Moonlit Midnight
Chapter 8
The police girl's sleep was thick and dreamless, and cold. The first sensation to reach her as she was pulled slowly awake was a dull tremor in her limbs. Her fingers were stiff and aching, having been clenched tight about worn fabric as she slept. Even when her eyelids lifted she was met only with blackness. Everything felt cramped and still, not unlike the confines of her own coffin. Only, she smell of blood was thick here, seeping into her clothes and hair, even if it did not awaken the usual hunger within her.
"Master…." Celas shuddered as the memories of that night seeped through her brain. She was still shocked by it all; Alucard's betrayal, the light weapon, Lorenna's death—the scenes bled together, until she couldn't distinguish one from the next, leaving her dizzy. She curled a little closer to the cushioning beneath her, only to feel her cheek pressed against a shirt button. Blinking, she slid her hand over the contoured surface; she wasn't alone.
Celas jolted; now that her senses were clearing she could easily determine where she was—inside a coffin, as suspected, stretched out over a familiar body. "Master…." Her fingers curled, taking in fistfuls of lush fabric. It was a bizarre sensation, being so close to a body that was so still and cold. Though she had always known her master was the undead, that she herself sometimes feigned breathing…there was something unnatural and unsettling about not hearing the steady rhythm of human lungs beneath her. If she pressed close enough, if she listened hard enough, she could almost detect the faint beat of a pulse beneath his ribs, but it did very little to comfort her.
Celas opened her eyes, but in the darkness of the coffin she could see nothing. She knew it was him—by his feel, his smell, even the dull impression of his aura. They had not been this close since she had first been changed. In any other circumstance she would have blushed, and tried to shy away, but her memories were coming quickly now, freezing her in place.
Alucard was asleep now. She wondered, half-terrified, what he would do when he awoke; what eyes he would fix on her, knowing she had betrayed him. She had surrendered Lorenna to Jacob Zimmerman by speaking her name, stood idly by as her master was assaulted and torn, merely shuddered at the suffering of her kind. She'd lacked the strength to defy Integra, even for her master's sake. For…the sake of her master's child….
Celas shuddered again. "All I wanted…was to be of some good to you, Master," she whispered. Her throat swelled and choked the words as she curled like a small child against Alucard's chest. "I'm sorry; I'm so sorry. I couldn't protect anyone." When her eyes watered, she made no move to stop them. The moisture was quickly absorbed by the thick shirtfront. "I'm no good at this. Master, I…."
The body beneath her stirred slightly, and Celas stiffened, falling quiet and motionless. A moment later, however, and Alucard was still deeply sedated. The tension would not leave her limbs, and with a tremor she realized she couldn't stay here. She was too afraid to meet Alucard's reaction when he awoke. "I'm sorry," she whispered again. Scrubbing at her eyes, she twisted and pressed hard against the coffin lid. It groaned softly in protest but lifted enough that she could slip out.
Once she was on her feet again Celas glanced back for a clear look of her slumbering master. It was eerie, how still and almost natural he looked—eyes gently closed, lips full and calm, hands neatly folded. Where there had once been missing flesh there were only faint scars, crossing his otherwise flawless countenance. He looked as if he had slept a hundred years just as he was now, and could sleep a thousand more if he wished it. Celas's eyes thinned. She…could never be like that. Was a fool to think she could ever become like that.
With a deep breath she closed the lid once more.
---
The private office of Hellsing's commanding officer had never seemed so large than at that moment. The sun had yet to rise, but Integra was convinced she could feel its heat reflecting off the moon and at her back. Several hours had passed since the incident, though she had no knowledge of how many. She had spent the time here, alone, watching as a thin trail of cigar smoke rose past her father's portrait. She had been meeting his eyes for some time. She scowled. "You would have done no different," she muttered as she snuffed her cigar vengefully. Just as ash extinguished there was a knock on the door. "Not now," she called.
The door opened anyway, revealing the unwelcome appearance of Jacob Zimmerman. She snorted and looked away. "I expected to see you sooner or later."
Jacob paused at the doorway, for a moment looking genuinely unsure, before continuing inside. It wasn't like him to be timid, and that irritated her. He had no reason to be anything less than thrilled by his mission completed.
"Integra." Jacob closed the door carefully behind him. "You shouldn't be here," he told her just as quietly as he approached. He hadn't changed his clothing yet, and his eyes looked as worn and haggard as she felt. "It's morning—you should get some sleep."
"It's not morning yet, and I'm not tired," Integra lied, leaning back in her chair. "And there are still things to do."
