Eternal Night (I) Chapter 18: There's Trouble Brewing, a van helsing fanfic

Fuck. This. Week.

That's all I have to say.

But also thank you to Scarlet Empress, She-Devil Red, Arwen17evenstar, and cneajna for reviewing over the last few days. Seriously. Y'all are real ones and I know I sound like a goddamned broken record at the start of every new chapter with the thank yous and acknowledgments, but I really do appreciate you guys taking the time to review.

Not much to report as far as content warnings go. Just setting up some conflict for the next handful of chapters.

I'm gonna go back to surviving now. Hope you all have a safe and enjoyable weekend. I'll see you guys on Monday with the next chapter.

Chapter 18
There's Trouble Brewing

The entire walk home, Frankie struggled to maintain her composure.

Her every step was precise, fierce; fists periodically clenching and unclenching slowly as she wrestled with the swarm of conflicting emotions that felt forever on the verge of overpowering her sense of reason. It took a tremendous degree of self-mastery to keep moving forward in the direction of her flat instead of turning around to head back to Carmen's so she could smack Leinhart as hard as she could across the face before proceeding to kiss him.

It was entirely irrational, but just the thought of her lips against his had her quickly lost in fantasy, the daydreams of violent and passionate sex distracting her just long enough until she discovered she was already home. She entered her flat and sealed herself inside, removing her jacket in an agitated manner as she made her way through the front room, struggling to banish her conflicted feelings of frustration and bourgeoning lust. The woman raked her fingers shakily through her hair, taking deep, controlled breaths as she felt a familiar ache awakening inside of her.

God, it had been so long – so long since she had felt this way. The addicting, destructive, and delicate balance between fury and a borderline desperate need to be filled, to be touched, to submit and lose control.

No, she thought, attempting to nip her yearning in the bud before it could take proper root in her. I will not lose control. I will not lose control.

She would not grant Vlad Leinhart any further victory in this war for dominance. Her self-inflicted humiliation at his manipulative hand had been enough for one evening, and considering how masterfully he had performed, how it had caught her completely off guard, she'd have to better prepare herself for the encounters to come. Clearly the man had developed some sort of strategy – he was using her attraction to him against her.

But a question kept nagging at her – how in the name of God did he even know? She had been so careful not to drop any hints or indications of interest. Had this just been a lucky shot in the dark? What was she to do? Frankie needed to think, needed to focus, to plan, to make preparations. She wasn't going to survive another meeting like that without losing herself. She did not need another man's blood on her hands – especially not another close friend of her brother's.

As the quiet of the apartment enveloped her, Frankie began to feel the tension gradually ebbing away as she returned to a more neutral state of calm. Concluding that she would only be able to approach this Leinhart matter with a clear head, she decided to turn in early for the evening and she made her way to her bedroom with a glass of blood in hand.

Well, at least there was one bit of good news in her life. It was finally getting easier to feed again, and the nourishment proved beneficial to her state of mind – it was less difficult to achieve that sense of normality with herself than it had been previously and by the time she had finished her liquid meal, she felt more like herself again – calm, rational, and in control.

Though a vampire and not necessarily in need of actual sleep, Frankie had found in her long years of life that regular rest helped in rejuvenating her body and mind, and so, after thoroughly banishing Mr. Leinhart from her thoughts, she crawled into bed, immediately opening herself to the welcomed state of unconsciousness – an empty plain of serenity and a gray mist.

The stone corridor was always freezing, even during the summer months when the heat seemed almost unbearable. There were whispers that the reason for the perpetual cold was owed to the man who resided within this particular set of chambers. With every footstep down the dimly lit corridor came a tangible foreboding, a sense of unquenchable dread, and even for one of the undead, the supposed damned of the world, it was unsettling.

The cold.

The dark.

If hell were ever to reside on earth, perhaps this would be the place. No light could ease the gloom and no fire could dispel the poignant sense of misery – but that was how Marcus Augustine liked it. He thrived off of the cold, off of the bleak blackness. It had always both infuriated and amused him how so many believed that it was Dracula who had the heart of ice and stone.

How mistaken they were.

The dragon may have perfected a visage of dark indifference – and the devil knew he had the potential for it to be more than just a façade – but it had always been Augustine who had been the more consistent in his malevolence, down to his very core. That decaying of his immortal soul seemed to seep into everything he touched, everything that surrounded him.

It was a common misconception about vampires – that they were these hollow, unfeeling things – but even Marcus Augustine understood on a personal level that creatures as foul and heartless as he could not escape the inconvenient ply of human emotion.

