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Chapter Text

It had started quiet at first, a voice barely above a whisper that seemed to guide Owen during day and night through Oakhurst, the castle, and the forest, keeping him company in the quiet moments, and when he felt like he might start falling apart.

Whenever he flew through the night, weightless, it was there, whenever he stalked the land as an invisible predator, it was there, and when he desecrated beacons, it was right there with him too.

And it’s getting louder. 

It’d been a sweet comfort to Owen for quite a while, he’d accepted it as the night soothing its child, whispering sweet comfort into his ear whenever he needed it, guiding him. 

Then it had become torture, the louder it turned, the clearer he could hear the voice, and it became familiar, too familiar, until it started to hurt. It was the voice of his beloved Louis, like when he’d spoken to Owen during their meetings, like he’d spoken only to him, he had been kind to the townspeople—God knows they didn’t deserve it—but the way he talked to Owen had been special.  

It’d driven Owen mad, he begged and cried to stop hearing his voice, tried to eradicate it from his mind, written it off as a hallucination instead. However, the longer it stayed, the more okay he grew with it, if it was the only way he’d ever hear his beloved again, he’d take the madness, he knows it’s already swallowed him whole. 

He found comfort in it again, knowing of his delusion, but telling himself it’s real, it’s good. It’s love. 

Owen should be seething, Avid’s a vampire! Out of all the people! And it was Scott who turned him! Scott! If he didn’t know the elder vampire probably has more than just a few tricks up his sleeve, he’d love to take a bite right then and there. Killing him would be asinine, for all his egotism and bravado, he seems to have just the right amount of charisma that Owen lacks, and the manipulation skills to pull it off.

The way he weaves his words is artful, and it reminds him of Louis. But Louis was good, loving, through and through, and Scott is… less that. It’s not the only thing that reminds him of his deceased partner though, he can’t quite put it together, but something about Scott’s appearance makes Owen think of him. 

Still, he should be mad, fuming, instead he’s swimming in another wave of calm. Louis’ voice in his head begs him to have patience with the newest fledgling, to please, please, let him live, and Owen’s never denied Louis any wish.

“He’s scared, like you used to be.” The voice follows him into the pale oak forest. 

“I was never scared of becoming a vampire,” Owen argues, huffing and puffing in anger, but it never reaches the kind of anger he’s felt before.

“No, you weren’t, but you’re afraid of being alone, of losing the people most dear to you.” Louis reminds him. “You’re afraid of losing everything. This… Avid, he’s afraid of the same thing.” 

“He’s got everything.” 

“Owen,” Louis sighs. “I don’t want you to forgive him. I want you to see that you’re so much more alike than you think. You’ve lost everything at the hands of humans, but… this hunter has lost everything by the hands of the undead.” 

He stops in his tracks, almost panting. Something in his mind clicks, fits together, all of a sudden. He doesn’t have to like him, hell, doesn’t even want to like him, doesn’t even want to accept his- 

“Patience, love.” Louis coos. “I’m sure he’ll open his eyes to his blessing, he will see the error of his ways…. Just like you will.” 

Right, that. Ever since his hallucinations grew into Louis, it’s like some of his bloodlust’s been tempered. Instead of chasing the people of Oakhurst through the woods, he sits underneath trees, listening, searches for a comfortable spot on the castle’s roof, or rests near a desecrated beacon, always listening. 

“I don’t see any errors,” he scowls. He doesn’t have to agree with everything his hallucination whispers, but it’s keeping the worst at bay. 

“Not until your time, love, not until your time.” 

Nights go by, Owen doesn’t sleep through day or night, he doesn’t need it, doesn’t want the feeling of rest it promised, he’s slept long enough. Still, he finds his eyes drifting closed without his permission one day, falling into dreams in the coven’s secret nest, and day turns into evening, which turns into night. 

Fire, burnt wood, ashes, the smell of sizzling-hot, rotten flesh penetrates his nose, and he looks up in horror at the pyre in the middle of Oakhurst, but it’s long abandoned, it’s flames lick at nothing. 

Neither the townsfolk nor their victim can be seen, still, panic grips the vampire as he recognises the scene, it’s etched deep into his memory. “Louis? Louis!” 

Owen coughs, the smoke fills his lungs, he doesn’t even need to breathe, yet he forgets just that and inhales the burning air. “Louis!” No one answers. 

Even though he has no need for oxygen, his breaths draw in quicker and quicker, until he finds himself hyperventilating, fleeing the town and rushing down the path to the castle. His vision trips and falls, the world tilts around him as he tries to set his feet onto the ground, though they’ve grown a will of their own now, carrying him through forest, lake, and sand. 

He’s greeted with the dead woods, their pale bark a familiar sight in all of this trouble, never have they been more comforting, a thing he could cling to when reality’s tearing off its hinges. 

“Owen.” 

“Louis?” The vampire almost cries out, if he still had the capacity to form a clear sentence, he might’ve told his partner how much he misses him, aches for them to be reunited at last, how he wishes to make everyone bleed, though Owen’s sure he already knows that, Louis knew him better than anyone else. 

“Owen.” His voice is so fresh in his mind and ears, as if he were standing right next to him, but he knows his partner is far. Too long gone to ever return. Yet, he thinks he just might be able to pinpoint where it comes from the first time in forever. 

His feet carry him to the crypt, a holy place, he retches at the thought of entering. Humans and their stupid books, think they can cure everything, what hubris. But his lover’s voice sounds so sweet from this place, and the further down he goes, the more at home he feels. 

Deep below the ground, he starts to tear the torches from the ground, extinguishing those left on the walls. Only then does he relish in its air, and his eyes zero in on one thing; the chest. Why does he even think there’s something useful inside? All these are good for is human magic. 

But he can’t let Louis down, he led him here, Owen is sure of that, and if this proves to be an illusion, he’ll be damned, cause his partner has never felt more real in the past weeks. 

With trembling hands, he pushes to open the chest. 

The vampire inhales, he’s renewed, he’s aching, he’s hunched over a chest in the crypt, his fingers smudged with ash, and struggling to pry it open, only gaining strength once he’s awake and aware. Confusion clouds his mind, but his dream is fresh in his head as if it’d all been real. A bit too real. 

“What the hell are you doing down here?” Martyn’s voice sounds just as fresh, and he startles out of his stupor to face the Militia member. 

“What’s it look like?” Owen grits through his teeth, mind hazy, but functioning, still, all he can think of is Louis, Louis, Louis, and what he might find in this chest. Though he’s certain of one thing, Martyn will take it. He’ll take it, rip it from his hands, and whatever Louis left for him, it’ll be gone forever, just like him.

“If you’re trying to steal the cure, then-“

“You’re still hanging onto that?” Owen cuts him off with a scoff. “You’re just as hopeless and desperate as I thought.” 

The blond’s holding his lantern and hides behind his shield, ready to strike or defend. Usually, Owen is not one to shy away from a fight, but maybe just this once, he can try to play it right, avoid an altercation, there are more important things than this pretentious idiot. 

“So what are you doing here, if you don’t believe in a cure?” Martyn’s got a tight grip on his lantern, as if that could truly terrify an older vampire. Sure, he might be young compared to Scott, but far more experienced than the fledglings. 

“It’s not your business, I didn’t attack you, you can just leave.”

“Not my business? You ran through town, screaming like a madman!”

He’s done what?

“I did—” Owen’s mouth hangs open. 

“Where is he? We’ll show—“ Ren comes up right behind Martyn, armed with sword and shield, but halts when he sees the vampire almost cradling the chest. “The foul demon, looking to steal a holy gift from us, don’tcha know!” 

He can see the two men exchanging a few words, trying to come closer, seeming unsure again, confusion written all across their faces, and soon across his, when they loosen their grip on the weapons.

“First ye terrorise us at the campfire, screaming like the unholy choir at the gates of hell, then ye try to take our books?” The older one shakes his head, expression hardened with something between anger and wariness. 

“Liar! I didn’t do any of that!” Owen retorts, almost hissing from his spot. “You humans really need to come up with better excuses to hunt us down!” 

He can feel it again, the anger, the rage building and boiling up inside of him, with a shiver down his spine, he notices how, ever since he’s woken up, he hasn’t heard Louis’ voice one time, without him… there’s nothing stopping him. He’ll take them in hand and pull apart their muscles, spinning their sinews like strings and stretch them until their tear apart.

Though the chest beneath his hands pulses in an unsteady rhythm, almost like a heart, or something trying to imitate its beating. It emanates peace, lulls him in, until anger morphs into hurt, and the flashes of violence in his head start to feel cruel… disgusting. 

“I didn’t…” his voice becomes smaller, so pathetic. He did wake up in this crypt, right where his dream ended, it all felt so real, when he thinks back, it still does. Different, but real. 

“What the hell is going on?” Martyn sighs. “It’s like I want to kill you, but I-” 

“-can’t move ye finger to pick up the sword, lad?” Ren finishes his sentence with equal confusion. “It’s like some curse has befallen us all, don’tcha know? Hindering us from slaying the brood!” 

As much as he hates it, Owen has to agree with the two. His fingers itch for a fight, but he can’t bring himself to get violent, reviled by the images playing in his mind, soothed by the false heart, alone the thought of clawing at their faces tires him out. 

“Was I really in Oakhurst tonight?” He mutters, almost too embarrassed to ask, he feels weak, stripped of his claws, his fangs dulled. 

“Yes,” Martin groans. “Don’t act like you’re innocent, everyone saw you.”

“Screaming with the rage of a Banshee, ye were.” Ren nods along. “Terrifying as a hellhound let loose, don’tcha know.” 

“I… don’t.” Owen’s mind races, trying to figure out what possessed him to do this. Louis, Louis, Louis. He needs to open that chest.

The vampire lets out a shaky hum, trying to steel himself for whatever he might find, if it’s all in vain he might lose his mind forever this time. It seems like he’s already going insane, sleepwalking. 

“Hey, what are you doing?” Martyn inches closer with great effort. “You can’t just take—”

“Oh, shut up.” Owen’s hands push the lid up, and he stares inside. A book, a single book. Just as disappointment starts to eat at his edges, he notices how it’s pulsing, calling out to him. 

It hypnotises him, making his focus zero in on it so much he doesn’t even care, doesn’t even startle when the two men come up on both of his sides, sandwiching him so they can take a look as well. 

“What kind of unholy artefact is this, ye demon?” Ren whispers, either in awe, or in fear. 

Owen stays silent, and instead reaches his hand out to grab the book, to answer its call for him, to be held, cradled, by the vampire. 

His fingers touch the leather it’s bound with, black and ancient, adorned with red stitching, it looks as if it was made for him. 

The vampire closes his eyes for just a moment to steel himself, then grips the book and pulls it out of the chest. Nothing happens, the book comes out just like that, without an issue. Somehow he was convinced something would happen. 

Instead of wondering though, Owen opens the book, surprised that it even yields once he sets his eyes on the writing. 

“Written by Sergeant Arthur Oakhurst. A compendium of advice for creatures of the night.”

A guide book? Owen’s well beyond that, he might’ve spent a lot of his time asleep, but he’s no longer a fledgling, he can hold his own. His massacre proves it. 

Yet, the vampire’s fingers flip through the pages, past dedications, to the contents, skimming through them with mild curiosity. Getting turned, teething, hunting. 

All of these things he already knows how to do, and Martyn looks like he’s on the verge of making a snarky comment, as his eyes get stuck on one particular topic. Introduction to the art of Life and Death. 

Page 278, he opens it in a heartbeat, frantically scanning the page for something, something buried in the back of his mind pushing its way to the front. Mortality, dying, immortal, forever. Resurrection.

Resurrection. 

Owen blinks, making sure the letters are still there, in that order, forming that word, nothing changes. It’s printed onto the page, and doesn’t move, doesn’t budge, no matter how often he tests it. 

“Oh, what is your devious goal with this, vampire?” Ren gasps, breath ghosting on his shoulder as the man leans over to read with him. 

He doesn’t bother to answer, his mind running in circles, overloaded, filled with energy like never before. This is it, this is better than blind killing, violent outbursts, angry nights spent crying, wanting to put himself back in the ground. 

Owen can get his life back, he can get everything he’s ever wanted.

“What’s going on here?” The doctor. 