"Nothing more important than your health. Besides, Walter and I took care of things." He dropped a file onto her desk she hadn't noticed he'd been carrying; the sharp sound almost made her jump. "So get some rest already. It's been a long night."
Integra glared at him incredulously. "I'm in no mood for jokes, Jacob."
"And I'm not telling any." He sighed, and swept a hand back through his hair. He knew her better, however, than to think she'd listen to him. "All right. If you're determined to work, at least let me make it easier on you." He pushed the folder closer. "An official report to submit to Oxford's Dean and the Committee—Walter wrote them up, don't worry. There's also an account of all supplies and…casualties."
Integra blinked slowly, but other than that her face betrayed no emotion as she retrieved the papers and flipped through them. The words blurred together before her eyes like blood on pavement. "It's too early to look at casualties," she muttered. "I'll contact the families in the morning." The thought made the back of her throat burn, and she closed the file before she could spot any recognizable names.
Jacob's eyes on her were quiet but sympathetic, and she hated them until he spoke next. "Don't worry. You won't have to."
Integra paused, and as her instincts provided her with an unwanted explanation she raised her eyes slowly to the man's face. "Tell me."
The expression she had a moment ago mistake for sympathy seemed to diffuse beneath her gaze into something unreadable. "They're mine," he reported evenly. "Total count for the night, discounting the students who became ghouls, was fourteen fatalities, and one man missing an arm. All of them were my officers."
"They were all…." Integra's gaze flickered away from him, and when her attention caught on what looked like a twisting tendril of shadow she stood abruptly from her chair. But it wasn't a familiar presence, and the closest thing to Alucard's usual smirk was her father's portrait on the wall. It stared back at her with profound amusement. "He didn't kill any Hellsing officers," she surmised dully. "On purpose—he couldn't have killed that many and have it be an accident. Which means he…."
Integra curse ferociously, and with a sharp movement of her hand sent the file and its papers flying off the desk. She could feel her body shaking just barely in too much emotion—too much anger and frustration and confusion. "That bastard," she snarled. "Even in betraying us he mocks us. How dare he play these games on my family! He—"
"He never betrayed you, Integra," Jacob interrupted in his damnably calm voice.
She whirled on him with a vengeance. "Shut up! You don't know anything about it!" She moved around the desk to face him properly. "Alucard ignored my summons, my orders and my seals—whoever he kills is a sin against Hellsing and God. And not only did he neglect to mention Mephistos to me once he'd found her, he harbored that filthy vampire in my institute! This is all unforgivable!"
Jacob didn't flinch back or retreat from her as she ranted, which was all the more infuriating, but when she started to mention his name as well he snatched her suddenly by the shoulders and drew her forward. His voice was a cold whisper in her ear. "Integra, stop it." She protested at first, but he held her captive against his chest and would not relent. "This isn't you."
"How dare you presume to know the difference," she snarled. "How can you always be so selfi—"
"Integra." His voice was sharper this time, almost cruel, and it stunned Integra long enough that she fell silent. He continued in a quiet tone now that she was listening. "Integra. How can you accuse me of that, after all we've been through?" His hand softened on her shoulders, allowing her to escape his gaze. "Haven't I always been there? Half a world away, and I've done everything I can—"
"I never asked you to," she muttered. "I'm not a child; I don't need you looking after me."
Jacob gently turned her face back toward him. "What about when your father died?" he asked carefully, and were he any other man she would have struck him. "When you told me you were afraid of Alucard, and that when you began to trust him you were afraid of yourself? When you nearly lost the battle against Arvlein, and Ballren? And now?"
"What about it?" she demanded. "Are you trying to prove that I need you?" She snorted. "Pathetic."
"I'm trying to tell you I care for you," Jacob retorted, frustration making his voice rise. "I've been here—I know you. So don't accuse me of not knowing anything."
"Fine." Integra glared back at him, determined to stay stubborn. "Then I won't bring up your mother, either."
At last Jacob let her go; he took a step back, even, as if she'd burned him. She felt a bit of morbid satisfaction in the pale shade of his face. "As long as we're dragging out old history, that is," she continued. "We could easily talk about the inspiration behind that hideous light device of yours."
She saw the shudder that ran through him; she expected him to back down, because he always did eventually, especially when it came down to this particular issue. She didn't like doing it because she knew she was hurting him, and he was right about many things, but she couldn't talk about this anymore.
But something happened then that she didn't expect; he didn't relent. "We won't talk about Alucard then, either," Jacob replied quietly. His face was stern. "And the reason you'll never let me closer than this."
"Whatever you're implying, I've had enough," Integra snapped. Her fists curled at her sides. "Get out. I don't have time for this."