In truth, the man felt plenty – he was consumed in his resentment toward his perfected brother, his loathing of the man's offspring and race, his apathy toward their well-being. He had thought at one point that if perhaps he could obtain their love and fealty, he would grow to like them, but their constant neediness and refusal to placate to his every whim had proved vexing. If they would not offer him the unconditional love that had been denied him the entirety of his existence, he would make them fear him. After all, hadn't Machiavelli said it best?

It is better to be feared than loved.

Augustine was facing a hearty blaze within the hearth before him, his expression contemplative as he privately dwelled on the current state of his rule. It had been a couple of months now since Dracula's disappearance, and though he had unleashed private assassins to search for the man, their efforts had been fruitless. His half-brother remained undiscovered, and with every day Dracula persisted in his state of absence, the more unnerved Augustine became. He could still sense the presence, the existence of the man, weighing in the back of his mind like a secret guilt locked away.

He inserted his hand into one of the pockets of the regal robe he was wearing, feeling for the cold metal of one of his half-brother's rings. He could see the engraved insignia of a dragon with a curling tail in his mind's eye, could feel the imprint against his fingertips.

Dracula was still in the city, of that he was certain.

So why was the king of vampires still in hiding?

Why had he not made his presence known?

What was his end game?

The uncertainty had left Augustine irritable and he turned away from the fire to scrutinize the five individuals standing before him. Four were dressed in the ceremonial garb reserved for the council of seven, their tentative gazes taking him in with noted anxiety. The other individual in attendance stood off in the shadows, leaning against a nearby window; the man's arms folded across his chest with a cold, indifferent expression.

"Thank you all for arriving so promptly," Augustine began, turning fully to face his captive audience. "I trust that what we discuss in this room will remain here. I've received word that there are still some loyal to Dracula and until they are removed, we must remain discrete."

There were curt nods from all five, but not a word was spoken.

"Excellent." Augustine turned to the first council member. "Any updates on the alliance? Have we identified any other ringleaders yet? Any known associates?"

"No, my lord Augustine, we have not. We have been watching the location for days now and there's been no sign of activity."

"Well, clearly they would not return to the scene of the crime. You haven't looked elsewhere?"

The man fidgeted under the inquisitive gaze.

"My men are hesitant to head deeper into that side of the city, my lord."

"And why is that?"

"You heard what happened to Bartos."

Before anyone had a chance to blink, Augustine had flown across the way and had the man by the throat, slamming him into a nearby wall.

"I am tired of your excuses! Discover their new hiding place or I will appoint somebody with proven competency!" he shouted before shoving the man forcefully to the ground. "Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, master."

Without turning his head, Augustine ordered for the next report.

"We have the new recruits trained and at your command, sir."

"What does that put us at?"

"Five thousand, give or take, sir."

"I want it doubled."

"Of course, master."

"Next?!"

"The dhampir blood supply is being replenished – gradually. The last raid of the alliance set us back, but we're making progress. Basilio wanted me to remind you of the agreement that was made so we could continue this new initiative under the radar."

"Yes, yes, I know. Did he provide the extra security I asked for?"

"Yes, my lord. Although production is slow, as it has proven difficult to find enough dhampirs to bleed."

"He's very skilled at what he does. I'm sure he'll think of something," Augustine stated with a hint of irony. "And what of the other blood supply?"

"Progress is good. Identifying tainted humans is getting easier, now that we've discovered the signs. Product should go live late next year, as scheduled."

"And no one suspects? None of this has leaked into the media?"

"Basilio and his men remain most discrete."

Augustine nodded and then waved his hand to put an end to her report.

"Next?"

"Nothing out of the usual, sir. The alliance has been keeping to themselves as of late and activity in the south-side with the wolves has been quiet – but not in a way that would cause any alarm."

"Continue to keep your ear to the ground. Bring back anything that you hear – whether you think it's of note or not."

"As you wish."

The tension in the room, though not as pronounced as before, continued to linger, hanging in the air like a tangible weight as Augustine made his way back to his desk in front of the fire, each step methodically taken. The first council member was finally permitted to stand and the others returned to their lined-formation in front of the usurper, awaiting his next command.

"My friends," he said after a prolonged silence, the words spoken with more acidity than affection, "as you know, there are number of available options before us that would help in flushing out this alliance. As we have received confirmation that their association with the werewolves has remained tentative for the last couple of years, I've decided that now is the time to exploit that weakness. I felt you should be informed of our next course of action."