The two Militia members and the vampire turn around in an instant, moving away from one another, like they were caught doing something forbidden. To be fair, getting caught huddling up with one another during these times could be counted as treason. 

“We’ve encountered a book, Doctor. One like we’ve never seen before, don’tcha know?” Ren glances at the leather-bound artefact in Owen’s hands, pulsing with darkness, practically dripping to the floor like the blood the vampire drinks. Legs wrinkles his nose, as if smelling it from afar. 

“What is it about?” He tilts his head. 

“Guidebook for the undead,” Martyn supplies. “But it’s- There’s something about bringing back the dead in there? I don’t— I—?” 

Legundo’s eyes widen, and fixate on the book, before he looks right at Owen. 

“I thought once you— Once we kill them, properly, they’re gone forever?” The young noble’s voice trembles. 

“There will be hoards of living dead among us before we know what’s happening!” Ren grunts, willing himself to take the book, to maybe even set it ablaze, but his limbs won’t listen. 

“Owen,” Legs wets his lips. “You won’t—”

“I know exactly what to use this for, and I believe you do too, don’t think you can stop me, Doctor.” He spits the title like an insult. 

“What’s the price?” Legundo wants to know. “What’s the price, Owen?”

“Nothing I’m not willing to pay, especially now that your God has abandoned you.” The vampire snarls, pushing past Ren and Martyn, on his way to the exit, he strides past Legs, before he turns around. “You won’t take him from me. Not right now, or ever.” 

“What was that?” Martyn laughs, hysteria colouring his voice as the mysterious calmness wears off. “What’s that guy on about? We’re not taking anyone away from him!” 

“This interaction sent shivers down me spine, lad.”

“He’s the one who threatened to massacre us all! We didn’t— They took us out one by one, but somehow we’re—” Martyn doesn’t finish his thoughts as they’re racing through his mind, he struggles to catch up.

Legs paces in front of them, head elsewhere, where neither of the other men could follow. 

“You know something, Doctor.” The noble narrows his eyes at him. “Don’t you?” 

He stops in his tracks, sucking in a breath. “It’s not my place to tell you.” 

“So now you’re buddying up with that bloodthirsty vampire?” Martyn cocks his head, stepping closer. “After everything they’ve done? First Pyro, then Shelby, Apo, even Avid! Who knows who else will fall? If someone who used to be as against vampires as Avid can be persuaded to join the castle, then who can we even trust?” 

“I am not ‘buddying up’ with Owen, I’m—” 

“Whatever it is, it might help us fix this!” Martyn exclaims. “If it’s something that helps us stop Owen, that rids us of one of the most murderous creatures, we need to know.” 

“I—” 

“Whatever his plans might be, they need to be stopped by any means, Doctor.” Ren nods, agreeing with the other. 

On one hand, whatever trust there used to be between him and Owen is now in ruins, and Owen’s never made a secret of losing someone. On the other hand, Legs doesn’t exactly feel comfortable with spilling the vampire’s trauma. 

What if there is something they could do though? If not Ren and Martyn, maybe someone else from the town? 

“Owen, he lost someone,” Legs starts. “He got turned by his own free will, the person who offered left him a choice, a good man, in his words. The two were close, but after Owen got turned, the townsfolk burnt his partner on a pyre.” 

Silence stretches between them, before Martyn lets out a quiet “oh.” 

“That explains his hatred for humans,” he mutters, mind going back to his monologue behind the castle, his illness, his loneliness. Not an excuse for a massacre, but— 

“He believes curing his vampirism takes away the only thing he’s still got left from his partner,” Legs sighs. “That, and he might become sick again.” 

“So now he wants to bring that other vampire back from the dead?” Ren raises his eyebrows. “Dabbling in necromancy is a dangerous deed, don’tcha know?” 

“It seems so,” Legundo shakes his head. “I wish I could’ve gotten a look at the book, I’m afraid the price for reviving a loved one is too great to pay, and I don’t know what Owen wouldn’t pay to do it.” 

“Fearsome times are ahead, my friends.” 

Chapter Text

He still can’t believe he got away with it, how they let him go like that. Owen thought they would’ve at least tried to get a good cut in, or he might get a splinter from a stake, but nothing of the sort.

“Was that you, Louis?”

There’s no answer, all that’s left is the residual warmth of his partner guiding him. However, as long as it lasts, he won’t mind, he knows he’ll have him back soon enough. In the blink of an eye, he’ll have everything.

At the castle, he catches Avid and Scott, together with Shelby, sitting at the table, chatting. He’s irritated at how easy the elder vampire talks to the fledglings, especially the former hunter. How could he let him in so easily? Is he so sure he can have everyone wrapped around his pinky?

The older vampire just knows, in one of the back rows in his head, that he will betray them. He will turn around with a stake in hand and try to slaughter them in their own home. Emphasis on try.

“Oh, hello, Owen.” Shelby smiles. “What do you think about having a proper bathroom?”

“A…”

“Scott’s totally on board with the idea, I don’t know why anyone wouldn’t be, but we don’t know where to put it.”

Of course Scott would be someone to advocate for a bath, ever the vain vampire, Owen has the slight suspicion, could he still see his own reflection in mirrors, the elder would spend day and night preening. Either the lack of reflection is a curse, or a blessing, depending on what he needs from the elder.

“All I know is, that sad excuse for a bathroom we built can’t stay.” Scott argues, glancing to the shack in which they somehow assembled a makeshift shower.

It’s small, it’s cramped, and it’s cold, and while he swears he can’t freeze, the elder prefers the comfort of a warm, hot shower. His words; if you were to ask Owen on the other hand? Vampires, or at least that one vampire, is not as resistant to the cold as he says he is.

Owen wants to respond, to tell them to do whatever, but he notices Avid’s eyes flicking to the book in his hands, on instinct, his hands grasp the binding tighter. “What?”

The fledgling’s face pales even more than it already has. “I just— The book, it’s—”

“Where did you get that?” Scott raises an eyebrow, mild surprise in his expression, but nonchalant as always, though he must be feeling it too, the otherness, the lack of aversion to the night, the way it still beats and pulses in the other vampire’s hands.

“A crypt,” Owen says.

“I thought they only produce holy scriptures, what an interesting development.” The elder vampire leans back in his chair, trying to paint over his surprise with lack of care, layering it so often Owen senses he’s not being truthful, but when is he ever? “Should we expect more?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugs. “I believe it’s a— a gift from someone I’ve lost, might be a one-time instance.”

“Didn’t know the dead held that power, the properly deceased, not people like us.” Scott muses, but in the slight bite his words carry with them, Owen likes to think he can pick up how irritating the elder finds it to not know something, to be caught off guard. “But it seems life is still full of surprises, or rather, un-life.”

“Why would a dead person give you a book?” Avid blurts out, and Owen sighs, can this guy never shut his mouth? Would it kill him to zip it just once?

“Why would the chests give random humans books on the regular?” He retorts, and finds glee in watching Avid’s confusion give way to shrivelled-up nervousness.

“Good point.”

“Eh, well, the dead don’t usually come knocking without important business.” Scott states. “What is it about?”

“It’s a guidebook for creatures of the night,” Owen ignores the snort that comes from Scott as he says it, or how Avid grins, seeming to have found confidence with his Sire’s approval. “It was written by the founder of Oakhurst, I believe, a vampire as well.”

“And what does someone like you want with a guidebook for fledglings?” There it is again, that amused twinkle in Scott’s eyes, like everything’s just entertainment for him, as if reality were just some grand game he plays, and loves to win as well.

“The art of Life and Death.”

He doesn’t miss the way Avid and Shelby seem to grow ashen, if that’s still possible, it satisfies him, yet he decides not to commenton it, not wanting to get up in whatever their business is.

“Necromancy?” The young vampiress perks up, the light in her eyes shining brighter than the moon adorning the night sky.

“More or less,” Owen sighs, he’s not in the mood to give a lesson in the occult to the fledglings, he barely knows anything about it himself.

The older vampire doesn’t have the patience to even explain the bare facts he does know, convinced they’ll be disgusted, considering who’s sitting at the table, which is why he’s even more surprised when Avid speaks up.

“I mean, necromancy sure is part of that, but resurrecting people is not necromancy.” How, why, does he know? He’s supposed to be— to be anti, to hate this, to loathe this more than anything else!

“Why do you think I want to resurrect someone?” Owen’s tone turns defensive, almost hurt, as the younger vampires’ eyes stay on him far longer than he’s comfortable with. Surely he’s trying to pick him apart, like a bug underneath the microscope, but the sun is out and it scorches his body, so his remains lay on the warm rock underneath.

“Didn’t you lose someone? I know I would—”

“We’re not like each other.” Liar.

Avid flinches and shrinks back, but his mouth runs faster than his brain again. “So you’d kill everyone else instead, but not bring them back?”

It feels like the fledgling scraped his dull fangs across his heart, taking unpracticed bites of his mind, he can’t stand it, and he doesn’t have the calm with him anymore.

The cool night air envelops his body, even though his chest burns hot with renewed anger, yet, through struggling breath, he washes it away, burns it with forced discipline. He can’t tear apart Scott’s new favourite right in front of him, he might try to get Pyro to take a shot at it, enough jabs should do the trick, then hand him a stake and… but right now, he knows he has to keep his claws to himself.

“Does it even say anything about resurrection?” Scott inquires after staring at them all for a good minute, smirk still plastered on his face like always, his own mind rattling behind his eyes, gears kicking into action where no one can see.

“It does,” Owen admits.

“So you’ve checked,” the elder concludes, smiling at him, but it’s not kind, it never is. He glances at Avid, who preens under his attention, at the fact that Scott is taking his side. Owen scoffs, he knows better than to fall for his tricks, nothing he dishes out is for free, whether it’s praise or punishment. “How far?”

He startles out of his anger, he’s tired nonetheless, tired of the unwanted company, but if they won’t bother him, and might even be useful, either as apprentice or sacrifice, why not?

“I haven’t gotten that far,” Owen confesses. “Ren and Martyn were trying to take it from me, Legs joined. I didn’t really have the time for a reading session.”

“Pesky humans,” Scott huffs, but a snicker escapes his mouth. “I bet they were quite confused when they realised this isn’t a holy word.”

The corners of his mouth quirk up, at least a bit, he couldn’t help it when he thinks about their confusion, perhaps even fear, now convinced that the forces of hell have joined the coven, and are assisting them directly.

With newfound enthusiasm, Owen puts the book on the table and skips through to The art of Life and Death, stopping once he spots where he left off, and puts a finger on it.

“This is incredible!” Shelby gasps, thrilled by the bonuses of the occult as always, and nudges Avid, who… doesn’t seem half as disgusted as Owen had expected.

“I can’t believe it.” The hypocrite fledgling mutters under his phantom breath.

“It doesn’t even seem that hard,” Scott tilts his head in thought, which immediately catches Owens’s attention. Not that hard?

The elder clears his throat and starts reading: “To resurrect a deceased loved one, or enemy, is not as impossible as we are often led to believe. While the process can be viewed as incredibly taxing and, or, cruel, it in no way compares to other, proven rituals for resurrection.

“Do not give into euphoria yet, for this easier way, one thing is required, without which it’ll all fail. The spirit of the deceased needs to be present in one way or another, be it in items or people, binding curses, or a place they inhabit.

“Without one of these things, unfortunately, you will have to resort to more difficult, and amoral measures.”

Owen’s whole body floods with relief… He told himself he’d been hallucinating, basking in the warmth his partner’s voice gave him, but maybe, maybe… It was his spirit. A binding curse? The beacons? Somehow, he’s still here, and his delusion gains just this bit of credibility, can he let himself believe it? His voice is gone from Owen’s mind, but the way it led him through the town, to the crypt, gave him comfort, made him whole. A hallucination can’t do that, not to Owen, and he might be pretentious to think so, but who else would know but him?

“It’s that easy?” Avid gawks.

“We’re not done, little bat.” Scott tuts, and wets his lips to continue reading. “If you are in possession of at least one of these things, you may take the following steps:

“First, the deceased one will be in need of a new body, you may not take their corpse, the ritual demands new flesh, new bone. You can kill another human for a new body, or take the more difficult route, carve them a new body out of animal flesh and bones, if you do not wish to harm another person. Once the ritual is finished, the body will morph into the shape of the deceased.”