"You never do. It must be terribly convenient."
"Shut up." She started to return to her desk. "Now, I still have work to do, so if you'll—"
Jacob took hold of her again, suddenly reminding her how string he really was as he dragged her back to him. She knew well enough what he as up to, and raised her hand to strike, but he caught her wrist before she could lend it any strength. She then found herself pressed tight against his chest, her mouth caught in warm, desperate lips. She faltered for only a moment, and then was pushing at him again, struggling out of his grip. She should have thought to hit him again, but her limbs never received the instructions. She could only glare back at him defiantly with fists trembling.
Jacob met her gaze firmly, though behind his appearance there was the same hesitant, questioning boy she'd always known. "Why?" he asked evenly. "I've done everything I know how to do, Integra. You've always known that I—"
"That's right. I have." Integra turned away and headed for the window, pulling back the curtains to allow in the first glow of morning. "And you've always known you can't have me. So maybe it's time for you to leave."
The silence stretched between them a moment more, and then Jacob was indeed turning to exit. Integra pursed her lips and held very still as she listened to his departing footsteps. It didn't take him as long to reach the door as she thought it should have; he twisted it easily open and walked out without another word, without announcement or retort. She didn't even have t he presence of mind to utter a curse when she heard the wood slip quietly together. She only let the curtain fall.
There was a knock on the door, suddenly and inexplicably irritating her. "Who is it?" she demanded angrily, but when she turned she found only Walter, watching her.
"I'm very sorry, Lady Integra," Walter said humbly. "But it seems that Miss Victoria has gone missing."
----
Celas gasped softly as she continued away from the Hellsing institute. Getting out had been a simple matter—the soldiers were still weary and uncertain, and she hardly called any attention to herself. Those she did meet she told she was on her way to meet Lady Integra. No one felt like defying vampires that night.
She didn't know where she was gong. There were only a few places she could have gone anyway, but she didn't want to end up anywhere she might be found. As if anyone might come to look for her. She imagined Integra would come eventually if only to kill her—she was a vampire she had taken human blood, she had betrayed her superiors and her master. She had failed everyone who was depending on her. And now, like a coward she was running, hoping only to forget it all for a while and find solitude.
When Celas was finally forced to stop she found herself in one of London's suburban areas, on the edge of a school playground. The hour was late—the sun would be up soon—and she would have to find shelter. She could no longer face the sun. Shaking, she lowered herself to the earth beneath a wide metal slide. When the sun came up, maybe she would stay right here. She would let it creep across the ground until it peeled her flesh away and killed her, just like Lorenna.
Celas curled her knees tightly to her chest and held them, her shoulders hunched and stiff, her eyes stinging. "Alucard…." His laughter drifted back to her, and she cringed. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. What can I do now?" A tremor swept through her. "Where can I go?"
"Celas?"
It was a young voice, a familiar voice, and in desperation Celas turned her gaze upward to meet bright green eyes. She began to shake. "G…Garret?"
The blond youth knelt down in front of her. It was indeed Garret, dressed in another baggy T-shirt, the same ill-fitting jeans, looking just like he had those several nights ago. She could hardly believe what she was seeing. "What…what are you doing here?" she whispered hoarsely.
"I was going to ask you the same thing," he admitted, offering her his hand and a tentative smile. "It's almost dawn. Come on—we have to get out of here."
"But I…." Celas drew away despite her better judgment. "I don't have anywhere to go."
"Yes you do." Garret edged closer with that same easy expression and tried his hand again. "Come on. I came here for you, Celas. Trust me."
Celas bit her lip, still cringing away from him. But when the morning's first glow began to creep over the horizon a sharp panic flashed through her, and she clutched at Garret's hand. "I'm sorry," she whispered, for no reason at all.
Garret's smile broadened as he helped her out from under the slide. "There's a good girl," he murmured approvingly. "Come on, now, and I'll get you all fixed up." He wasted no time in pulling her to her feet and starting away from the playground. "It's not too far."
"Why are you—" Celas started to ask, but when she felt his hand tighten around hers, when she felt the dull shiver that passed up her arm, the answer came to her in a dull flash of bitterness. She would have asked how he'd found her as well, but that was obvious, too. She was being used but she didn't care, and as long as Garret kept her from being alone, she wouldn't protest. There had to be someone left who would still trust her.
Celas was just beginning to feel the tiny, electric heat of sunlight skating up her back when Garret pulled her suddenly into the back alley between two empty warehouses; somehow they'd ended up by the river. "It's all right," he assured as he slipped through a narrow door, tugging her along. "Just stay with me, okay? You'll be fine."
