuck off, Finnegan!"

"Look, just hear me out–"

He shook his head, squeezing the beaker until it threatened to shatter in his hand. "I told you to wait for me to make contact."

"I know! But trust me, you're going to want to see this one!"

"I'm not interested." He grabbed the handrail and started down the steps.

"She's like the last girl!"

Theo paused, one foot hovering mid-air as his eyes darted to the covered body on the table below. He tapped the beaker against his thigh, jaw clenching. And then he headed back to the landing, shoulders straining as he pulled the metal bar aside and opened the door, the afternoon sun blinding to his narrowed gaze. But Finnegan's oafish frame filled his vision easily enough, blocking the rays as he spoke rapidly.

"I found this girl in the same area and she looks about the same age. She's just as good as the other one if not better."

Theo rubbed his eyes, exhaustion hitting him like a freight train in the wake of his waning adrenaline. "I don't rank corpses on a scale of desirability. They all serve but one purpose. To further my research."

Finnegan shifted from foot to foot. "Come on, Nott, don't be a stingy bastard. Times are tough out there, a man's gotta earn a living somehow."

Theo's hand dropped to the frame, bracing it tightly. "I am sure there is an abundance of illicit activity you're able to engage in beyond hawking corpses."

"If it wasn't for me the streets would be overrun with bodies."

Theo rolled his eyes. Figgen stepped forward, face twisting in agitation.

"The homeless drop dead faster than flies!" He gestured wildly to the air, as though expecting corpses to start raining from the sky to further illustrate his words. And then he straightened, glancing over his shoulder to something out of Theo's view. "Well, except this one."

Theo tilted his head and glanced down, spotting a bundled mass behind the man's legs. "What do you mean?"

Finnegan shrugged one shoulder as he gazed forward. "She's dressed too nice. But her headband and shoes are a giveaway. Given the neighborhood I found her in, my money's on hooker."

Theo drummed his fingers along the metal frame, eyes fastened to the tarp. "Let me see her."

Finnegan's earlier rage dissipated at once, a full-fledged grin splitting his face in half as he shuffled back. Theo held his breath as the man leaned down, loosening the front of the fabric and pulling it down, exposing the corpse to the top of her shoulders. He tilted his head, studying her features with clinical detachment. She was young, early to mid-twenties, blonde and attractive, face bearing minimal damage beyond broken capillaries across her blue lids.

But her neck…

Her neck piqued his interest.

"Lower the tarp."

Finnegan cringed. "Err…"

Theo's eyes snapped up. "What?"

He watched with no small amount of annoyance as the vagrant dropped the tarp over her face, concealing her from view. "You've seen enough to know she's good. Are you going to buy her or not?"

Theo scowled, hand threatening to shatter the beaker once more. "I want to see the rest of her. Now lower the fucking tarp."

Finnegan released a sharp hiss of breath, drawing a filthy hand over his face as he spoke. "Fine. She's a bit marked up. I'll knock a few dollars off the price."

Theo raised a dark brow, spine straightening as he rocked in place, fighting to keep his feet rooted. "Show me."

Finnegan sighed once more but relented, leaning over and pulling the tarp down to her hips. Theo's eyes swept over her bare arms, the blood stains on her satin gown…

He smiled. Finnegan shifted back at the sinister sight.

"I'll take her." Theo stepped back, clearing the doorway. "Bring her in."

---

Tom thrummed his fingertips atop the glossy desktop, staring blankly at the wall ahead, thoughts caught in a violent tempest. The storm splintered apart as movement from the hallway drew his focus. His eyes remained narrowed and fixed ahead as he addressed the doorway beside him.

"Go to bed, Brax." He released a measured breath. "I'll let you know as soon as I have something."

The blonde nodded reluctantly, turning around.

The phone rang.

Both men turned to stone, pulses thrumming. Tom set his jaw, squaring his shoulders and lifting the receiver from the base on the second ring, slowly bringing it to his mouth.

"Riddle speaking."

"Good morning, Tom."

His left eye twitched. He'd been expecting this call for days, but hearing the voice on the other end was never easily endured.

"Good morning, Sir."

There was a faint shuffling on the other end of the line, papers being moved. "You're a difficult man to get a hold of."

Tom leaned into his high backed chair, aware of his General's lingering presence in the hallway. "My apologies, Sir. The City suffered a major power outage, I've been preoccupied with the fallout."

"So I've heard."

Tom lifted his chin, eyes rapidly darkening. "Bella has been keeping you closely informed."

Deep laughter echoed through the plastic. "I see there is still no love lost between the two of you."