Carving a whole humanoid body out of animals? The fledglings shudder at the idea, though Owen notes with curiosity how Avid does not seem completely fazed by the concept. Interesting, is he more well-versed in blood and bone than Owen gave him credit for?

“I’ll just summarise this for you,” Scott sighs after reading through a few more pages in silence. “Second step, you ‘invoke the element of their death’ where they died, and third, a scholar has to speak an incantation at an unholy sight.”

A scholar? Someone like Pyro? Element of their death? Unholy sight?

“I don’t know how your person died, but I’m pretty sure this should be possible, since you are from here.” Scott’s fingers tap on the pages.

“What does the author mean by scholar?” Avid asks, and Owen even finds himself thankful that he isn’t the one to do so. “Someone like Pyro?”

The elder vampire laughs out loud. “Oh no, Avid. No.” He shakes his head. “I believe the author means a scholar of the occult, I don’t think Pyro has much knowledge regarding these kinds of things.”

Oh, so this is where things get difficult.

“Are you a… scholar?” Shelby’s eyes widen, but her face falls quickly when Scott shakes his head.

“No, not by far. I never dabbled in the occult, apart from existing. The occasional charm, or rune? Sure, but that was baby talk compared to what proper scholars can do, I mostly stayed in my vampiric lane.”

“So what exactly is a scholar?” Avid repeats, unsatisfied with the hints and implications.

“Someone who is knowledgeable in the occult, the spells, and incantations that go along with it, who’s also able and willing to use them. Some specialise, some don’t.” Scott explains, Owen watches as Avid’s brows raise. It’s almost like he can smell the fledgling hiding something, though his wondering is interrupted by Scott pulling a distasteful face and muttering. “Like witches.”

“Is there someone like that in Oakhurst?” Shelby perks up.

“There could be,” Owen shrugs. “Pearl seems… informed, but I don’t think she’d want to help, I don’t think any of the townspeople would. Plus, none of them practice occult magic, only their holy spells.”

“The doctor might want to, what is there better than to resurrect someone, considering his profession?” Scott muses. “Though I don’t believe he knows enough, especially not of anything that’s considered unholy or occult.”

“He’s obsessed with curing vampirism, he won’t revive one.” Owen’s upper lip curls back as he speaks, showing off his fangs. “In fact, I think he’ll try to stop us.”

“So we are going to try and resurrect someone?” Shelby grins, barely containing her excitement. “Who is it though?”

“The greatest person you’ll ever meet.” Owen’s voice is almost reverent as he speaks, the vulnerability should’ve made him sick, he shouldn’t be so open with his desire, with his longing, but this, this is possible!

If he has to read every book there is to become half as knowledgeable as Scott and then some, to rise up as a scholar, if he has to fell every cattle, chicken, human in Oakhurst and around, to carve out a body for his partner, if he has to torch the town and bathe it in fire, he’ll do it.

He’ll fucking do it.

Chapter Text

The chickens at their castle weren’t even enough to begin assembling any kind of body. Also, they needed them for food, as much as Owen wanted to, they couldn’t use them all up for their sick artistry. So the coven went into the woods.

Brushing aside branches and smelling the air for any wildlife, Shelby strolls through the forest as she tries to block out the scent of the town’s cattle. Taking theirs surely won’t end well, it would only provoke the townsfolk and slow down their mission. 

“And what exactly do we need all that flesh for?” Pyro asks again, he wasn’t briefed before their little trip, and struggles to comprehend what their goal even is at this point. Before, he just terrorised the humans in Oakhurst, all while trying to prove his worth to his sire, now they’re all on an outdoor trip, on the hunt for animals. 

“We will carve a human body out of it,” Shelby smiles, his fledgling speeds up as she picks up the scent of unfamiliar sheep. 

Technically his fledgling, but it’s well-known that he doesn’t have the experience, nor the knowledge it takes to sire, neither does Shelby, so Scott has taken both her and Drift under his wings. None of them know if it’s more of a symbolic thing, or if it actually has any real consequences, apart from Scott’s teaching. 

“But why? You said something about—”

Scott’s eyes grow intense, and Pyro swears his pupils form into slits, but he’s speeding up to check on Shelby sooner than he can be sure. 

“Found something?” Scott grins at Shelby, who’s started to jog down a path, following the scent of the new sheep. He couldn’t help but preen at the sight of his fledgling growing more and more into one of them each day. 

He hasn’t felt that way about a fledgling in centuries, even before he’d been put to sleep, that look of hope and eagerness she graces him with, that childlike wonder from a person who was not to be underestimated under any circumstances, he can’t deny he delights in it. 

Pyro on the other hand… Scott can’t really say he delights in him, he finds their submission amusing, much less so his attempts to sever himself from the coven. What a relief to have him back in line. 

“There it is!” Shelby whispers, buzzing with excitement, but she snaps her mouth shut and sets her jaw all of a sudden, so Scott looks ahead, and can’t help the wave of annoyance washing over him. 

“Really?” He grunts. “They always find the most inconvenient times to show up, don’t they?” 

“What’s wrong?” Pyro comes up behind them, and just mouths a quiet ‘oh’ once he sees. 

At the edge of the forest stand sheep, at least three, all following Abolish and Martyn, the Militia member holds wheat in his hands, luring the animals in direction of Oakhurst.

The vampires stop to watch, forming a weird family portrait at the edge of the forest, but none of them smile for the picture, least of them Owen, who’s bared his teeth in anger. 

“It’ll take an eternity for enough animals to wander into this hell!” He growls, his voice slips, and it becomes louder than he intended, the two townsmen look at the coven, eyes widening, doubling in size at the five of them. 

“Oh fuck,” Martyn gasps and hands Abolish the wheat to light a lantern. “Stay back!” 

Owen wants to lunge forward, claws already out and sharpened, Pyro right behind him, but Shelby sprints in front of them, between the humans and the vampires. “Wait! Wait!” 

Behind her, Martyn encourages Abolish to walk just a bit faster, he’d rather flee than risk a fight against five vampires, there’s no way the two of them could hold their own against five. 

“Maybe we can talk about this!” Shelby calls out to them, trying to get them to just stop for a moment. 

“Talk? Since when has that ever worked?” Owen snarls, and wants to walk past the young fledgling, but as he tries, she grips his wrist with much more strength than he’d anticipated from her. She’s growing fast.

“We need food,” Shelby releases his arm and takes a few steps towards Martyn and Abolish. “That’s all we want.” 

“Then go and search for your own animals, first come first serve.” Martyn argues, holding his lantern in front of him.

“That little light won’t do much for you,” Scott scoffs, coming closer as well now. 

“And your holy word won’t hold for long either,” Pyro sidles up next to his sire, Avid follows in silence. 

“Martyn,” Shelby sighs with a frown. “We’ve been searching all over the forest, but this is the only trail of animals that isn’t from Oakhurst.” 

“And? You’ve got your chicken, last time I checked.” The noble won’t give in, instead he grins. “Or did one of you go mad and killed them all?” 

“What? No.” Scott furrows his brows. “One of your town vampires stole our livestock, where do you think Apo has the chicken from?” 

Oh, so that’s why Scott had been so generous to her, Avid’s eyes widen. He’d sent the woman away with at least two of them, and three bottles of blood. 

“Apo wouldn’t—” Abolish wants to intervene, but Scott tuts. 

“I think we would know better what caused all our livestock to go missing.” 

“Why would I care about you all starving to death?” Martyn rolls his eyes. “It’s not like you’re the innocent, peaceful sort.”

Scott chuckles, it’s that tone once again, that could either make him seem confident, or incredibly dangerous, most of the time it’s both, but that’s because all of his then-companions are now gone, far away, or dead. 

“Maybe, because a coven of hungry vampires is a dangerous coven of vampires? It would be a shame if your livestock were to be killed in a fit of bloodthirsty frenzy, all because we were starving, right? Or if one of you were to be drained in the middle of the night, all because you were too stingy with your food supply.” 

“He has a point,” Abolish whispers. “We can’t afford a fight, there’s bound to be sacrifices.” 

“We won’t—”

“Martyn,” the man grabs him by the arm. “We both know they’re not afraid to follow through with their threats, and we only need one right now, another sheep will come by soon enough for us. For them? I don’t know.” 

The blond presses his lips together and makes a noise not too different from a growl, but sighs. “Fine, fine. Under one condition.”

Avid speaks up now. “What is it?” 

“We need clothes,” he crosses his arms. “We will give you two of our sheep, but you have to give us their wool, for however long you keep them alive.” 

“Is that all?” Shelby perks up. 

“Yes,” Martyn grits out. 

“It’s a deal then.” Scott nods, and Abolish hands him a handful of wheat, but the elder passes it off to Avid right away. Martyn watches this interaction with interest. Was Scott too arrogant to take on that task, or was he unable to? There are a lot of things the townsfolk still don’t know about vampires.  

“I’m surprised that worked,” Shelby mutters. “I thought Martyn would be much more hostile.” 

“He was hostile, wasn’t he?” Scott points out, reminding her of his lantern. 

“Yes, but he didn’t immediately attack us, even though he wanted to.” 

“He would’ve, had there been less of us.” Owen shrugs, but can’t help his mind flashing images of him reading the book, Martyn and Ren right behind him, looking over his shoulders, making no move to attack him. 

“It was nice to not get blazed though,” Avid mumbles, focused on luring the sheep back to the castle. 

“We’ll have to keep them alive for at least two portions of wool,” Pyro notes. 

“At least we have them now, we can kill them later,” Owen shrugs. “Are there any other animals around?” 

The coven raise their heads and noses, trying to take in as much air as possible. 

“There’s something beyond the border,” Scott grunts. “A pig, just out of reach.” 

“How do you smell that from here?” Shelby shakes her head in disbelief. 

“Centuries of experience and age,” he shrugs. “But it’s beyond the barrier, so we can’t actually do anything.” 

“Let’s just get the— ah, right.” They arrive at the bridge, and Avid almost steps on it, but remembers how unstable it is, all the holes and gaps, the way bricks come loose, and cracks run deeper. 

Owen takes out planks and starts to hammer them in-between the tears and gaps, soon Pyro joins him in building a safe gateway for the sheep to cross the bridge. 

“Come on, come on!” Avid’s got the carrot in a murderous grip, waving it in front of the pig that eyes him with great suspicion. Even as a stage one vampire, animals are already wary of him, probably smelling the residue of the blood of their kind running through his veins, recognising the face of a predator.

A predator, that’s what he is now, isn’t he? He’s literally trying to lead a wild creature out of safety, to the slaughter, but how can he do any different, when its blood sings so sweetly to him? When the thrum of its heartbeat allures him so? When it makes the pit in his stomach grow big enough to swallow him whole? 

“Come here, piggy.” He sing-songs, a habit he’s taken on, getting worse ever since he was turned. He baby-talks and sings to his prey, to the blood he consumes. Perhaps he thinks it’ll make it all okay, make it all sweeter, paint less bloodstains on his shirt. “Just a few steps, and you won’t—”

Avid growls as the pig turns its back to him, his claws spring out and he jumps toward it, but an invisible force holds him back, it pushes him away. Damned barrier. “Why won’t you just—!”

Breathe in. “Come here, piggy.” 

He almost grows sick as he recognises the sweet lilt of his own voice. Scott. The way his lips move around the words, his throat feels like he’s pouring honey out of his mouth, and as they spill, there’s that warmth to them he’s always associated with the elder vampire. 

A spark of hope lights in his chest when his prey turns around, and steps closer, one, two, three. The fledgling vampire holds his hand out further, until the pig finally perks up and finds interest in the carrot. 

“Yes!” 

The pig startles.

“Oh, come back, piggy.” Avid’s voice slips back into that sweet lilt like it’s nothing, and the pig comes closer. Huh, if his voice can lure an animal like that, he wonders if there’s any way for a vampire to bypass animals avoiding them. Or, if this… talent would also work on humans. 

After a while, the pig finally steps across the boarder, into Avid’s reach, but he can’t bring himself to strike just yet. The pig trudges closer, until it can nibble on the carrot and grunt happily. It’s oddly sweet, the young vampire thinks, and his hands wander to the pig’s head to pet it. 

He hesitates for a moment, but the animal nudges its head into his palm, and Avid thinks his heart melts. There are no cats in Oakhurst, he hasn’t seen any dogs either, this pig is the closest thing to a pet he’s seen in a while. Apart from Truffle, but he’d been a pig too. 