He motioned in the direction of the shadow figure by the window and a man emerged, stepping into the unsettling glow of the fire before bowing deeply before Augustine, falling to one knee, his eyes fixed on the floor. He was a dark figure, dressed primarily in the leather garb of a hunter of old, with knives and other weaponry strapped to his person. On his back was a metal bow and a sack of silver tipped arrows, the heads hallowed out and filled with a dangerous mix of a glowing UV liquid and silver nitrate – a combination deadly enough to destroy not only the most powerful of werewolves, but a vampire as well.

"I have employed this man to retrieve that desired something from the wolves we had discussed in more hypothetical terms some weeks ago. As you know, they have refused their fealty to this council, so it is time they feel of the consequences."

"But how is such a thing to be accomplished?" one of the council members inquired doubtfully. "The abomination is carefully guarded by its mother!"

"There are ways," Augustine replied with a smirk that was almost serpentine. He motioned with his hand for the mercenary to rise before handing him a small slip of paper. "You know your mission. Bring it to me the moment it is obtained – alive, though if you have to rough it up a bit, that is of little matter to me."

The mercenary nodded silently.

"Good. Then this meeting is adjourned."

Rémy leaned back in his chair with a groan of defeat as Lily rubbed his shoulders reassuringly.

"Leinhart, I don't understand how you always manage to win," he grumbled, tossing the cards in his hand across the table as Vlad collected his winnings.

"I don't understand how you always manage to lose," Dracula teased, counting up the chips as Danny gathered the cards and started to shuffle again.

"You rutting bastard," the man replied with a smile. "Well then, pick your prize. What will it be?"

"The usual."

"Carmen?!"

The woman stood behind the bar, buffing her brand new countertops with a sense of unbreakable concentration.

"Lost again, Rémy?" she replied without looking up. "The usual, Leinhart?"

"Yes, please. After the events of this evening, I feel I've earned it."

"I still don't understand why Frankie would accuse you of that," Rémy sympathized. "If it makes you feel any better, I don't understand the woman much of the time, and she's my sister! My own flesh and blood."

"That still isn't like her to make such accusations without any provocation," Danny pointed out.

"True," Rémy agreed, sending Vlad a pointed look. The man only rolled his eyes.

"How many times must I recount the story for you two? I told you what happened I don't know how many times now."

"Maybe Frankie's just tired," Lily offered sympathetically. "Besides, she doesn't like you very much. Perhaps she was just trying to get you into trouble?"

Dracula glanced briefly at the woman hovering over Rémy, a barely noticeable arch in his brow. Looks like Miss Lily Maran had a streak of wit in her after all.

"I don't see how accusing me of harassment could get me into any real sort of trouble," he confessed absently, while keeping Rémy in his periphery, noting the man's subtle change in expression.

"Frankie is off limits," Danny explained.

"And for everyone's sake," Rémy defended.

"Off limits?" Dracula said with a dry laugh. "Now you've piqued my curiosity, gentlemen."

"Let's just say that every vampire my sister has been in a relationship with tends to end up dead or… very near death."

"Why? I thought Morene was just being crass when she called her a black widow?" he asked with a clear degree of irony and the formerly mentioned woman, who had been sitting quietly beside him, shifted uncomfortably.

"Hey, I've learned my lesson," she insisted, though her words were directed more toward Rémy than anyone else.

"I know – although sometimes I can't help but wonder…"

"Frankie is not a black widow," Danny immediately defended, sending his friend a harsh look. "She's never meant to kill any of those men. Even Derek – though at least in that situation they weren't together romantically."

"Yeah, but he would have jumped at the opportunity, had I permitted it – and given the state she was in after Tristan, she probably would have let him," Rémy said with a heavy exhale. "I did him a favor, extending his lifespan by keeping him from her."

"Rémy," Carmen called out in warning, not liking his begrudging tone.

"It's not like I enjoy keeping potential suitors from her, Carmen. Besides, you try having a sister with a dreadful habit of killing one's best friends and we'll see if you fare better," he muttered and the woman smacked the back of his head. "Ow!"

"Stop making this about you," she shot defensively. "Your sister didn't ask for any of this, and you of all people know that none of us have any right to go about gossiping like this. She's your sister. What she needs is your support – not your derision."

"I fear you've lost me once again," Dracula interjected in an effort to dispel the growing tension. "Does Miss Chase have a reason for harming those she's with, or is it something out of her control?"

"Let's just say my sister has a blood condition… of course, that's the least of her problems."

