Notes: So, this fic started out as a blurb scene for last month's AU Roulette challenge to do an Indiana Jones-inspired AU, and I loved the idea so much that I'm going to expand it for my Fictober project this month. I'm going for a Last Crusade vibe, so, naturally, I'll be focusing on Daphne and Vincent for this fic, but the rest of the gang, plus Mortifer, will have roles to play.

As this is an AU and not my main fic timeline, Vincent is not a warlock—he is mortal (that will be relevant to the plot); he and Mortifer being antiquities appraisers is based off of a (sadly) failed TV pilot starring the real Vincent Price and Peter Lorre (who Mortifer was—at least vocally—based off of) called Collector's Item: the Left Fist of David, where they played the same.

Prologue:

"Quiet," Vincent Van Ghoul whispered to his partner, Mortifer Quinch.

"Don't worry; I don't think I can talk above this," Mortifer squeaked.

The two antiquities appraisers had successfully infiltrated the hideout of their archnemesis—renegade treasure hunter Harriet Mullins. Once a legitimate archaeologist and colleague of Vincent and Mortifer, Harriet's greed had gotten the better of her, and she and her entourage had sought to obtain valuable artifacts for her own personal collection. They weren't above thievery, either—Harriet and her crew had resorted to all kinds of underhanded tricks to obtain what they wanted, from blackmail to extortion, and beyond.

Vincent dragged the shaking Mortifer into the shadows as they ventured further into the hideout—a network of tunnels in a twisting, underground cavern.

"I don't understand," he murmured. "This place is empty—it looks as though they're in the process of moving."

"They did cause quite a stir, crashing that museum banquet," Mortifer reminded him in an undertone. "They threatened so many of the trustees that they've up and gone into hiding. Looks like Mullins is going into hiding, as well, before she can be brought to justice, since we were able to get authorities to the museum on time and secure it."

Vincent scowled.

"Perhaps we need to administer a citizen's arrest," he muttered.

"She's dangerous, Vincent—and she's got your number," Mortifer warned. "You're the reason why so many of the things she desired were in that museum, and why they are still there now. You've made a very powerful enemy, Vincent."

"Do I look concerned?"

"You should be—she's dangerous!" Mortifer hissed. "And you're only human!"

Vincent sighed; it wasn't something he brought up with Mortifer, but there were times he felt as though, in another time and place, he wasn't just a mere mortal—the visions always came to him in dreams, but they were glimpses of another life where he was a warlock.

But Mortifer was right; in this here and now, he was only human—and Mortifer was also right about Harriet being a dangerous foe.

"Let's see if we can pick up a lead on where she might be going, at least," Vincent decided. "That can be helpful to the international authorities."

Mortifer let out a quiet sigh, but nodded.

They edged quietly into the central chambers of the hideout; the shelves and timber structures used for storage and support were bare, and only a few tapestries still hung on the cavern walls.

"Is everything packed up and loaded?" Harriet asked her hatted associate.

"All except the tapestries and our… insurance policy," the man chuckled.

"Fine, gather them up and—"

She was cut off as Mortifer, troubled by the dust in the cavern, was unable to hold back a sneeze.

Vincent cringed; sure enough, Harriet started barking orders.

"Get out! Get the trucks moving! NOW!"

Realizing that they had lost the element of surprise, Vincent ran out of hiding.

"Mullins!" he fumed.

"Oh, I might've known it was you, Van Ghoul," she hissed, as Mortifer now backed him up. "You're the entire reason I'm being forced to go into hiding!"

"My heart bleeds," Vincent returned, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Oh, if only," Harriet sneered, grabbing a flaming torch from the wall bracket near the back exit of the tunnel. "I'll settle for you going up in flames instead."

Vincent recoiled, prompting her to laugh.

"Leave him alone!" Mortifer scowled.

"Oh, please; it's such an irony! He's such a brave man—unless there's fire around! Well, this pyrophobia will be my ticket out of here… unless you're willing to hand over your research notes on the Three Gems of Olympus?"

"I will gladly face fire rather than hand over my life's work to you!" Vincent snarled. "I've been researching that since I was a teenager, 20 years ago!"

"Then… Ciao!"

Harriet set the nearest tapestry—which had been sprayed beforehand with oil—alight, rapidly spreading to the other tapestries and wooden structures, also sprayed with oil. Vincent froze, involuntarily, as Harriet went through the exit.

"Vincent, hurry!" Mortifer called, running to him.

But even as Vincent snapped out of it, Harriet had sealed the exit behind her.

"It's no good…" Mortifer fretted, trying to force his way through. "We'll have to go back the way we came, and hope we can make it before the fire burns up all the oxygen!"

"Yes—we must," Vincent said, furious with himself and his irrational fear of fire.

He turned to follow Mortifer back through the cavern, cringing again as one of the flaming wooden beams crashed down to the cavern floor, next to an old, open crate.

And Vincent froze in his tracks again as the startled cries of a baby emerged from the crate.

"What!?"

"Vincent, be careful!" Mortifer yelled, as Vincent ran over.

Vincent's heart caught in his throat as he saw an infant lying in the crate, which had been hastily filled with laurel leaves as makeshift bedding. Swaddled in a baby blanket, the infant had red hair as fiery as the flames around them.

"Her… 'insurance policy,'" Vincent realized aloud, feeling ill. "I'd heard Mullins dealt in kidnapping to obtain artifacts for ransom!"

"We can't leave that baby here!" Mortifer exclaimed.

"I had no intention of it!" Vincent assured him.

He picked the infant up from the crate; the crying eased as Vincent cradled the baby in one arm, shielding the infant from the falling debris with his suitjacket.

"Don't worry," he promised the infant. "I've got you."

It was a tense escape through the cavern tunnels, but, at last, Vincent and Mortifer—and the infant—made it out to safety. The baby had stopped crying completely now, and was looking up at Vincent with bright eyes as he searched for some kind of identifying information.

There was none—just a scribbled card that had been pinned to the baby blanket in Harriet's handwriting—

Girl, 2 months, United States. Ransom TBD.

"What am I supposed to do, Mortifer?" he asked, helplessly.

"I don't know," his partner said, also at a loss. "It'll be impossible to find out who she belongs to—Mullins's records will have been lost in that fire, and this girl is probably just one of many kidnap victims hidden all over the world."

Vincent exhaled.

"So my options are…"

"To leave her with the authorities, who will, no doubt, send her to an orphanage once they abandon the fruitless search since there's nothing to go on," Mortifer said. "Or…"

"…Or," Vincent finished. "Unorthodox as it is, save her from that fate by taking her in as my own."

"That's about the size of it," Mortifer agreed. "What will you do?"

Vincent didn't reply at first; silently, he watched as the baby looked up at him again and quietly cooed.

"Since I found her in a bed of laurel leaves," he said, at last. "I will name her after the Ancient Greek word for laurel—Daphne." He glanced back at Mortifer, and gave him a nod. "Let's go back."

And so, Vincent started off for home, with his partner in tow—and his new baby daughter in his arms.