“You’re a sweet pig, aren’t you?” Avid mutters. “So sweet.” 

“Kill it.” 

What?

“Kill it.” It’s Owen’s voice. 

“I was planning to,” Avid groans.

“Didn’t look like it, now end it.” The older vampire becomes visible to his right, arms crossed and a big frown on his face. “We need its flesh.” 

“I— I’m aware,” he stammers. 

“You know how to kill an animal, right? It’s the werewolf in you,” he spits the word like an insult, “it taught you how to handle flesh.”

“Yes, I know how to kill.” Avid snarls, much more aggressive than he wanted, than he should be, he reminds himself. 

“And you know how to lure,” Owen’s voice grows cold. “Taking after your sire, aren’t you?”  

“Is it a— a power? A talent?” His trembling hands rest on the pig. 

“You could say that,” Owen’s shoulders slump, and his movements are slow. “Vampiric charm, works wonders on humans, makes them more… susceptible to loads of things. Rarely works on animals, I don’t think Scott’s able to lure animals with it.

“I don’t think he’s ever tried either.” 

Yeah, no, Scott doesn’t seem like the type to sweet-talk his animal food. 

“Now kill it.” 

His heart stops for a moment, doesn’t start again, it doesn’t need to anymore. Avid takes one more look at the pig, as it nuzzles his hand with affection, his hands shake as he brings out his claws. 

He wants to turn around and ask if it needs to be this one, can’t he spare it? Can’t they all wait for another animal to walk by? Can’t they just… kill any pig, any, but this one? 

Avid raises his claws and closes his eyes before he brings his hands down, he hesitates, the pig is busy eating the carrots on the ground, not suspecting anything, lulled in by the sweet voice and the food. 

Somehow, killing an animal has never felt more wrong, Avid tries, but his claws won’t strike. Why won’t they strike? He’s never had a problem with—

“Oh, come on.” Owen groans in annoyance. “It’s a pig!” 

The older vampire raises his voice, as if to keep on lecturing the younger one, but something like a blanket settles over them. A soft hum, the older one seems to listen to something, even though the fledgling can’t hear a single word being spoken.

“Keep it.” Owen grits through his teeth. “Only this one though.” 

Relief washes over him, this one would be safe, this one is his, this one is safe. Approved even by Owen, even if he doesn’t seem to like it. 

“You’re lucky Pyro found cattle at the lake.” 

Two, three strikes, and they’re dead on the ground. The man breathes in the air around him, disgusting in its warmth, the sun laughs at Pyro in mockery now, weakening his body as its rays burn their skin. 

It’s nothing atypical for a vampire, still, he wonders how the others stand it, or perhaps they’re just better at hiding the discomfort sunlight brings them. While his sire does hiss in the sun, he never lets it diminish his grace. He never seems any less powerful in the sunlight, if anything, Scott prancing around, sizzling in the sun, makes him seem even more dangerous. For if they are not safe from him in the sunlight, when or how will they ever be?

Pyro is no match for him, flesh melting in the sun as he begs a cloud for mercy, yearns to call upon a storm, even a little drizzle. The night is their time, the time in which they can do more than just taunt. 

He pulls a rope out of his bag, and begins tying the cattle together, fingers scraping on the rough material that cuts into the skin of the dead animals. With a huff, he finishes his handiwork, and hurls his prey, by the rope, from the ground up over his shoulder. 

“Productive hunt, I suppose?” 

His stolen blood freezes as he turns to the source of the voice. Owen stands behind him, only a few feet away. 

“You’re quite jumpy, aren’t you?” He cocks an eyebrow. “Bit weird then how I managed to spook you without being invisible.” 

“I was busy, still am.” Pyro nods to the dead cattle on his shoulder. “I still don’t understand why we are raiding the forest as of late. It can’t be for food, we’ve got enough at the castle.”

Owen hums, falling into step beside the young vampire.

“Plus, it would be much wiser to let these wild animals… do their thing. I don’t believe there will be wildlife striding into these woods for forever. We can’t breed them, so—”

“Are you questioning your sire’s orders?” Owen smirks, there’s a glint in his eyes that’s rarely seen, by anyone, really, Pyro doesn’t like it, it makes his heart stutter, sure that the older vampire has something planned.

“I—” Pyro looks around, and the other rolls his eyes.

“We’re alone; do you actually believe Scott can be everywhere all the time? He’s busy with Shelby at the castle, probably trying to welcome Drift and show her around.” He groans as they trudge onward.

“My last attempt at ‘dissidence’ did not go over well, need I remind you?” A lump lodges in Pyro’s throat, they choke on nothing. 

“And I shall hope you’ve reconsidered your loyalties?” Owen sneers, showing off his fangs, they’re much sharper than theirs, much longer, he’s grown into the role of a predator quite well. Pyro can’t yet decide whether he fears it, or aspires to be it. 

“There is no point in trying to reclaim my humanity, the coven is my home now, you’ve all made that much clear, and I have chosen my side.” He answers right away, it’s all true, still it comes out as if on autopilot, something studied and practiced.

“You can say that to your sire.” Owen spits. “I want to hear the truth.” 

A freezing shiver spreads throughout his spine, does Owen not believe him? How? Has he done anything wrong? Has he done something that lets the older one question his loyalty? Will he tell Scott about it? Worse, what if Scott thinks the same? He’s done for, no, no vampires, no humans, no companions, no—

“Scott is… cunning, he plays the long game, but I don’t think he’s still got it in him.” What? 

“I don’t follow.” 

“He’s growing soft.” 

“Sire? Soft?” Pyro tries his best to stifle a hysterical laugh. His sire is anything but soft, he’s the first witness to testify.

“Don’t you see how he treats Shelby?” Owen raises both his eyebrows now, it seems as if he’s genuinely curious.

“He took her as his fledgling, because—”

“You’re new to this as well, I know,” Owen grunts, “but think of Avid. We all agreed he’s the last person we want turned. And what happened? He told your sire he was sick, and whined for a cure. Now he’s prancing around the forest, happy, healthy, and taking pigs in as pets.” 

Hot flashes of anger crash over his chest like storming waves, Avid has done what? While he’s out here, working himself to the bone? Melting in the sun? This little brat was—

“Now Scott’s coddling Shelby’s newest fledgling, probably taking her as his own too.” Owen adds. “So yes, I think he’s growing soft.”

He needs to do something! Why is— Everyone is flocking to Scott, his own fledgling, her fledgling, a former vampire hunter, Sausage, who he barely knows! Everyone is basking in his warmth, clamouring for just a bit of his sire’s time and grace, while he’s out here, sweating and grunting and tearing his own will thin, without even whining a bit!

“Pyro?” Owen tilts his head, watching the younger vampire in confusion. Did he expect anger? Did he expect a wild outburst of rage? Instead he’s watching Pyro’s breath grow sharp and shallow. He doesn’t even need it, for god’s sake, and still he feels like he’s suffocating. 

“I’m going back to the castle,” Pyro growls, his steps almost digging holes into the dirt underneath him as he speeds up. 

“Wait,” the older one calls, and he screams inside. 

“The animals,” Owen continues, “we’re killing them at my behest.” 

Oh?

“I’ve found something.” 

Chapter Text

They move through the cold night with great speed and dexterity, dodging the trees and walls of abandoned buildings as they dive for Oakhurst. 

Some of the townsfolk have to be night-dwellers, otherwise Avid can’t explain how there’s always someone out and about. Even in the dead of night, people are walking around, they’ve got to be taking shifts, because it’s always someone else. 

Tonight it’s Legs and Abolish, who are on something that could be called a late night stroll. Ren shows up as well, checking in on them from time to time, maybe they even laugh together once or twice, before they part ways once more. With how silent it is, Avid thinks it’s safe to assume the rest is asleep, or at least keeping it down for the night. 

Hopefully the town is at enough peace to not notice the two bats flying into Avid and Drift’s former house. They’re small enough to blend into the night sky without much trouble, but the light of the town’s torches could prove to be an issue, they didn’t have as many of them last time, Avid thinks. 

Once him and Shelby fly closer, he notices they’ve upgraded to lanterns, he thinks back to Martyn’s lantern thrash in horror. Best to not draw too much attention, lest they get burned.

They keep as close to the roofs as they can, only moving down to squeeze through the window and inside. Both vampires land on the wooden floor and transform back into their humanoid form, losing their wings and fur.

“Are you sure this is worth it?” Shelby whispers to Avid, glancing at the window and staircase, if she were still human, he knows she would’ve started to sweat, hell, he would have as well. If he didn’t know for a fact that vampires are unable to produce sweat, he’d think he actually is sweating, the phantom sensation of it lingers and makes his hands feel wet.

“After— After I screwed up like that? I need to bring something to the table.” The young vampire chews on his lower lip, he still hasn’t figured out why Owen didn’t just rip his throat out then and there, or tear out his undead heart, which still beats most of the time, even though they all know it shouldn’t. “If I can’t bring myself to kill, well, I’ll do what I always have.” 

The older sees him as a hypocrite, which Avid can’t help but agree with, he still finds himself growing nauseous after consuming blood sometimes, wants to retch when he thinks of becoming a bat, but… he’s never felt more alive, and he’s almost certain that the only thing holding him back is his past prejudice. If he were to let go, wave goodbye to that part of his identity… he’s uncertain of how he might unravel. Would he have killed without reservations?

“Is it because of the pig?” Shelby guesses, and she’s right on the money, as usual. “I’m pretty sure if Owen wanted to kill you for it, he would’ve already done so, he’s not… He’s not secretive about his animosities.”

“But he can pretend well enough if he feels he needs to,” Avid tilts his head, scanning the room for any of his books on alchemy, and other areas of the occult. “He didn’t go slaughtering humans as long as they were still unaware of him. He didn’t just suddenly tear them apart, he at least somewhat tried to keep it secret.” 

“Tried, Avid, tried. You said he was pretty suspicious,” his friend reminds him. “And with Scott around, I don’t think he’ll try anything with you, he wouldn’t get far without someone knowing.”

“Maybe you’re right,” he sighs, and shuffles closer to the stairs leading down to the ground floor.

“You know me and Drift wouldn’t let anyone suspicious lay a hand on you,” Shelby follows with small steps, keeping as quiet as she can. It comes easier to her now that she’s a vampire, but even that natural stealth has to be practiced. 

“I know, I know.” Avid takes the first step down, it creaks just a bit, but no one else is home, it lies abandoned, has been since they both left. It doesn’t look like one day’s passed since then. “He just seems… I don’t know.”

They arrive on the ground floor of his former house, and he’s grateful for getting used to most of his vampirism, he doesn’t know how else he’d keep his cool, or would’ve gotten downstairs quietly enough. 

Shelby is right behind him, eyes scanning their surroundings, flicking out the windows again, it’s strange to see someone who is cheerful and bubbly loads of the time become so focused and serious, it almost gives him whiplash. 

People have sides… ones they carry out into the world with pride, and those they hide, for whichever reason. Sometimes because they feel as though there is something wrong with them, sometimes because it’s crucial to not give up your hand, and well, for some it’s simply intuition, a second, third, fourth skin they wear during the day, or night, changing it like their everyday outfit, whichever fits best.

It’s dark inside, but not an issue for the two, that’s just the benefit that comes with nightvision, and she’s glad they don’t have to light a candle, or torch. She watches as Avid kneels down in front of a bookshelf, rifling through the colourful assortment of covers and texts. 

Shelby wonders which ones belong to Drift, and which are Avid’s, she can’t suppress a smile as she spots the cover of a mystery romance novel, one she’d read as well. Gotta file that away for later, she thinks to herself, and considers in her mind whose it must be.

Meanwhile Avid’s fingers grow twitchy, slipping off the books and its shelf more than is normal, even for him and his usually anxious demeanour. “It— It’s not there.” 

“What’s wrong?” She kneels down beside him, and he stares at her with the wild eyes of a prey animal.  

“My— My books, they, they’re not— But I brought them with me! I’m sure, I am absolutely— It’s— Why wouldn’t I have?” He starts to pull out book after book, until the floor is covered in them, yet he still isn’t satisfied and starts investigating another shelf.

