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09.
spoiled cake
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Seras darted from room to room like a comet. The timid little thing who had started off the tour attached to Integra's side was now peering into empty doorways of her own volition, eyes wide with wonderment. Integra smiled after her. She ignored the part of her that insisted, You know this house, Seras. You know it better than I do.
She stomped on that thought. That Seras was gone, forever. This Seras was the one she had to take care of, as her counterpart had taken care of old Integra. She watched and heard her gasp at the volumes upon volumes of books lining the shelves of the library she had just discovered, and there was nothing she wished more than to preserve that expression of happiness. Seras, let's be happy this time. Happier than we allowed ourselves to be. You and me.
"You can pick one out, if you want," Integra said.
Seras glanced at her and back at the books, flustered. "I don't know...there's so many..."
Integra examined a shelf. It carried her childhood favorites. Tales of knights and quests and a bit of romance. She could admit she used to read them in bed and dream of valorous men who would come to her aid and press a kiss to her hand. But dreams, were only ever dreams.
She pulled off a weathered volume and gave it to Seras. "Why don't you try this one? Once the novelty wears off, I'm sure, you'll find this house rather boring. You should have something to read, at least."
Seras clutched it to her chest. She looked as if she did not know what to say. After a moment she asked, "Can we see upstairs?"
"Of course."
On the next floor, Integra led Seras to a room which had been tidied during breakfast. "And here is your room."
Seras nearly dropped the book.
"My room...?"
She seemed rooted to the spot. Hesitantly, she took a step inside.
On such short notice, it was hardly more than a large guest room, yet there was sunlight streaming through the windows. She would love that, Integra had thought. Accepting herself as a vampire had not stopped Seras from loving the day or bemoaning her inability to enjoy it. The sun did not hurt Seras, but it did enfeeble her, and so in addition to staying indoors she would try to appreciate it in roundabout ways.
"Sunlight has a certain scent, did you know, Master Integra?"
"Do you like it? Or if you'd prefer a different room, that can be arranged," Integra assured.
Seras turned to face her. She shut her eyes.
"Seras? What's wrong?"
"I feel like this is all too good to be true," the child said in a tiny voice, "and if I look at it too long, I'll waste it and it'll disappear."
"That's silly," Integra remarked softly. "I'm right here, and I won't disappear on you."
"But I've never had good things happen to me before. Why should they happen now?"
Because I willed it.
"Maybe this is all a dream."
Integra's response was to pinch her cheek.
Seras squeaked, her eyes flying open. "Wha—what was that for?"
"Did it hurt?"
"Yeah, it did!"
"Good, that means it's not a dream," Integra deadpanned.
Seras gaped at her. Then she burst into giggles.
Integra relaxed. There now.
The child moved to hug her, still giggling, and Integra held her tight. She stroked her hair, attempting in vain to quell the regret at not having made enough of these gestures in their past life. My darling girl. I loved you most. I loved you best. You knew that, right?
"Thank you, Integra. You're so kind to me."
She blinked rapidly.
A yawn was stifled against her blouse. Seras had been through turmoil in a single morning, and out of worry and excitement had not gotten one wink in the car. It was no wonder she was sleepy. Integra steered her toward the bed. "You need to get some sleep."
"Oh, but I haven't seen the rest of the manor yet!"
"This house isn't going anywhere, ninny," she teased. "Or do you need me to pinch you again?"
"Okay, okay!" Seras scrambled under the thin summer sheets. Once settled, however, her face dimmed, and she began to erratically thumb the frayed cover of the book she had kept in her steadfast grasp. She looked up at Integra from her pillows and her words came out in a rush. "I don't—I don't mean to sound like a baby but—could you—could you stay until I fall asleep? Please? I have—dreams—bad ones."
Integra knew those bad dreams well. She asked no questions. She merely sat on the bed beside her and made to take the book from her. "I'll read to you, then."
Seras shielded it with her hands. "No!" She flushed. "I mean—I like talking to you. I haven't—I haven't really talked to anyone like this, ever." She flushed deeper. "Is that okay?"
There was nothing Integra would deny her. She swept her fringe from her earnest eyes. "What shall we talk about?"
"I don't know where to start!" Seras exclaimed, so different from the broken girl who had sat outside waiting for the rain, the vengeful girl who had watched the castration of her assaulter, the desperate girl who had begged to go with her. Here she was simply a curious girl fascinated with her new home and her new friend whom she may or may not have met in a dream. There was in Seras, always, an inextinguishable light. "Oh, oh! Mrs. Bolger told me..."