Tom drew in a steadying breath, careful to keep his tone paced and calm. "I'm not comfortable with her knowing the specifics of this mission."

"Funny you should mention that, as it seems not even I am privy to specifics." A deliberate beat. "You failed to provide me with a status report."

His hand flattened atop the wood in a vain attempt to prevent himself from punching a hole through it.

"Were you successful in obtaining the relic?"

Tom didn't hesitate. "Yes, Sir."

A mind-numbing pause, followed by low laughter. "Excellent news. Though I should think you'd sound more excited, this is the crowning success of your leadership after all."

Tom wet his lips, nails pressing the veneer. "I'm reserving my celebration for the completion of the final stage."

A contemplative hum. "Always the practical one." And then a sigh. "Fair enough. We certainly have a lot more work ahead of us. Still…" The grandfather clock in the corner ticked loudly, echoing his heartbeat. "I'm very proud of you, Tom." He blinked. "Good job."

Tom's mind went startling blank. "Thank you, Sir," he replied without inflection, unable to process such acknowledgment.

"There's no need to thank me. You've earned my praise and the esteem of the High Council."

And there it was. Tom ground his teeth, gums throbbing.

Fuck.

More papers were shuffled, followed by a drawer sliding open. "Are you still busy with clean up from the outage?"

Tom rapidly recalibrated without missing a beat. "Yes. I also have the string of kidnappings to contend with. The local authorities are starting to breathe down our necks."

"The humans are still missing?"

"Yes."

The answering sigh made his blood run cold, muscles braced for the response he knew was certain to follow. "What did I teach you, Tom? You must keep a clean house to keep the vermin at bay."

He eyed the gleaming letter opener on the corner of the desk. "Understood."

"If you're preoccupied with local matters perhaps Bella can assist with the mission."

He stiffened, fangs lengthening in response. "That isn't necessary."

Deep laughter rang out once more, making his skin crawl. "Somehow I knew you'd say that." The drawer was slid shut. "Very well. I'll leave it to you to keep the relic protected for the next few days."

Tom blinked, leaning forward. "What happens in a few days?"

"I arrive in New York."

His entire body pulsed. Abraxas edged closer to the doorway.

"I didn't know you were coming."

"Neither did I. But after your extended bout of silence the Council thought it prudent for me to check in personally."

He gripped the edge of the desk until it groaned. "Sir, you don't have to–"

"I'm already in transit, Tom. I'm coming, like it or not."

He closed his eyes, releasing the wood before it splintered. "Yes, Sir."

"That's what I like to hear. Now, I'll let you get back to running your City."

He set his jaw, leaning back once more.

"And Tom?"

He didn't respond, merely stared into the distance, braced for whatever menacing warning was sure to be delivered.

"I look forward to seeing what you've done with my old Territory."

He fought back a scowl at the resonating amusement in the static-laced voice. "And I look forward to hosting you."

"I'll be seeing you very soon."

Hearing the promise he'd delivered earlier in the evening spoken back to him made his stomach clench, paranoid his Maker could now add omnipotence to his already extensive list of abilities.

"Delightful," Tom muttered, unable to disguise his startling lack of enthusiasm.

Baleful laughter echoed in his ear long after the line went dead. He set the receiver back into the cradle, inhaling slow and deep before speaking to the open air.

"Shite."

"Indeed." Abraxas stepped into the room. "Please tell me you found the relic."

Tom rested his elbows on the desk and steepled his fingers before his lips. "No. But I discovered the next best thing." He stretched his long legs out before him, muscles slowly easing at the memory. "Someone to lead me to it."

Abraxas watched him intently, raising a pale brow. "One of ours?"

Tom shook his head, continuing to gaze at the wall, thoughts already miles away as a plan steadily took shape in his mind. "A human."

He sensed his General's surprise, and then his dawning realization as he shifted forward, undoubtedly drawn by the same elusive mystery that called to Tom like a siren to a shipwreck.

"The Egyptologist."

He didn't reply. Nor did he have to. Abraxas tipped his head. "How–"

"I don't know." Tom's voice more clipped than intended, hunger and exhaustion plaguing him hard. He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, affecting a calmer tone. "But I will soon enough."

Abraxas wasn't phased by his ire, well conditioned to such rapid-flux emotions after countless decades at his side. "What are you going to do?"

Tom lowered his hands, rapping his knuckles against the wood idly. "I'm going to pay the lovely Ms. Granger another visit." His stomach growled in anticipation. "Tonight." He met his General's eye, fangs gleaming in the lamplight as he grinned with sinister pleasure. "And then I'm going to take her."