Author's Note: I always love it when I can build my vocabulary as I write. And since I revel in the joy of learning, I thought I'd share a bit of my research. It'll come in handy later in the chapter.

From merriam-webster – Main Entry: sympathetic vibration…Function: noun: a vibration produced in one body by the vibrations of exactly the same period in a neighboring body.

That's useful information for any band geeks out there. When turning timpani (kettle drums) the percussionist should hum the pitch they're seeking. When the drum head is tightened to that pitch, it rings. Same principle. I think.

Disclaimer: I own the dream of one day owning some sort of Hellsing merchandise. That's all.

"I'll get you and your little dog too." Humor, I've found, is the only way to countermand his decrees. The times when I've tried to disobey his orders have been scarce – I've always been so eager to please that I'd listen the first time I was told. But for all that his command to return is a compulsion, so is the need to move forward.

That's enough to make me pause where nothing else has. Answers to what is really a meaningless question – who cares what freaks were intended to be? – shouldn't be this important. I shouldn't feel like a jigsaw puzzle with a piece missing.

I shouldn't keep searching. The wound in my thigh still hasn't fully healed, and that after two days of rest. I'm quite literally on my last leg. I should go to him, let him baby me even as he takes a strip out of my hide with that sharp tongue of his for my reckless behavior. To keep pressing on is madness…

…though that's nothing new. It's not as if my family tree has ever bore perfect fruit. If I'm caught up in madness…

My indecision is my weakness. It's a struggle not to answer him directly. His voice rings in my ears; his will seeks to seduce my own. After so long an absence I want to fall into our familiar patterns. I want to call back to him in a warped version of Marco Polo.

"Ready or not, here I come…" I remember how it was when I was young, when my powers were simply commonplace rather than supernatural. To build up my strength we'd play "hide and seek." I'd race through the mansion using shadows as demented passageways, laughing uncontrollably as our powers met and clashed. His always sought to absorb mine and bring the game to an end by bringing me to his side.

For the game to work both players had to be incredibly attuned to each other and that sympathetic vibration still exists. One call from me is all it would take for him to be instantly at my side.

I'd be safe from the hunters I can feel tracking me.

I'd no longer have to feel this terrible hunger in my gut.

I could sleep without worry.

…and I wouldn't have my answers.

Whispers.

What would happen if…?

This isn't right. If the answers I want exist, they're in a lab somewhere, not in a broken-down warehouse. One would think I'd absorbed enough pop culture to know that warehouses are good for nothing more than setting and springing traps.

But is it worth it?

My hands curl into fists.

No. It's not. I back away from the darkness with unease. There's few times that I've felt scared of the dark, but this is one of them. I won't go down there by choice. This is over my head. It's time to stop being a child and ask for help.

"Oh, it's much too late for that."

The hair on my arms and neck stands up straight as the scent of undead blood and aggression reaches my nose. I must be weaker than I thought. The freaks that've been chasing me through the better part of central Europe have finally caught up with me. If I'm weak enough for them to sneak up on me, would he even hear if I called to him?

"Turn, girl. After the chase you've led us on we deserve a bit of amusement."

Besides insanity, bravado is the other thing that runs through my veins. "So few to feed my hunger?" Three freaks, ten ghouls. "That's hardly considerate."

"I see your leg is still giving you trouble." He looks so smug, so superior. I want to reach out and rip his jaw off. Only one man is allowed to look at me like that and only because he really is my better.

"I see you had to replace your little army." The shit-eating grin on my face feels wonderfully familiar. I never realized how comfortable fighting was until I had to fend for myself. The rhythms of it make as much sense to me as the rising and setting of the sun. I'm no longer hunted, even if I'm too weak to win this fight on my own. I am the hunter and I have a very big trap to spring, one that none of the walking dead before me will escape.

"You've always been too confident for a mere fledgling."

"Fledgling?" A sharp gust of wind ruins the effect I was going for. It's hard to be scornful as you're spitting hair out of your mouth. "Whoever sent you after me told you I was a fledgling? You poor dears." I pull out my gun and remove the bullets from the magazine. I'd never be able to fire them fast enough manually.

"We all know whose blood flows in your veins."

Idiot. "Yes, well, be that as it may..." Four silver pellets rest in my palm. An unimpressive number; a harmless sight. I can hear their laughter as they watch me. Silver that rests harmlessly in a vampire's hand isn't worth much…unless that vampire has always been a little bit different from the rest of her kind.

"Enough stalling. Restrain her."

I back down the alley, watching the ghouls as they start forward. The rhythm of their movements is what will aid me in this fight. "I'd run now if I were you," I call to the freaks as their minions break into a charge.

Those tales of slow-motion near-death experiences are a load of crap. My reflexes are not; but even as I act to defend myself, more things are set in motion than I can track.

I force a stream of raw power through my palm as my arm snaps up. The skin burns and blisters, the bullets melt as they fly through the air.

Head and heart. Head and heart. Most of my mind is consumed with weaving bullets through dead flesh. The fringes of my mind register the growing power of an undead greater than myself. I start laughing with joy as dread rolls before his coming like thunder before a storm.

Saved.

Then I feel something constrict around my ankle. The pressure alone isn't enough to break bone, yet the bones in my leg scream with pain.

In shock I collapse to the ground. How many moments have passed? Has it been more than a few seconds since the standoff ended? And I couldn't keep myself intact for that long?

Alucard is not going to be happy about this. Still, I can't help laughing. I won't be the only one to suffer his fury.