“Your books are gone?” Shelby asks to clarify, a cold shiver running down her back. If there’s one thing Avid can take care of it’s his own belongings, especially the things dear to him.

“Someone must’ve stolen them, there’s no other explanation!” Avid almost yelps, though he manages to keep it all a whisper, albeit a panicked and aggressive one. “This is bad, Shelby, this is really, really bad.” 

“But who could’ve taken them? Who’d even know about it? Who’d want them?” Shelby kneels down next to him and lets her fingernails, which still bear the slightest hint of claws, scrape along the wooden flooring. 

“Anyone, Drift and I abandoned this place for the castle! Scott took me with him right away, and I— well, I couldn’t really argue with him, or pack my things, and then Drift got turned and panicked when she saw I wasn’t home, neither of us really thought about returning.” 

“Until now.” 

“Anyone who still lives here could’ve walked in anytime and taken something!” The fledgling throws his hands into the air, exhausted, but with a rapid phantom heartbeat. 

“Okay, but there’s got to be a way to figure out who’s most likely to have taken them, right?” 

“I hope so, if not, if I can’t—” 

“We’ll make sure Owen won’t kill you,” Shelby raises her hand to caress his back, running it up and down in a circular motion like Scott had done whenever she’d felt consumed by bloodlust in a panic, terrified of losing herself, of losing her humanity. He’d never understood it, but he didn’t have to, he just had to be there. “No one will dare to touch you, they’ll have a finger less before they dare to.” 

Fierce, strong words, and she’s not certain of all of their truth, if she has what it takes to keep her friends safe, if she can protect them properly, but she has to believe it, for their sake, for her own. 

“Now, who do we know dabbles in…”

“Alchemy, the occult, demonology, rituals, witchcraft, vamp—”

“You had a very broad collection,” Shelby nods with big eyes. “I would love to take a peek once we’ll get them back.” 

“You really think we will?” Avid’s voice is so meek, so timid, so eerily small she fears he might break at the tiniest confirmation of hopelessness. 

“Nothing can leave Oakhurst as of now, and no one’s getting something out of throwing them past the barrier.” Shelby squeezes his shoulders. “So, who do we know, who has the most use for them? What would someone be looking for?”

  “Martyn and Ren would surely not be interested in demonology and rituals, as well as most of the other stuff, but witchcraft and vampirism? Didn’t a witch curse Ren’s tongue? He might’ve tried to find a cure for himself, and for vampires, and anything Ren does, Martyn knows about.” Avid concludes, eyes wandering around his former home.

“And Sausage, probably.” Shelby chimes in. “They seemed so close when I was still in town.” 

“Cleo is a vampire herself, and I don’t think she’s interested in a cure that much.” Avid tilts his head. “But Scott did say she’s going to join the side she thinks will win, so I don’t think she’d be opposed to taking the books.”

“I don’t see any reason for her to do that though, and even less reason for her to go into your house in the first place, as far as she let on, she thinks you’re a hypocrite, and isn’t too concerned about finding out more about vampirism at least.” Shelby concludes while Avid nods from time to time. 

“Apo… she doesn’t seem too trustworthy, and would probably take any way to get out of here… she might’ve, but she also never thought I knew what I was doing.” He stops for a moment. “I mean, I wasn’t, not fully, but I do have experience as an alchemist.” 

“That’s a good point though, who do we think trusts your skills enough to consider looking for information at your place?” Shelby bites her lip in thought. “The doctor might’ve looked through your stuff, after he came to terms with vampires being real. You were the first one to call out their existence, so he might’ve thought of you, went to your house, and grabbed them.”

“Abolish might’ve done so too, he knows something, I’m sure. I don’t know what it is about him, but he always seems like he’s who-knows-how-many steps ahead in some kind of plan.” 

“So they’re our two primary suspects now? Legs and Abolish?” Shelby raises her eyebrows and he nods to confirm. 

“Definitely, and if not, we’ll just have to go through all the others, we’ll— oh.” Avid’s mouth drops open in realisation and disappointment, he could be mistaken for a kicked puppy, were it not for his humanoid appearance. “We can’t just rifle through their homes… we don’t have an invite. Well, I have one from Legs, but what if it’s not him, or if I’m not welcome anymore? Can someone revoke their invitation? What then?” 

What’s left of Shelby’s heart drops, her hands fall away from Avid and she kneads them instead, wracking her brain for something, anything, any idea would be better than no idea at all. 

“We can’t destroy them either,” she presses her lips into a thin line as she says it. “You know, vampirism is cool and all, but that rule is so stupid!” 

“Shh!” Avid’s eyes grow wide, he presses a finger to his lips, and points to a window with his other hand, looking at it multiple times and tilting his head.

Shelby follows his gaze and her mouth zips shut as she sees Pearl walking past. What’s she doing out tonight? Wasn’t she asleep, or at least in her house? Anywhere but here? It doesn’t help her panic when Pearl decides to stop in front of the window to talk to someone, at least she’s not looking in their direction, but the risk of her glancing to the side and catching the two sends chills down her spine. 

Their voices are muffled, but by the quiet and calm tone of her conversation partner he realises Pearl is talking to Abolish. Great, two of the most competent townspeople right near them. 

“Can you go invisible at the moment?” Shelby whispers to Avid, who nods faster than he ever has before. “Let’s get out of here and back to the castle, we can think of something there.” 

“Okay,” Avid mutters and disappears, though Shelby can still feel him somewhere. The vampiress closes her eyes to fade into nothing as well, and grabs around the empty space for a hand, until she finds one. 

“That you?” 

“Who else?” Avid answers, pulling her closer to the door. “Are you ready?” 

“Yes,” she answers, and helps him open the door as silent and little as they can manage, but they realise there’s no one around to see the door open and close. 

Even through the cloak of invisibility shrouding them, Avid shivers, they might be invisible to humans at the moment, but they could definitely be heard, or someone might notice the grass or dirt flattening underneath their feet. Vampirism has granted them weighing next to nothing if they don’t want to, which makes it harder for others to track their footsteps, but it’s not bulletproof, especially compared to a centuries-old vampire like Scott. 

“It’s been too quiet these past nights,” someone claims in the distance, a man, when he walks around the corner, out of the church’s shadow, both vampires recognise him as Martyn, followed by Ren and Sausage. “They’re planning something, I’m telling you, and we have to be prepared.”

“Are you sure?” Sausage speaks up, sidling right up to the blonde. “From what you’ve told us, even their worst seem to have become… somewhat docile.” 

“And yet still behaving like rabid animals, don’tcha know?” Ren shakes his head. “No, Mister M, I fear these wild beasts cannot be trusted.” 

“Wild beasts? I’ll show you wild beasts!” Avid almost hisses, but Shelby’s already pressed her hand to his mouth, knowing where it is by instinct, though the clap is enough to turn the three men’s heads in their direction. 

“Who goes there?” Ren asks into the night, awaiting an answer. 

Shelby takes her hand off Avid’s mouth and guides him down an exit path with as much stealth and gentleness as she can conjure up, and he follows her lead, unnecessary breath quietened down to a minimum. 

“Maybe it was just some random bat that flew against a window,” Sausage shrugs. “It’s not an unlikely occurrence with all the vampires around, it happened just yesterday as I was sitting down to write another chapter, you know? We’ve all seen how they turn into a whole swarm when they transform, and those stray creatures do stay around. Unless they manage to fly beyond Oakhurst’s border.” 

“It still uneases me, my friend, to hear such strange a noise in the red night, don’tcha know.” Ren looks around one last time, but let’s his breath go and turns back to his companions. “But with you two right here, I’m certain nothing will go wrong.” 

Once past them, Shelby exhales, only to jump out of her skin in the next second when Apo strolls right past them. She doesn’t even give them one glance, but Shelby has to fight hard to not let out even a tiny yelp, or noise of surprise. 

“Nothing around the borders!” She shouts to the three men. “It seems they are keeping it down as of late.” 

“Something wicked is afoot, Miss Apo.” Ren nods, though the group soon fades out of their view as they keep on walking. 

One step in front of the other, until they reach the wooden gates and glance around one last time, but the forest beyond the town lies empty. Both fledglings turn their back to Oakhurst and walk to the first few trees, after passing the first one, they pick up their pace, breaking into a run through the forest without looking back, moving to the castle at break-neck speed, startling woodland creatures and monsters alike. 

The castle welcomes them, bathes them in red light and the safe shadow of it’s enormous walls, Shelby can feel the crypt calling, even though she’s dead but walking, the young vampiress senses the tendrils of sleep wrapping around her. 

Avid follows right behind her, stress wants to wave and balance out, to simmer down and leave him be, he wishes nothing more than to pour into the crypt and melt into a nice pillow. 

Soon, the fledglings fall into bed together, no, it wasn’t planned, but with how they held onto each other, neither of them wanting to say goodbye, now that they have all the time in the world together, so much to work through and past, they couldn’t let go, even as they drifted into sleep.

Scott does not mind going down into the crypt, which is not to say he likes it, yes, his part of it is proud, gigantic, but always a reminder of the new magic, the new occult that’s cursed him to sleep for so long. It’s a big, scrawled sign showcasing his weakness, his momentary lapse in judgement, his one time of ignorance. 

He plans to sulk about it this night, probably right into the morning, but once he touches the mud ground, his ears pick up snoring. Sleeping vampires? Of their own volition, instead of seizing the night? 

The elder vampire just has to look, to open the door to Shelby’s room and see… Shelby and Avid, lying in bed, cuddling, limbs tangled in a mess of bodies. Something squirms in his chest, it’s a wretched feeling, like a parasite he should probably dig out, but he’s dead, so what could it possibly do to him? That’s right, nothing. 

And the warmth spreading through his chest is just a grace from drinking his fill of blood, he’s sure, it’s the filling change of rising to power, and it’s nothing if not earned. 

And whatever possessed him to brush through their hair and caress their cheeks is just an ancient instinct of a vampire sire. It’s like human instinct, it’s nature. Scott, as powerful as he is, can’t rebel against nature, not against occult nature. It’s not his choice, it’s nothing. 

And the tug he feels in his ribcage where his heart lies unbeating is just another vampiric instinct, telling him to keep his coven safe. He knows it. He’s been alive for more than a thousand years.  

A single beat says nothing about him. 

Nothing.

Chapter Text

“What’s Sausage doing here again?” Owen groans, one hand covering half of his face as the sun burns down on him, Scott, and Shelby, they stand on the crumbled bridge, each of them stare at the author with varying levels of distaste and confusion. 

“He’s got it into his little head how badly he wishes to become my ‘blood bag’.” Scott wrinkles his nose, truly, such an ugly word for the honourable position of a thrall. It’s an even greater offence for the man to think Scott will take him as his thrall. 

First of all, he writes books with misinformation about vampires and the occult. Second, he is friends with Ren and Martyn, one of whom Scott has indeed flirted with, only to have his gift of the night rejected, and the other, who set his castle ablaze during its subpar phase. 

Third of all, Sausage is… quite forward. It’s not like Scott is opposed to men laying their hearts bare at his feet, he’s always enjoyed that, especially when they were still red and beating, but the man’s overt declarations of submission, and well, outright masochism, have him keep a few feet of distance between him and the apparently-lovesick author. 

Perhaps he’d have enjoyed his advances, were he in a better mood, but at the moment, Scott feels the urge to imitate Owen’s pose, and only manages to keep his perfect posture and expression to save his public image as the more sociable of the two.

“It’d be an honour to serve as your evening meal, Scott, or morning, during the midday, anytime you would want to have me, really.” His voice is light and a little breathless, as if he’s struggling to stay alive even though Scott is sure his lungs and the air around him are fine. 

“Sausage,” he sighs. “Just like I’ve told you yesterday, I will not take you as my thrall.” 

“Thrall? Is that what giving up oneself for a beautiful vampire like you is called? Forgive me, but it sounds quite thrilling, such a beautiful name for a beautiful relationship.” It’s a hum, it’s a quiet, breathy song, one only Sausage would ever dare to perform in a situation such as this.

“Um, Scott,” Shelby whispers. “I think I have an idea.” 

Both of the older vampires turn their heads, Owen still looks as if he’d sunk his teeth into a zombie, while Scott’s full attention has swayed to her.

“Yes, Shelby?” He says.

