Chapter Nine: Dorian's Summons
[Lance's POV:]
My moods had been mixed ever since the coffee.
On one hand, I would experience moments of giddy delight and the daydreams of a hopeless romantic at the thought of Miss Harker agreeing to let me court her.
But shortly afterwards my thoughts always seemed to return to the novel she said she was reading, and my mood would darken. I'd meant what I'd said about my opinions on most modern literature concerning werewolves. Much of it was so misleading that the media and disgusting people such as Stephanie Meyer had come to glamorize something that would just as soon kill them all, given the chance. I of course, would never stoop to murdering humans and I refuse to take a life unless someone I love is at risk. But as for the born lycanthians such as Miss Eva…well, I cannot speak for them. I trust Miss Eva, but I still am wary at times.
Simply out of a sheer desire to see what in the world the writing of Patricia Briggs was filling Miss Harker's head with, I had sent out for a copy after returning home from the coffee, and waited for Gerard to arrive any moment with the paperback and set it on my desk. In the meantime, I was half-heartedly nibbling at a bagel as I looked over a business proposition from a Malik Knowles, wondering why in the world he was just now choosing to reach out to me. I'd sent him an invitation to consider becoming partners almost six months prior, but he was only now responding. Part of me riled at that, but I managed to keep my temper in check. After all, he probably received several such propositions a year and got to them each in turn.
I was double-checking the e-mail, trying to find any possible loopholes that would give Knowles the advantage, when I heard the soft sound of footsteps on the carpet outside the office, drawing ever closer to the door. Fabric, barely making a sound, rustled as an arm raised.
"Enter!" I nearly barked the word, and there was a hesitation, which caught my interest. Had it been Gerard, he wouldn't have missed a beat. After all, he's been working for me long enough he knows how well I hear things. A moment later the door swung inward to admit a familiar checker-faced visage.
"You were actually planning on knocking?" I asked, startled, nearly letting my bagel hit the floor.
"Very funny…" Rook growled, staggering toward my desk, making me nearly crush the keyboard beneath my fingers.
"Robert, if you are drunk again—" I started to warn him, falling short when I looked closer. There were dark rings under his eyes, which looked wild and somewhat frightened, his breath wheezed painfully each time he inhaled, his hands were shaking violently, unable to get a solid grip on either of his guns, his canine teeth had elongated into sharp fangs, and though his face was still in its usual paint, I could see his neck had gone very pale.
"Robert," I asked warily, "Have you taken your pills?"
"Yeah…Last night. Shouldn't have worn off so soon…" he murmured. "Not even been twelve hours, right…?"
"When did you turn in last night?"
"Ten."
I glanced at the clock on my computer screen, then shook my head. "8:24."
"Shit." he murmured, collapsing onto one of the chairs. He tried clasping his hands in his lap, but they were shaking too much even for that and he resorted to gripping his knees. It only made his tremors look all the worse. "You still have my back-up supply, right?"
I nodded again, opening the hidden drawer in my desk and drawing out a plain plastic bottle that I passed to him. He took it with a grateful expression, then uncapped it and jammed four of the tablets into his mouth, shocking me.
"Robert! You know you're only supposed to take two, twice a day!"
"Effects have been wearing off sooner and sooner," he murmured after a tremendous gulp, still wheezing.
"You can't possibly tell me you're becoming immune to the tablets—"
"I think so…"
"…Robert, that's dangerous. And increasing the number you take at a time is only going to make matters worse."
"What do you want me to do?" he snapped, the outer rings of his gray eyes starting to go red. "I've got no other way of keeping it under control without hurting people! Some of us aren't natural one-with-The-Force, zen-guzzling, inner-peace hippies, rich boy!"
I merely stared at him long and hard, refusing to blink, and leaned back in my chair, resting my elbows on its arms and steepling my fingers as I waited. He was still breathing hard, but within seconds the red glow receded from his eyes and he calmed down, his expression slowly leaving anger and moving into ashamed disbelief.
"I…I…Lance, I'm sorry." he murmured, getting to his feet. "I didn't mean it."
"Codswallop, Robert. You meant every word of it."
He faltered, then hung his head. "I'm sorry."
"Quite alright." said I, waving a hand. "I've already forgiven you. But I think if your problem is becoming so serious that you're going to resort to using four tablets at a time, we need to contact Dorian. You will exhaust your supply in under a month at that rate, so we need the dosage increased."
Rook chuckled dryly. "The guy makes panther-men from test tubes, tames werewolves, finds blood substitutes for vampires…what's he going to do next, inter-species breeding?"
I shot him a grim frown, pausing in mid-motion of dialing Dorian's phone. "Don't even joke about that, Robert. Knowing Emile Dorian, were he to hear those words slip from thy mouth, more likely as not, he would employ thy suggestion. Don't ever make light jokes about that man."
The phone answered on the second ring, a cool British voice surrounding me with melodious, hypnotic tones.
"Ahh, Lancelot my boy! Wonderful to hear from you! I was wondering when you were going to call."
"Questions about my rendezvous with Miss Harker yesterday can wait, Dorian." I responded a tad curtly. "Right now I have more pressing matters to discuss with you."
"Oh? Do tell."
"Robert is beginning to grow immune to the effects of your plasma pills."
"Ahh, yes. I was wondering when that would occur."
I bristled, the hair on the back of my neck starting to rise in fury. "You what? You knew this would happen?"
"Of course I knew." he answered calmly. "I had to begin with a lower plasma level, to ensure that Robert wouldn't suffer any ill effects during the adjustment his body had to make. It was only a matter of time until he started to become immune and need a higher dosage of the pills."
I struggled for a moment, trying to keep from crushing the phone in my hand. "Then what exactly do you propose we do, sir?" I growled out the last word.
"You're going to have to bring Robert here for me to examine him further, of course." came the level response. "Otherwise, heavens knows how in the world I'm going to know the proper adjustment to make to the medicine."
He had a point, Hell take him. "Very well," I replied, "I'll arrange with Gerard to ready the jet and we'll fly him out there."
"Just a moment there, Lancelot," Dorian forestalled me, "I do have a condition for this."
Of course. There's always a catch.
"I would prefer you at least bring Miss Eva along, if not her scaly friend as well."
"There art no manner with which thee can induce me to drag along Waylon Jones, Dorian." I growled.
"I didn't think to delusion myself that there was, Lancelot." he replied smoothly. "But you must bring Miss Eva along as well. For her own sake as much as Robert's."
The line clicked and went dead, and I shut the phone off, my mind darting from Eva, resting and recovering in one of the penthouse rooms, to Rook, standing before me with a haunted look on his face.
There was always a catch with Emile Dorian, damn him.
"Well?" Rook asked worriedly.
"He'll do it, but we have to bring Eva with us." I answered heavily.
"…Always something, isn't there?" he muttered.
"Always." I replied. I turned to the intercom, about to page Gerard to make arrangements for the trip to the island. I tried to tell myself that I was doing the right thing, that this was supposed to help both of my friends in the long run, but I only felt a sense of impending doom hanging about my person as I did so, and it told me I was about to make things severely worse for us all…