And thus they talked about the topics raised by chatty old Miriam, which Integra reaffirmed or refuted to the best of her memory, with her hand resting warmly on Seras' forehead all the while. Until pauses in speech grew more frequent, and blue, blue eyes became half-closed.
Seras reached up and held onto Integra's fingers. "Are you sure you're not an angel or maybe a fairy godmother?"
Integra smiled indulgently. "I'm sure, you silly thing."
"That was silly for me to say, because fairy godmothers are supposed to be old," Seras agreed, missing the pain in Integra's eyes. "You're a real lady in a real manor, that makes you closer to a princess. Only..." She drifted off. "More..."
Slowly, Integra removed her hand. She tucked Seras' in, wishing—no, ordering her nightmares away.
"It's not enough to be a lady or a prince or even a king of a certain place," she whispered. "We always have to be more. Our own knights, our own fairy godmothers, even," she sighed, "our own monsters."
Seras slept soundly.
"My Seras. You were my wings. You were my only light for such a long time. You must have known..." There was that damnable sting in her eyes again. "I never would have survived that time without you."
She inhaled, and kept the tears at bay.
"So I'll kiss you goodbye, Seras. The Seras I've known, the Seras I've loved, so I can know you anew and love you better." And she did. She kissed her tenderly on the brow, and then wrenched away lest a drop fall.
The summer was cold. The sun beat against her skin and set her locks ablaze but she felt so cold. Death had left a chill and she suspected it was permanent. A frostbitten soul.
Integra stood and went to draw the curtains.
The book she gave Seras caught her attention as she headed for the door. She picked it up and flipped, out of distant habit, to a dog-eared page. A lay. Lanval. She had not read it in years.
Lanval, fair friend, for you I've come,
For you I've traveled far from home.
If you are brave and courteous,
You'll be more glad and prosperous
Than ever was emperor or king,
For I love you over everything.
Her lips twisted. She skipped immediately to Lanval's reply.
There's no command, you may be sure,
Wise or foolish, what you will,
Which I don't promise to fulfill.
I'll follow only your behest . . .
That was enough. What tripe. She snapped the book shut and discarded it on a dresser. She checked on Seras once more, opened the door and stepped out into the corridor.
And walked straight into Alucard.
She reflexively grabbed the front of his black suit jacket. Silk, was her impression. Then cold and hard, his body underneath. Yesterday, when he had broken her fall from the ladder, she had been so surprised he was real that nothing else had registered. Presently, however, she was very aware of his broad form against hers. Integra lurched back and saw he was gazing down at her with unreadable crimson eyes.
"Master." His gloved fingers closed on hers and prevented her from going far. "You should watch your step."
"Alucard." She steadied herself. "How long have you been standing here?"
His gaze flicked to the door behind her. He searched her face. "I have just arrived."
Thank God. "And where have you been?" Integra demanded. She found she did not want to retract her hand. She needed his coldness to assuage her own. "You didn't cause any casualties, I hope."
There was a ghost of a smile. "Such deplorable regard you hold me in. No, my Master, your streets remain unsullied. I have simply been, shall I say, lost in thought." His gaze dropped to her lips.
They burned.
Integra leaned against the door, unabashed. He was sinful in black, with a splash of red around his neck. She liked him better without his coat. She wondered why he persisted in wearing it, that relic of his most hated past. Though she knew him best, such facets were unpolished, questions she had to derive answers to by conjecture because he was never there. Then again, it wasn't as if he was exactly forthcoming even when he was around.
"Ah, now will you be the one lost?" Alucard tightened his grip on her hand minutely. "Where do you go that I cannot follow?"
When, not where.
Integra pulled her hand back. He let her go.
"Nowhere you can't follow," she corrected. "I'm going to my office. The hour is late. You have my permission to retire for the day." She slid past him.
"Perhaps that girl inside may provide a clue."
If he was trying to get a rise out of her, he succeeded. Integra whipped around and said, deathly calm, "Leave Seras alone."
Alucard laughed low. "Now you truly wound me. What do you imagine I'll do, frighten her to death?"
"These are your orders," Integra enunciated. "Leave Seras alone. She knows nothing. Absolutely nothing. Upset her and I'll confine you to your crypt."
He snarled. "Orders? These are my orders? Are you hearing yourself? That girl merits a measure of this extent?"
"I hear loud and clear and it certainly sounds like you're questioning my orders," she hissed.
An imperceptible emotion darkened his pallor, then he quietened. "No, my Master. I dare not. Not when your meager substitute haunts me still." His mouth curved into what was supposed to be a provocative smile, but failed to reach his eyes. "Yet, meager as it is, you don't expect it to sweeten me for long."