"It's not her fault, though," Danny pointed out immediately.

"I know that! I was just saying."

"What kind of blood condition?"

Before Rémy could elaborate, the front door to the establishment suddenly flew open, slamming against the wall as a familiar personage emerged from the street.

"Lyra!" Vesper called out from the kitchen, peeking through the window. Carmen turned to face the newcomer, a peculiar expression on her face.

The woman seemed oddly out of breath – on the fringes of panic, even.

"Lyra? What are you doing here?"

"I need to see Frankie, right now!" she exclaimed, moving through the tavern like some kind of whirlwind of red hair and black trench.

"She's not here," Carmen explained. "She left a couple of hours ago," and she glanced a little suspiciously in Dracula's direction before returning her attention to the visitor.

Lyra swore violently, kicking a chair to the surprise of all.

"Oi! Careful now! The furniture isn't even a week old!" Rémy protested. Before the redhead could send him a nasty response, Danny interjected.

"What's going on?" he asked. Carmen made her way around the bar to join them.

"I need to talk to Frankie immediately," Lyra insisted. "And why the hell did she leave?"

Everyone in the room seemed to simultaneously look in the direction of Vlad who did his best not to appear affronted by the silent accusations. Luckily, there was no need for elaboration. Lyra seemed to understand at once and that only served to pique his curiosity further.

What did she know that he did not?

"Is she working?" the redhead continued.

"No, she turned in early for the evening," Danny explained and the woman muttered another oath under her breath in reply.

"Christ, Rémy, you really picked a bad time to botch an alliance with the werewolves."

"Hey! That wasn't my fault! And what do the wolves have to do with this? Why do you need Frankie?"

"She's the only one they'll listen to."

"What do they need to listen to? For crying out loud, woman, would you stop pacing and explain what the hell is going on?"

The woman paused and looked directly into the man's eyes.

Lyra Kennedy had been a close family friend for nearly two centuries, and anyone that knew her well understood that it took a lot to make someone like her anxious. Which is why, when she gave Frankie's brother that certain look, he rose from his seat expectantly.

"We're about to be in some deep shit if we don't do something in the next few hours," the woman stated grimly.

Rémy swallowed hard.

"What kind of shit?"

Lyra, Rémy, Danny, and Dracula were all crowded in the darkened hallway of the Chase flat, staring expectantly at Frankie's closed bedroom door.

"Well, I'm not going in there," Rémy announced immediately.

"Neither am I," Danny replied. "You know how she gets when her sleep is disturbed."

"Is it really that bad?" Vlad asked, not entirely convinced that this level of panic was even warranted.

"It might be when she hears the news," Lyra explained.

They continued to collectively examine the door, allowing the silence to reign for just a few moments before the men began to shift about uncomfortably.

"Maybe I should go in there?"

"I'm her brother. I'll wake her up."

"I'd do it, but I think she'd be even more put out if she woke up to my face."

More silence.

"Oh bloody hell! You three have no balls at all. Get out of my way. I'll do it," Lyra caved. "It's my news anyway."

The men gladly stepped out of the way, giving the woman more than enough space as she gently opened the door and entered Frankie's room, shutting it quietly behind her.

The room was dark, near impossible to navigate without the assistance of light. But Lyra required no such aid. She made her way over to the bed at the far end of the room with ease, flicking on one of the dim lamps on a nearby table before taking a seat on the edge of Frankie's mattress.

"Francesca? Francesca, ma chère soeur… wake up," she said gently in French.

The command sounded so far away, Frankie thought to herself, desperately attempting to hold onto the fringes of the dream world. But that familiar voice calling for her in her native tongue was stronger than her exhausted will, so Frankie let the threads of fantasy slip from her fingers as her consciousness eased back into reality.

She recognized the voice almost immediately, deciding to keep her eyes closed in an effort to make falling back asleep easier.

"What is it, Lyra?" Frankie grumbled dismissively.

"I'm so sorry to awaken you. But I… I had a vision."

The woman's eyes snapped open at that and she sat up abruptly.

"What?"

"I haven't had one like this in months. They haven't been all that vivid lately, ever since you went into stasis, but this is the first one I've had in years that has felt so… so graphic, lucid even. It was as if I was actually present in the room."

"Tell me what you saw," Frankie insisted, pulling her messy locks behind her head into a simple twist as Lyra reached for the tablet device that was charging at Frankie's bedside. "Tell me everything, and don't leave out any details."

"It had to do with Augustine," she began. "He's planning something."