They suddenly weren't alone, and Celas gasped quietly as four pairs of brightly lit eyes fell on them: two men, a young woman, and an even younger boy. The men especially fixed her with a close gaze as Garret led her through the open room. It looked like a dwelling of some sort, with old blankets set about, and a thick scent of blood in the air. All four of them had fed recently, and she surprised herself in feeling no disgust for them
"Hey," the woman of the group spoke up, and when Garret didn't halt she climbed to her feet. "Hey, newcomer. What do you think you're doing, bringing Hellsing in here?"
The other three sharpened their gazes on Celas, only just then noticing the insignia on her shirtfront. This time Garret stopped, his eyes gleaming, but Celas was quick to silence any response he might have given. She didn't want to see anyone else fighting tonight. "I'm a vampire," she told them around her shaking voice. "I'm…in Bright Midnight. I ran away so they wouldn't find out."
Though this explanation seemed to be more than enough for the men in the room, the woman—a blonde with a round, flat face—didn't look at all convinced. "You're still Hellsing," she snorted, eyeing her carefully. "And this place isn't much, but—"
"I've defected," Celas interrupted, injecting strength into her voice. The words pained her, but she couldn't risk losing this place, too. Without giving her time to regret what she was saying she went on. "Hellsing betrayed my master, so I ran away, and I'm…I'm not going back." Her voice rose to a desperate pitch. "Do you hear that? I'm not going back!"
"All right," the woman quickly amended, holding up her hands. Something had changed abruptly in her eyes, from suspicion to understanding. When Garret nodded faintly she appeared convinced. "If it was because of your master, I'll understand," she said slowly. "Just be careful—this place is all we have." And with that she rejoined the men on their blankets.
Celas was still a moment, watching them, until Garret tugged lightly on her hand. She fell obediently into step behind him as they made their way towards a space in the back; not exactly private, but the best that they could manage. Another set of blankets had been laid out, and among them a child—a little boy, covered in dirt and hair unkempt. Celas felt a brief thrill of fright; she imagined for a moment they must have been keeping him for food. But he moved slightly in his sleep, lips parting to reveal a pair of fangs.
"He's newly changed," Garret explained, taking a seat beside the boy. He ruffled already rag-like hair with affection. "Eleanor brought him in the other night, they told me. He's coping with it pretty well, for a child."
Celas gulped and lowered herself to Garret's side. He's so young," she murmured.
"No more than eleven. A homeless orphan."
She nodded vaguely. She wanted to say it was a shame, a tragedy, but Garret looked pleased, and…she didn't really mean it anyway. The boy appeared content, after all. "At least he won't go hungry like this," she muttered, tugging her knees up to her chest.
Garret frowned at her thoughtfully. "Are you all right?" He set a hand on her shoulder, sending a dull shudder through her flesh. She flinched away guiltily. "You've had a long night."
"I don't see why you care," she replied flatly. "What are you doing here anyway?"
"I was worried about you."
"Oh come off it, Garret." Her arms tightened around her shins; she shouldn't be challenging him—she needed someone, anyone to be there for her—but she felt fragile and uncertain. "I know why you're here; you can say it."
Garret's hesitation was enough to prove her suspicions right. "It's not just that," he tried again. "I was worried; we all felt it."
Celas shivered, not because she knew what he meant but because the others in the warehouse had fallen deathly silent. They were all watching her. She shrank a little as her skin began to crawl.
That's right. I felt it, too.
"Was it…your master?" Garret asked quietly, his eyes trained sympathetically on hers.
Celas was quick to answer. "No. It wasn't…Master." She lowered her head in shame. "It was an American, Lorenna. She…." She gulped. "They killed her with sunlight."
"Sunlight?" the youngest of the three men echoed from across the room. "That's not possible."
"We won't worry about it now," Garret swiftly intervened. "She's had a rough time." He pulled up one of the blankets to drape over Celas's shoulders. She accepted and drew into the fabric eagerly. "We'll talk about it later," he promised in a softer tone. "Just rest for now—you're safe here."
Celas didn't know if she believed that, but she had little choice at the moment. With a quiet sigh she relaxed onto her side amidst the blankets and tugged them close. "Will you…" She knew it was a mistake, but she was still shaking and cold. "…stay with me? Just for tonight?"
Garret smiled easily down at her. "I will. Now get some sleep—the sun's already up." He bent down to offer her cheek a kiss, and already she began to feel better. "Sleep well."
Celas nodded and closed her eyes. As if by instinct she drew back against the warmer body. "Thanks, Garret…." Thankfully the darkness swelled around her, welcoming her in a deep sleep.