"Actually, I expect it to sweeten you for much longer."
"Do you?"
"Yes," Integra said. With no warning whatsoever she yanked his cravat and drew his face parallel to hers. "Because it's my kiss. My kiss, Alucard. Your Master's kiss."
"Would you like me to demonstrate a real kiss?" Alucard ventured at last, his voracity tearing at its seams. What he harbored for her, a possessiveness for his master that mirrored her own for him, was his undoing and almost, almost it frightened him. This was not his pace. He would have been content to wait until it was she who could not wait, yet this—how violent! Because somehow, somehow this was not the real fifteen-year-old Integra. This Integra gave, in coarse human vernacular, absolutely zero fucks and it was maddening, cruelly maddening— "Shall I begin with the sole of your foot? Tell me, Integra. Tell me tell me tell me. Spune-mi."
She wanted—she wanted him to—
"You are utterly ridiculous." Integra released him with a shove. It was a miracle no one had chanced upon them in the corridor. She—she was not breathless—was going to go drown herself in paperwork.
His voice cut through the silence behind her back.
"When, Integra?"
She should not have stopped.
She stopped.
When. Without context, it was an innocent query.
And the Devil was anything but innocent.
"Integra!"
She jumped. That was Miriam.
She turned back to see the woman heading toward her. Alucard was gone. The housekeeper did not appear to have noticed he had been there at all, and came up to her cheerily. "There you are. Wonderful. Have you shown Miss Victoria her room?"
Integra recollected herself in Alucard's wake. "Yes. She's asleep."
Miriam looked disappointed. "You see, I was going to ask her what she wanted for lunch. The size of that child! I don't think she's been eating properly!" She focused on Integra. "I must say, dear, I am very glad you brought her here. She was very shy earlier, but I could tell she's a sunbeam of a child, and Lord knows this house needs more of that." Then in an undertone she added, "Is she who you were looking for yesterday?"
Integra stared at the woman whose expression was a tad too knowing. "Miriam..."
To her surprise, Miriam made a shushing motion. "Now don't you go worrying off that pretty blonde head. I won't tell Mr. Dornez or your red gentleman. This is something you want to keep to yourself, I understand." She sniffed. "Men. I don't want to be putting poor late Mr. Bolger in the same pool, but they can be quite insensitive, can't they?"
Had her old nanny always been this shrewd? "Thank you," Integra whispered.
Miriam patted her shoulder dotingly. "There's still the matter of lunch, I fear. Do you have an idea?"
"Seras likes...lamb." She recalled her mentioning it once over the dinner table, because Seras would be quick to devour her blood, and she would fill the void as she ate ("That's a lovely piece of lamb, Master Integra, I can smell it's cooked just right, it used to be my favorite when I was little...") "Lamb cutlets."
"Delightful," Miriam said. "Remember, my dear, you can depend on us. We won't think any less of you if you do."
"I will," Integra said, But I'm afraid that's no longer an option.
xx
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Three hours later, Seras woke up confused. This was not her bed in the orphanage. The sheets were fluffy. The pillows were even fluffier. Wait, there was more than one pillow? Seras shook her head, and then it dawned on her, the biggest change.
She had not had a nightmare.
No nightmare. No nightmare! No more of their...deaths... Seras could scarcely believe it at first. She grabbed a pillow and hugged it, and hugged it so tight it would have coughed out stuffing. She was so happy she started crying, and sniffled into the pillow for quite a while.
Soon she rubbed away her tears and blushed a bit. It was silly of her to cry when she was so happy. She did not want to seem ungrateful to Integra or make her worried. Integra! Seras peeped around the room—it overwhelmed her to think of it as her room—but of course the older girl was not there. The book she had given her was lying on a dresser and Seras hopped out of bed and over to it, hugging it as well, in lieu of its owner. She felt warm and protected.
Her stomach emitted a little gurgle. A clock on the wall told her it was lunchtime. Seras hoped that meant she would be eating with Integra again. Maybe—maybe she could go and find her this time!
That she did not know where in the huge manor Integra could be stopped her short.
"You can do this, Seras!" the girl said, pepping herself up. It would be an adventure, of sorts. She could not expect Integra to show her everywhere. She had to stand on her own two feet! And, that way, she would be less of a burden.
Seras squeezed her fists. "Okay!"
Once outside, she attempted to retrace their steps. The corridors appeared much wider and lengthier than they had been when she was with Integra. The doors looked identical, too. She managed to end up back in the library, which was empty. Seras resumed wandering, wracking her brain for a clue.
"Miss Victoria?"
She hid around a corner.