“Well, Avid had books that could help us with…” she nods to Owen, and Scott’s eyes flick to the other in understanding. “Vampirism, demonology, the occult, rituals.” 

“Had?” 

“We went to get them yesterday, but they were gone. I know Avid can be disorganised and chaotic, but if there’s two things he cares about it’s his friends and knowledge, which, by proxy, is his books. He would not lose them, they were taken.” 

“I don’t see how this blubbering idiot can help us with that,” Owen glances at Sausage in frustration. 

“Scott, what I mean to ask is, would you be willing to strike a deal with him?” Shelby inhales, trying to keep her posture confident. “He gets to be your thrall, or vampire, whatever, if he gets the books back, or he can at least tell us where and how to get them.” 

“I won’t let him into our ranks,” Owen grunts. 

“Owen,” Scott raises his brows at the shorter vampire. “You’re right, one measly human less matters little in the end, but think of the big picture, this could be for your own benefit, do not squander this opportunity.”

“Me? Squandering this opportunity? I’ve got nothing to do with this!” He gestures around himself and at Sausage. “This is about the masochist’s fantasies, and the lunatic’s books!” 

“Which could very well help us, we need a scholar, we need occult texts.” The elder reminds him. “Either way, if we wish to ever get out of here, he will be one less obstacle in our path, even leeches need to be taken care of, but with a deal like this, we can get another bonus on top.”

“Leeches, huh?” Owen purses his lips until a fang pokes out, threatening to pierce his own skin. He doesn’t go further, he could show him leeches, he could show him just how tiny that high horse of his truly is, but not now. 

Scott shows off his own fangs with one of his famous saccharine smiles, it drips honey-sweetened blood, oozes like the fountain in their ballroom. “You could finally earn the reward for all your hardships, all those lives, all of your years asleep, all of your pain. So ease your mind, Owen.” 

It’s a good deal, the other has to see it. 

He sighs in defeat, glances at the author, not bothering to hide his distaste, and opens his mouth. “Fine, but if he steps out of line, he’ll end up on the fatal side of a stake.” 

“I’ve no doubt he will lick the dirt off my boots if I were to ask him, don’t worry your pretty little head about it, Owen.” Scott lowers his voice, not wanting Shelby to hear him speaking like this about and to others, he doesn’t even know why, it’s nothing he’s ashamed of. Perhaps he just doesn’t think she’s ready for it yet, but she will get there, in the future, she will recognise how to treat people right. 

The elder turns on his heels, a smirk stretching across his face while he strides towards Sausage, then puts a hand on his shirt collar without another thought, or at least so it seems. Scott never does anything without intent, it’s what he prides himself on, everything he says and does is a perfect performance, an act he commits to which will always land him on top of any situation. 

“I think we should leave,” Owen turns his head towards their castle, signalling to Shelby they should rather get gone before they witness more of the author’s advances. The young vampiress shudders and nods, walking off with the other.

“You wish to be my thrall?” Scott bites his lip, he can smell Sausage’s blood, can hear it thrumming in his veins and arteries, rushing, bubbling, alive. He could just take bite right now, it’s what the author wants, why should he deny himself? No, no, focus, you have a plan, a proposition to make, he tells himself, but it’s been so long ever since he’s tasted human blood without turning them. Turning and tasting is not the same, at least not in the heat of battle, one is rushed, sometimes done without intent, and without even being able to savour it. 

Tasting, on the other hand, the last one he’s taken his time with is Avid, his blood was so sweet, but it’s hardly enough after 600 years of starvation, missing out on the high of human blood. It’s in that moment he realises, no, turning Sausage is not an option, at least not one he’ll go for immediately, not even through their deal. 

Scott knows he’s stooping low, and retches at the thought of who he’ll be sinking his teeth into, but it’s been so long since he’s had a thrall, and Sausage is offering himself. So it’ll be him, desperate, uncivilised Mister M. He’ll just turn him and find another once he gets out of here, one with more taste, perhaps a thrall who possesses proper knowledge of vampirism and far more decorum. 

“Yes, Scott.” Sausage’s breath hitches, he probably doesn’t even realise, far too caught up in the vampire. 

“Tell me exactly what it is you wish for, Mister M.” The vampire purrs, he’s aware he’s got the upper hand, clearly, the human almost swoons, he’s red in the face and fidgets with the hem of his coat, like he hadn’t expected to get this far. 

“I wish to become a vampire one day,” Sausage clears his throat. “First though, I know you’ve got a handful of recruits already, there is something I’ve got to bring to the table, do I not? So, before I shall become a child of the night, I will let you drink from me. Until we get out of Oakhurst, I offer you my blood, if you promise to turn me into a vampire then.” 

“How do you know I’ll keep this promise? Why shouldn’t I let you stay a thrall?” He’s testing the waters, how likely is he to rat them out, how far is he willing to go? How much does he truly want it?

“Well, from what I’ve heard, you show grace to those on your side. Shelby loves her life as a vampire, and is quite fond of you, Drift is not horrified by your presence, she’s joined you at the castle. May I mention Avid? Forgive my audacity, but if you turn him of all people in Oakhurst, I believe there is no reason you wouldn’t do the same for me.” 

Maybe Scott has given the author less credit than he deserves, for all his swooning and dramatics, he’s thought this out to some extent, and is not willing to budge. 

“Very good,” he hums, smoothing out Sausage’s collar. “I will take you as my thrall, and turn you once we are able to leave Oakhurst, if you swear to retrieve something for me and my coven.” 

He perks up. 

“There are books, books about the occult, its rituals, and they used to be in Avid’s possession.” Scott explains. “He had to leave them inside his and Drift’s home when he went to live with us, yesterday, him and Shelby went to retrieve them, but lo and behold, they find nothing.” 

Sausage nods.

“Say what you will about Avid, he cares deeply about his tomes, he would not lose them.” The elder vampire tilts his head, his hand wanders up the author’s neck, until he’s petting his cheek. “I will fulfill my end of our deal under one condition, you stay in Oakhurst for a while, and try to find his books. Ask around, look into their bookshelves, and if you find them, take them.” 

Scott can watch the gears turning in his head, cogs grinding together, moving and rattling inside that creative head.

“What if whoever has them now won’t let me? What then, will it nullify our arrangement?” Sausage crosses his arms as he stares ahead, not even looking at the elder vampire now, not done thinking this over, yet not saying another word.

“Well, I don’t think efforts should go unrewarded.” The vampire drags out his words, though he’s well aware he’ll have to show some form of consequence shall he fail to succeed. “Just know that vampirism might have to wait a little longer for you then, perhaps longer than you’d like, perhaps right when you thought you could live without it.”

Oh, and if the author thinks Scott didn’t notice how a slight shadow cast over his features, he’s sorely mistaken, he must think this a letdown, but a proper Goldsmith knows how to drive someone to the edge, just to take their hand and lead them off again. 

“Don’t you worry too much, we, the coven, harbour a great interest in these books, we’ll see to it that the rightful owner shall get them back again. Which, in turn, means helping you. Find out where to retrieve them, and shall it prove more difficult than you think yourself able to handle, I’m sure there will be someone running to be your right hand.”

Just like that, the sun graces Sausage’s face again, almost like a sign from the heavens, or a blessing from hell, wherever you believe the occult to have carved their home. 

“Well then?” Scott tilts his head, eyes flicking to the path leading to Oakhurst, then back to the man still standing before him. “I believe I’ve given you a quest, Mister M.” 

“Yes, of course! I will be on my way, Si— Scott.” He flashes the elder an awkward smile, tinged with embarrassment and pulled apart in nervousness, but he does smile, which has to count for something, and excuses himself with a small wave of his hand. 

All will be well, Scott can feel it. Puzzle pieces falling from the sky into his hands, where he gets to arrange them in meticulous patterns and pictures, until they come together as one, a whole. It buzzes in his veins, not quite as strong as the animal blood, but it is a pleasant companion within. All will be well. 

“Martyn?” Sausage knocks on his door, unsure if he’ll even meet the young noble there, due to him being out and about during almost every hour of the day, as well as night. This time, luck is with him, because not only does Martyn open the door, but he can spot parts of Ren peeking out around the corner. “Oh, you’re here, splendid.” 

“Sausage?” He asks and opens the door wider, though his expression remains confused, is it something about the author’s demeanour putting him off? Whatever could it be? He’s unaware of any changes. 

“Good to meet the two of you here.” The author invites himself in and closes the door. Ren looks up from where he’d been reading something, perhaps a book? Perhaps one of the books? 

“Whatever ails you, my friend?” He wonders aloud, seriously, why do they both look at him as if they’re worried sick?

“Nothing ails me, Ren, I’m simply meaning to ask you both a question.” Sausage waves it off.

“What is it?” Martyn too, the usually brash man’s words sound softer than they ever have. 

“Oh, you know, since Avid is… well, since he upped and left, I took a peek through his bookshelf.” Sausage starts, considering how he can weave this tale to suit his purposes. “We talked once or twice, you know? About books and the like, and he told me about his broad collection of all kinds of occult scriptures.”

Ren’s face grows ashen as his mouth falls open. “I never knew young Avide had such tomes in his possession. Though it would be of great interest to know why you are so interested in such literature, don’tcha know?”

Of course it would unsettle him, right. “I’ve been informed my books contain false information about the occult, and as a good author, well, I simply have to rectify such a mistake. What if I lead my readers astray with such tales? One could be facing a creature of the night and be blissfully unaware.”

“I haven’t seen any other books than those from the tombs, and I don’t think most people believe in such creatures anyways,” Martyn shakes his head. 

“Think of those who do, of those who might seek such knowledge in times of need, people need to be able to defend themselves.” Sausage tries again, though he gains the suspicion that both of them never even heard Avid talking about being an alchemist.

“Those are noble intensions indeed, my friend, though I fear I have not witnessed young Avide carrying any kind of unholy papers with him, or any papers.” Ren confirms his suspicion. 

The author nods, trying to suppress a frown that wants to latch onto his face, telling himself it’s fine, it’s just two out of seven people, of course he won’t be right on the first try. 

“No, Sausage, I don’t have his stupid books, now if you would stop asking!” Apo shouts, turning her head this way and that, as if to confirm they’re alone at the river. “Why do you even want them? You’re not thinking about summoning something, are you? Or do you want to become a vampire?” 

Maybe he’s been pestering her a little too hard, he’s been having a hard time figuring out where she stands, how much she knows, which resulted in her trying to row off alone in their shared boat as he follows her, asking and asking and asking.

“I’m an author, remember? I write about the supernatural, I have a duty to fulfill! To not poison the minds of innocent readers with misinformation!” Sausage insists, and realises they’re standing right on the shore. On the other side, he can see Abolish and Pearl running around, stopping once they notice the pair fighting. 

The vampiress exhales, which has to be for the dramatics, he’s sure, and not because it actually serves a purpose. “Sausage, I don’t have Avid’s books, I have never even seen them, I didn’t even know they exist.” 

In silence, the two row over the river, where the two still stand and watch, neither of them seem sure as to what’s going on in the first place.

“Is everything alright between you two?” Pearl is the first one to speak up, silver axe still in hand. 

“Have you seen Avid’s weird books?” Apo groans, trudging past them in a tired slump. 

“Avid’s weird—” Abolish mutters under his breath with his brow furrowed. “His what?” 

Him and Pearl turn their heads to Sausage now, awaiting an explanation from the author. 

“I want to stop spreading misinformation about the supernatural, and Avid had books, but I can’t find them.” How many more times will he need to say this? He’s heard these words so often now, they’re starting to lose their meaning. 

“Really?” Pearl smiles, and tucks her axe away at last. “Tell me when you get your hands on them, might be useful if we wanna take monsters down more efficiently. Abolish and I just had to take out loads of them while caving, and it’s getting tiring.”

He’s told himself not to worry, to take it easy, everything will work out in the end, but now he knows five out of seven have never even seen these secret tomes. 

“It would help if they weren’t coming back every night, they’ve got to be coming from somewhere.” Abolish sighs. “If we could find their source, Oakhurst would be facing one less threat, putting torches down helps, but none of us want to start a forest fire.”

“With a town made of oak, that would be less than pleasant.” Sausage nods with a chuckle, though he’s starting to lose hope on the inside, his last light are Cleo and Legundo, but he can’t get rid of the feeling he’s being stared at again.