It was Mr. Dornez, the butler. His grey eyes were genial and not at all fazed by her reaction. "Miss Victoria, are you in need of assistance?"
"I was looking for Integra," Seras mumbled, her face guarded. She had liked Mrs. Bolger well enough, because she reminded her of her grandmother, but she had only told Mr. Dornez her name and was not yet sure what to think about him.
"Miss Hellsing is currently in her office."
"Office?" Seras squeaked. Stupid! Of course a person as important as Integra would have her own office, in a house this big. It only made sense. And its implication made her shrink. "I—I don't want to disturb her..."
"Not at all," the butler said. "I was on my way to call her for lunch. I believe she would be very happy to see you."
"Really?"
"Yes," Walter said. Though he did not understand it in the least. He bowed. "If you will please follow me."
It was verily new and strange, this whole experience. As if the manor and its inhabitants were somehow separate from the rest of England. The lady, the butler...the soldiers...the mysterious man in the red coat...
They arrived on the top floor, where Mr. Dornez approached a set of stately wooden doors. He knocked. "My lady."
"Enter."
The doors opened to an enormous room with many windows. In the middle sat a desk, and behind it Integra, who was tapping the end of a fountain pen on her bottom lip as she glared at a sentence. Seras suddenly felt infinitely small. She knew it was different but—she had stood in front of desks before, led there by an adult, who would say, I must inform you that Seras has caused trouble again...
"My lady, Miss Victoria has come to see you."
"Seras?" Integra looked up. Her eyes softened.
Those eyes—blue like hers, only lighter—were eyes she had known for less than a day, yet they felt to Seras like love. A love she had last seen in her parents' eyes.
Integra did not stay behind her desk. She abandoned her papers, and met her halfway. She bent down, holding her gaze, and Seras felt more of that love. "Good afternoon, Seras."
"Good afternoon, Integra," she reciprocated shyly.
"I trust your sleep was dreamless."
"It was! How did you know?" Seras asked, amazed.
"I ordered them away," Integra said. "Your bad dreams."
"Does that work?"
"Oh, there are few monsters in this world that do not yield to me," Integra said dryly.
Neither of them noticed Walter's fixed look.
"Whatever your monsters are, Seras, I won't let them get to you."
"You don't have to. You've already done so much for me, Integra," Seras whispered. "I don't have anything to give back."
Integra cupped her face. It was strange. Seras did not like people touching her. But it never occurred to her to recoil from Integra's hands, not just because they saved her. They were gentle and strong. Like her mother's had been. Like her father's had been. It was the first time their memory did not drive her to despair.
"Seeing you smile is enough."
Seras smiled.
"Is it lunch already?"
Walter answered. "Yes, my lady."
"Let's be going, then." Integra offered Seras a hand, and the child took it at once. They made their way down, side by side, to the dining room.
"Integra, what is it that you do, exactly?" Seras asked.
Integra did not skip a beat. "I run a paramilitary organization that services the Queen."
Paramilitary organization? The Queen? Seras' mind was abuzz. "Like a knight?"
"Yes. As a matter of fact, when I come of age, I will be knighted." Integra said this with a curious quirk of her lips, as though she was finding the prospect wearily amusing. Seras could not imagine why. It seemed terribly exciting and daunting to her.
"If you're a knight, does that mean you protect people?" Seras frowned. "Or is that just medieval knights?"
A muscle twitched in Integra's palm. "I hope," she said, "I will be able to."
Seras squeezed her hand. "It's what I hope I'll do, too! As a police officer. That's my dream."
Abruptly Integra stopped, and regarded her solemnly. Seras was beginning to worry she had said something wrong when Integra murmured, "Yes, I can see you'll become a fine police girl."
Walter opened the doors for them, and they entered the dining room, Seras' cheeks flushed pink. She allowed herself to be distracted by the table. Lamb cutlets were her favorite! She had not had them since... She shook her head and sat down.
Walter poured their drinks.
The lamb was delicious.
A call came from Sir Penwood in the middle of the meal, which Walter put on hold. He asked Integra if she would take it.
"Sir Penwood," Integra repeated. She rose from her chair. "Excellent. I'll ask him if he's available for a visit tomorrow. It's been long since we had a fencing match."
Walter coughed. "A fencing match, my lady? With Shelby Penwood?"
"He's an exceptional swordsman, Walter, don't you know?" She chuckled as she left, sharing an inside joke with herself.
Walter refilled their glasses in her absence and Seras slowed her eating. She still was not comfortable around Mr. Dornez. Years of anticipating the intentions of adults told her he could spring a question on her at any minute. Which he did.