He glances back at the two townspeople, and yes, they both look quite uneasy. What the hell does everyone have against him as of recent?  

“I’ll just get back to Oakhurst then.” 

It’s the middle of the night, and Sausage is tossing and turning, his mind won’t leave him be. He needs to find these books somehow, he’s well aware everyone planned to go out tonight… everyone but him, which he realises was a grave mistake, because if he can’t sleep, he has to lay awake now, waiting, aching for their return so he can put his mind at ease, to progress, to do something, anything at all.

Yet he lies there, limbs unmoving as his chest rises and falls with every breath he takes, every dreadful breath that reminds him he still needs it. The man still needs his lungs, and his heart, he’s still tethered to age and the ground he’s bound to by gravity, by the frustrating concept of human nature.

Everything he’s ever written about, albeit with great differences, lies right in front of his eyes, it’s everything he hears about, vampires this, vampires that, werewolves, witches! And yet he’s confined to humanity while more and more of his neighbours got turned, he’s still left, and he fears he might be left behind.

It’s ridiculous, he knows, he’s figured out by now that it’s either vampirism or death for him, he can’t go back to who and where he was before.

He sighs, wanting to try one last time, to just close his eyes and shoo the worries away, he could continue the next day, it’s not over, this isn’t out of his hands yet. 

Knock knock. 

Isn’t everyone out? Everyone should be, but at this point in the night, Sausage can’t say no to any kind of company, be it human or vampire. Something, anyone, to get him through the night. 

The author yawns and pushes himself out of bed, sight still blurred and tired, but he’s moving to the door anyways. He opens without question, and needs to blink multiple times as the assortment of colourful blobs startles him, just as much as it confuses him, even as they form from undefinable shapes into people. 

It’s everyone who’s not left Oakhurst. Everyone. Abolish, Apo, Cleo, Legundo, Martyn, Pearl, Ren. What?

“What— What are you all doing here?” He shakes his head as if he’s hoping they’re a hallucination he can get rid of, having a whole mob in front of his house does not seem one bit soothing.

Legundo steps forward, out of the group, and once again, that look everyone seems to be giving him. “We’re worried about you, Sausage.” 

“Worried? Worried about what?” So he’s right.

“Come on,” the doctor looks away for a moment. “Your obsession with the occult, we’re well-aware how badly you want to become a vampire.”

“How badly I—” Sausage’s mouth hangs open as he tries to pick the right or any words right now. “That was… it’s in the past. I don’t think it’s as great as they are trying to tell us.”

“Really, Sausage?” Cleo raises both her eyebrows, hands on her hips, and she radiates disbelief, as well as the raw energy of a disappointed mother. “We know you’ve been walking to the castle almost every day for about a week now. Hell, Drift complained about it!” 

“I was trying to—”

“And now you are coincidentally searching for Avid’s books?” Martyn speaks up now as well. “I’m sorry, but I don’t believe it’s only to not spread misinformation.” 

Shit, shitshitshitshit shit! 

“I promise, I— I’m not trying to become one of them anymore, you’ve shown me it’s not the right way.” Sausage stammers out, caught off guard in the middle of the night by a group of concerned villagers.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Sausage.” Legundo takes the lead again, trying to get a foot into his door, but the author stands right in the doorway. “Just talk to us about it, please. We don’t want to lose another person, and we’ll be with you when you need us, just— Please don’t join the coven.” 

“Doctor, if there was something you should be concerned about, trust me, I would tell you about it, but I just moved on from what was admittedly a dangerous dream, and none of you will believe me.”

His voice grows agitated, tinged with an acidic bite which they’ve rarely ever heard from him. “I appreciate how much you care about me, but it would be lovely if I could sleep, please and thank you.” 

He shuts the door. Shit. 

He’s exhausted and his heart is beating like a rabbit’s, a rabbit heartbeat if you will, hah, get it? Get it? He laughs to himself in quiet hysteria. What if they find out? Legundo only said something about wanting to become a vampire, not about what it’d be like if they knew he made a deal with Scott. Scott! 

What if the coven finds out they are suspicious? What if— A right hand, a right hand. That’s what he needs, a confidante. 

What has he gotten himself into? Surely, like this, Scott will never make him a thrall, or a vampire, if he decides to just not do it. 

What a dilemma, the author thinks as he trudges around outside of the wooden walls of the village, worries about vampires long forgotten, and instead replaced with worries about fellow humans. That intervention yesterday, they won’t let him out of their sight if he keeps this up!

Hadn’t Scott said something about some of the coven being his right hand? Well, he’d like three right hands and an extra head right now. He doesn’t even know who has the books, but he can’t get rid of the nagging suspicion it’s Legundo who’s hoarding them, probably to progress the cure, or find another alternative, one that wouldn’t entail killing a vampire.

Speaking of, familiar fluttering nearby makes his head shoot up, and it grows ever closer, until a small, brown bat comes into view, camouflaged in front of the walls of wood.

However, Sausage doesn’t get to guess who it might be, because the vampire decides to reveal himself right away, as shadows pass over his body, grow, and Pyro sits on top of a smaller pillar. 

They look as though they’re a ghost with their pale skin and blackened scleras, red irises glowing within them, the author likes to imagine they’re filled with the blood of his latest prey. “On a mission, Sausage?” 

His right hand? At this point he’d also take another left one, whatever, whoever, gets the job done. “Are we alone?” He whispers up to the vampire, who nods. 

“Do you think I’d air out Sire’s plans for all to hear?” Pyro raises their eyebrows, they’re white now, just like his hair. It used to be such a warm brown, the author still remembers it like it was yesterday. 

“I just want to make sure I’m not aired out to the whole of Oakhurst,” he grunts, dissatisfaction shining through as clear and bright as day, which makes a smile twitch across Pyro’s face, and the author does not know what to think of that, if he’s certain the vampire delights in his suffering, or if he’s trying to show sympathy.

“You’ve done quite the lovely job at that yourself, I’ve heard a few murmurs about your newfound interest in occult literature.” His smile shows off his fangs, sharp, without a smooth edge, no, instead of a knife’s edge, his teeth look as though they’re made of sandpaper and razors. Sausage winces at the thought of getting bitten by him.

“I had to start somehow,” though the townspeople speculating his reasons are neither good nor welcome, how else was he supposed to start? He couldn’t have broken into all of their houses.

“What you’ve started is a ridiculous kind of intervention… I did watch, last night, it was quite the entertaining picture.” Pyro snarks, yet it sounds like a laugh if he listens closer. “They’re oh so worried about you ‘giving into temptation’, some fear you might be dreaming of a life in the castle… at Scott’s feet, beck and call, or what have you.” 

Dreaming of a life in the castle, the author mulls over their words, turning them around in his head and tasting them in his mouth until the idea of them condensates and trickles into his brain, where they run through the wrinkles in tiny drops, all rushing now into his prefrontal cortex. 

“Pyro,” he breathes. “Let it be known to your coven what great muse you are, truly, a fountain of inspiration!” 

The vampire’s eyes grow wide and their mouth slack, confusion paints their face as they are sure they’ve got to be watching Sausage’s psychotic meltdown as he laughs, pulls them down from the pillar and into a hug. 

“Tell your sire all about how you’ve saved this quest, and this humble author, and soon-to-be thrall.” He sing-songs, swaying in inspiration, guided by elation and laughs. “I can certainly play the romantic, then hospitality and the hippocratic oath will do the rest.”

He stops for a second, not paying a mind to Pyro as they stammer and sputter, mind trying to catch up with the enlightened man. “I must have someone play along though, a vampire who can afford to ruin their relationship with the doctor.”

“Sausage!” Pyro exclaims, hands on his shoulders, threatening to shake the man. “What are you planning?”

Chapter Text

“Thank you for coming to this meeting today,” Legundo sighs. The town has gathered at the beacon, its light fills the human members with a warmth that’s rare to get these days, rare to keep when their world seems to be falling apart around them.

“Anytime, Doc.” Martyn chuckles, but it’s worn and tired. The young noble still has bags under his eyes, has he slept last night, or after? Has he managed to close an eye after the intervention? 

“Now, Ren and Martyn already know why we’re gathered here.” The doctor continues, leaning against the wall for support, he doesn’t look any better. If anything, he looks worse, like he’s slept even less, when was the last time he even attempted to get some rest?

The two Militia members nod, earning a few curious glances from the others, and Legundo nudges Ren, who opens his mouth. 

“Not too long ago, precisely three nights past, we all know what transpired in the middle of Oakhurst.”

The town members nod with grim expressions on their faces, they can still hear his screaming and crying, the way the flames of torches and lanterns swayed and rose higher than they ever had.

“Owen ran into the village,” Cleo speaks up, mouth dried up at the memory, she’s never seen anyone that angry, that furious… that horrified.

“Apparently he was sleepwalking,” Martyn grunts, remembering their brief conversation in the tomb. “We ran out after him, trying to catch him, and when we arrived in a tomb, he didn’t know anything about it.”

“He could’ve pretended,” Apo scoffs. “Those people will do anything to pretend their hands are clean.” 

“You weren’t there,” Martyn denies with a shake of his head. “I love to badmouth the guy, because he does have more than a couple screws loose, which usually ends badly for us, but he seemed genuinely confused.” 

“To be fair, he did not seem all there while he was on a rampage through town either.” Pearl shrugs. “Have we ever seen a vampire sleep? I haven’t, maybe that’s just what happens when they do that.” 

“Bullshit,” Apo shakes her head. “I know Shelby and Avid sleep sometimes, as did Pyro when he pretended to be human, none of them did that.” 

Legundo clears his throat, pushes himself off the wall, and walks closer to the beacon. “This is not supposed to be about his sleeping habits, but it is how our impending misery started.”

“Impending misery?” Abolish mutters with furrowed brows, arms crossed in front of his chest as he glances around the church. 

“We’re all familiar with the tombs, and the blessings they give out to us.” Legundo leans against the beacon now, praying for strength with his mouth closed. “Well, three nights ago, for the first time, it did not produce a holy text.” 

“I think we’ll survive, we’ve got silver for days and stakes at the ready.” Pearl tries to lighten up the mood, should their supply of holy magic truly run dry, they needed to keep their spirits and confidence high, perhaps higher than ever. 

“Oh, it did produce something, alright.” Martyn grits through his teeth. 

“The night in which we surrounded the demon, I believe a dark shadow was cast over Oakhurst, the largest and darkest of likes we’ve never seen before, don’tcha know?”

Ren’s voice almost trembles, but he keeps his posture stable and tries to seem collected. “That night, the demon pulled a scripture of unholy origin out of the chest!” 

Humans and vampires alike break out into gasps and murmurs amongst themselves, the church fills with noise and the sound of hectic discussions.

“Listen, listen!” Legundo raises his voice above the worried chatter of townspeople. “Apparently, theirs don’t work like ours. Owen did not suddenly get a new ability, but we need to watch out. What he pulled from that chest was a guidebook for vampires, and perhaps other creatures.” 

“The knowledge in this book can most likely be learned by anyone, not just the person who consumes it, because it wasn’t made for that, it’s an actual, ‘normal’ book. Which also means that they are not dependent on steady supply, like we are.” He looks around the room for a moment, ensuring he’s got all of their attention. 

“This, unfortunately, is not the worst event.” 

“How can it get worse?” Cleo shakes her head in disbelief, and most of them nod their heads in agreement.

Legundo sighs, and brings a hand up to his forehead to massage it. “How do I say this?” His hands sink down to his mouth, stretching his face before he shakes his head and takes another breath. “It contains instructions on how to bring back the dead.” 

One.

Two.

Three. 

All hell breaks loose. 

“What?” It’s Abolish who shouts the loudest, the others would’ve glanced at him for a moment or asked him about it, but they’re busy with breaking out into frantic dialogues again or trying to break out of a building panic.

“You’re telling me, even if we properly kill them, they’ll never stay dead?” Pearl asks with eyes as big as saucers and her hand trying to grip her axe, forgetting she’d put it in her backpack. 

“So stakes are useless then?” Sausage speaks up, biting his lip, conflicted whether to be relieved, or just as worried as the others.

“I don’t think they’ll start reviving people left and right,” Legundo says. “I don’t know if it’s any consolation, but we’re talking about life here, un-life, life, both things which are incredibly valuable, and complicated to achieve and maintain.” 