"Miss Victoria, may I ask you a question?"
Seras swallowed a piece of cutlet. Mr. Dornez looked guileless, but she never did trust adults when they started off with that sentence. "Yes."
"How did you come to know Miss Hellsing?"
Seras lowered her fork. "We met once in a dream."
Walter paused. Dreams, again? Was it his imagination, or was he sensing a pattern here? "A...dream."
"That's what Integra said." Seras drew lines in her sauce with her fork. "I don't remember it, though." She wished she could. She wished she could understand Integra as effortlessly as Integra seemed to understand her. It really was quite unfair.
"I see. Today, then, was the first time you met her in person?"
Seras disturbed her salad. "Yes. She saved me."
"She saved you?"
"She killed him."
Walter was smart enough to drop the conversation, and to glean that the event which had caused Integra to pull the trigger had been heinous, and had enraged her murderously—and that this girl who was speaking of it without inflection was no ordinary girl, indeed. Why though? Why her? He could not wrap his mind around it. Stumped, and acknowledging he may have unwittingly conjured ill flashbacks, he apologized. "I had no idea. Forgive me for dredging up what must have been a traumatic experience for you."
"It's okay, Mr. Dornez." Seras shrugged. "You didn't mean to."
"You are very generous, Miss Victoria."
She fidgeted. "It's weird, being called 'Miss Victoria,'" she blurted. "I'm not an actual lady like Integra, you can just call me Seras."
"It is my personal belief that all young girls are ladies worthy of respect," Walter said. "But if you insist. Please, call me Walter."
When the child smiled, he thought that the circumstances of Seras' connection to Integra was a mystery he would solve patiently—and tactfully—and that regardless, he would follow his lady's lead and protect that smile.
xx
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Sir Shelby Penwood was as she remembered him. Kind, apprehensive and concerned. He was pleasantly surprised to hear she would be visiting. "Certainly I'll be happy to make time for you, Integral. Er, nothing's wrong, is it?"
"No. I would just like to see you."
"Well," he said, sounding mightily unconvinced, "alright. We can meet and discuss later tomorrow."
"Then I'll look forward to our fencing match, Sir Penwood."
"Wha—fencing match? Integral, you know I can't fence—"
Of course, poor Sir Penwood's protests fell on deaf ears, as had his grandson's.
She neared the dining room to see Walter gesticulating and Seras giggling over a plate of dessert cake, and felt the weight in her heart lessen. They would have gotten along sooner or later and she was glad it was sooner.
She walked on. Cake had become spoiled for her.
A summer day is long, but Integra felt it passing quickly, for it was winter within her. The winter raged and raged about the illusory nature of life and death and time. How had Alucard and Seras endured this sensation for so long? She admired them for it, admired the species she had once passionately disparaged. The men would throw a fit, she snorted. How far you've gone, Integral.
So the day passed, and the night returned.
She had a fitful sleep. Nightmares, deprived of one dreamscape, circled the gloom for another, and they ambushed hers. Integra, Integral, Integrity, will you change us? Integra, Integral, Integrity, do you believe you will win? They laughed, and their laughter was familiar.
In contrast, she woke silently. Integra sat up in bed, her hair sticking to her skin, her vision blurred sans her glasses. She wrapped her fingers around her neck. Her throat was parched. She needed water.
She stumbled barefooted to the table by the windows and into the chair. She drank too fast and ended up coughing. The glass slipped from her fingers and water dribbled on the floor.
Her shoulders were cold.
They brushed against a garment hung over the back of the chair.
Alucard's coat. He had neglected to ask for it, and knowing him, he had manifested a new coat by now. Integra tutted. Sloppy vampire. As sloppy as I am, or is that the other way around? At times she wondered how much of herself was Alucard's doing. She found solace in the fact that she had at least affected him in turn. The tears she had witnessed on that morning so long ago were proof.
As long as one could cry, it meant one was not lost—not yet, not completely.
Integra slid the coat over her shoulders, daring to think the weight comforting, the fabric soft, the scent tempting. She closed her eyes.
Shadows slithered out of sight. They scuttered toward her, lifting themselves from the floor as tendrils and twisting around a chair leg to extend to her face. They were tangible, icy digits upon her cheek.
"Alucard," she said.
They thought she would order them out, yet she did not. She raised her own hand to press the phantom hand closer. The shadows trilled in both ecstasy and fear.
"Alucard," she said. "Never leave me."
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NOTES
This chapter was published on December 20, 2016.
It has been updated for formatting on January 29, 2021.
The original end note for this chapter can be found in the link in my profile.
Quote: Marie de France, Lanval