“But this means, should they want to resurrect someone, this price will be incredibly high.” Martyn supplies, barely keeping himself contained, one thought after another rushing through his head, everything that could or might go wrong. Maybe one day he’ll wake and all of Oakhurst lies dead. Maybe one day he won’t wake up again. 

“We’ve got every reason to believe Owen will try to bring someone back from the dead,” Ren states, waiting until their worried chatter breaks down into whispers, and finally tense silence. “Now, I put all of my faith in the doctor when I say that the person who we wants to bring back is not our problem, he’s said to have been a good man, and I trust you, Doctor.” 

“Thank you, Ren.” Legundo nods with a wry smile, which quickly falls again as he wants to continue their discussion. “However, the resurrection itself is the issue. As I said, I fear the price for bringing someone back. I don’t know it, neither do any of us, but existence is no cheap thing whatsoever.

“People in the medical and nursing field fight incredibly hard every day to ensure our continued existence, paying with their nerves, blood, sweat, and tears to keep us alive, to put a stop to death and allow us to continue.

Medicine is poison, diluted and changed to help us with all kinds of ailments, if you take too much, it will kill you, as is the rule for everything in life, too much will bring you to an early grave.

Resurrection is too much. The price will be high, and I won’t allow us to be the ones to pay for it. I like to think we can coexist peacefully with vampires, it’s not about vampires vs humans, we don’t need to slaughter each other in cold blood, but the coven has made their choice, they’ve pursued us, they’ve killed us, and I’m willing to give some of them another chance, but be wary of them.

“We don’t know who is in on Owen’s plan, we don’t know who supports him, but those who do know the price and are willing to pay it are dangerous.”  

“We need to stop them.” Apo frowns, staring into the golden light of the beacon, it no longer calls to her, but she tries to imagine what it feels like to the humans for a moment. “Cleo and I will go back to the castle, and try to find out what we can, I don’t know how much they trust us, but I can’t sit back and do nothing.”

“Doctor,” Sausage stands before his house during the day, the sun burns bright and hot, and the author is starting to sweat a bit in his layers of clothing, still he knocks on Legundo’s door again and again and again until the man opens.

He stands in the doorway, bags heavy under his eyes and a frown stretched across his face. Okay, let’s do this. “Oh, Legs, it’s so good to see you.” 

“Sausage, what’s wrong?” He squints at the man, and the author does his best to make himself appear small, weak, distraught. It seems to work out fine, because other than his tired frown, Legundo’s eyes soften, and he regains that calm demeanour he takes on when taking care of patients. 

He likes seeing Legundo without all the rough and hardened edges, these small glimpses of when some of the stress, probably self-loathing, falls away, if only for a moment. As if he’s whole when he takes care of someone, as if it were fixing something inside himself.

Sausage has never asked him about it though, perhaps he thought it too personal, and perhaps it’s good that way, it might make him feel more guilty to know later. The less he knows about him, the better, the easier it will be to complete his quest. 

“I— I fear I am falling into temptation, doctor.” He pants, leaning against the wall, acting weak, too weak to stand, to carry himself as Legs sizes him up. 

“You did not just worry me for this,” he holds a hand to his forehead, squeezes the bridge of his nose, then sighs. “Sausage, I’m flattered, but—”

“Pyro,” he breathes out. “You were right, he haunts my dreams.” 

“What?” Legundo’s mouth snaps shut in under a second, pupils turning to pinpricks in his irises.

The author bites his lip and slumps forward, forcing the doctor to catch him. “We should get inside, I fear someone else might listen in and I—”

“Okay, okay, get inside.” Legs steps backwards, inviting him into his house, where Sausage slumps into the nearest chair available while the doctor closes the door, but not before looking the path to his house up and down one last time. 

You’ve got this, you’ve got this. Sausage tells himself, taking deep breaths to calm himself. You’ve just got to abuse his trust, that’s it. 

The thought stings, sticks to his mind like bitter honey, what is he getting himself into? Legundo is supposed to be his friend, or he is supposed to be Legundo’s friend, one of those ways around! Instead he’s ready to lie to his face and take, take, take from him, in order to what? Get his shit rocked by a millennia-old vampire? Live forever? He’s horrible. 

Doubt starts to form in his mind, his plan getting hazier by the seconds, and he’s ready to pull the lever, abort, abort, abort, when a blanket falls over him. Metaphorically. His heartbeat slows—it’d risen? He feels warmer, it spreads through his nerves and muscles, allowing himself to calm down, clarity cleaning his mind of doubt and fear.

Suddenly, he feels as though he is doing the right thing, he doesn’t know why, but he can sense it, sometimes people do the right thing for selfish reasons. But why is it, what about his could possibly make it right?

“What’s going on, Sausage?” Legundo pulls out a chair from his desk and sits down across from him, hands folded under his chin as he squints at the author, who’s starting to think he’s nothing but a particularly interesting breed of butterfly to the man in front of him. “Something about Pyro? Temptation?”

Right. “Oh, yes, Legundo.” A good dramaturg knows when to pause and play, place every breath, he orchestrates plots and scenes for a reason, he’s good at it, and it’s just so much fun. “Night after night, the first few of them I thought it was mere coincidence.” 

“What was mere coincidence?” 

“My dreams, Legs! My dreams!” Sausage rolls his eyes, but there is no annoyance to be found in the gesture, it’s articulated in the way a prayer would be, up to the sky, pleading to the heavens, calling upon angels.

“I saw them, every time. They come to me at night, haunt me in my dreams, when I am fast asleep. I don’t usually dream, you know? It’s quite ironic, isn’t it? You’d expect an author to never stop dreaming, but really, I believe I don’t dream because I do it in the daytime already.” 

“But that changed?” Legundo cocks his head, listening with intent and precision, as he usually would, and tries to connect it to what he knows, but they’re both aware he is not experienced in the occult. 

“Yes, ever since I first saw Pyro upon the trees, speaking of his Sire, inklings of imagination have crept into my nighttime whenever I wasn’t out with you.” Sausage nods, running his hands up and down his legs to shake off some of the persisting nervousness.

“Until they started to appear in them directly, sometimes alone, sometimes with other vampires, though I doubt they have anything to do with it, truly, I believe Pyro is the one meaning to seek me out at night.” 

“I don’t— So you’re saying they’re making you dream of them? They are somehow…”

“Vampires might need invites to our houses, Doctor, but they certainly don’t need invites to our minds.” He adds a forlorn chuckle, as if he were being somber, mourning something, his peace of mind, his peace at night, or perhaps his human innocence to the wiles of darkness. “But I don’t think I need to tell you that, of all people, you seem like quite the knowledgeable man.”

“I am not proficient in the occult, Sausage, I truly did not know— well, there are texts about it, but Pyro? He’s not been a vampire for long, I didn’t know he’d be capable of this. We need to be prepared for everything these days, it seems.” A second ticks away, and he reopens his mouth. “Is this the true reason why you were running around town, asking for Avid’s books?” 

He didn’t even need to bring it up himself, he suppresses a smile, and nods. “Indeed, I thought, since Avid already knew about vampires before even arriving here, he’d probably have information about so much more, regarding vampires, regarding anything about the occult… but they’re gone from his house.” 

Sausage sighs again. “I’m starting to believe they’re in the coven’s possession, it would make sense, wouldn’t it? Of course they’d take any available knowledge with them.” 

“They do, yes.” Legundo nods, stands up, walks to a chest, and kneels down in front of it. “But Avid and Drift left in such a haste, I, well, let’s say I saw an opportunity, and I took it.” 

The author watches with wide eyes as the doctor opens the chest and rifles through it for a moment, producing three books from it. Might there be more? How many books is he even looking for?

“I regret not listening to Avid, just think about how many people we could’ve stopped from being turned if we’d just listened for a second.” He turns the books in his hands, fingers caressing the binding as if they were something he treasured. “Then again, it’s all just crazy, how could I have believed him? This, all of this, is madness.”

“I’m a professional storyteller, but even I had my reservations, if it’s any consolation.” Sausage muses, it’s quite ironic how everything he’s built his work upon is reality, and he doubted it. 

“But I’m supposed to help people, Sausage!” Legundo runs a hand down his face, screwing his eyes shut for a moment. “Look where we are right now, I couldn’t save Pyro, or Shelby, or Apo, Cleo, Drift, not even Avid, he never wanted to become a vampire, he was terrified of them.

“And now you.” The doctor shakes his head, keeping his eyes hefted on the ground. “I don’t know if I can save you.” 

Oh shit, the author tries to shut his ears, to numb his mind as he hears Legs rambling on, and he asks himself, will he break this man? He has no idea Sausage doesn’t want to become “saved”, and yet he’s playing the role of someone who does. 

Even after this is all said and done, if he should reveal his lies to the doctor then, will he continue to blame himself  for the author’s fate too, though it was never gonna end differently?   

“I have no clue how powerful these vampires truly are, how powerful Pyro must be to do such a thing, but—” he sighs as Sausage sits there, silent, condemned to listen to him.

“Do I want to run a stake through any of them? No, of course not! I’m a doctor, I’m not supposed to kill, but if I can’t find any other option to stop Pyro… my hands are tied.”

“Perhaps we could try to bargain,” Sausage suggests, trying to just make him stop, please stop! “Scott does not seem like the most unreasonable one, we’ve talked to him in the middle of town, and he made no move to attack us.” 

“He tried to turn you,” Legundo reminds him. Right, maybe not the best defence. 

“Because I was asking for it, and he relented after Avid stopped him.”

“Pyro is terrified of him,” the doctor does not let up. “If it’s truly Pyro doing this to you, and he’s horrified of Scott’s power, then what’s he able to do?” 

So many variables and stories to keep track of, after such a long draught of inspiration during the last months, it makes the author feel dizzy, but ever since coming to Oakhurst, he must confess, he’s rarely felt more alive than now. 

“There must be something, Doc.” He says, and tries to sneak a glance at the books, he wonders what exactly is written inside them. Maybe, if he plays his cards right, he will get to read them, he just has to say and do the right thing. “I’ll help you study, I’ll help you point out their flaws and maybe we’ll find something of worth.” 

Legundo hesitates, tilting his head from side to side in consideration. “I don’t know, if he can get into your head, don’t you think it’s a bit risky for you to know such important things? What if it only lends him ammunition?” 

Think, M, think!

“I doubt we’ll find something that will surprise them, to develop such an ability, don’t you think they probably have tomes of their own? If anything, it might shoo them away by itself, if we grow wiser.”

He intends for his words to be soothing, convincing, to give the doctor just that bit of security he needs to let his guard down, and yet Legundo grows the palest he’s ever looked. 

“Tomes of their own…” if he doesn’t look like terrified cattle now, Sausage does not know how else to describe him. “The book Owen got from the tomb, what if— What if it’s not the first one?” 

Legs’ eyes are wide, crazy, he looks like a lunatic about to run off and do who-knows-what, as if he were looking at the world in a way everyone would call him insane for. “Owen seemed surprised, yes, but what if it was only his first one? What if Pyro— What if they all? This is bad, Sausage, this is really, really bad.” 

“Now, hold on for a moment.” Deescalate! Deescalate! No matter what his plan is, he can’t have Legundo falling into paranoia, he knows it’ll only make everything much more dangerous and volatile. “Wouldn’t Owen have known about it then?” 

“Would Owen have—” The doctor looks right at him, no, through him, he stares into his direction, but somehow Sausage feels as if Legs does not see him as he tries to breathe in a normal rhythm.

“It’s hard to keep secrets in the coven, Pyro has made that much clear.” Sire hears all. “So if the chests would’ve been producing them for longer, he would have known. They probably have a few dusty tomes in Scott’s crypt, old, almost withered papers which are hard to read, maybe he found something there, or it was instinct.” 

The room grows quiet, except for the doctor’s heavy breathing, which becomes more and more even as the minutes pass. 

“Right,” Legs nods. “I’m sorry, I’m just overworked.” 

“There’s nothing to apologise for,” Sausage waves it off. If anyone should apologise, it’s me. What is he doing? The right thing, the right thing, the right thing, the right thing. Is it though? 

If he’s going to do this, he needs to accept himself for what he is. He needs to be aware of what he’s doing, and why. This is selfish, this is nothing but selfish, but it’s what he wants. He’ll face the consequences, he’ll tough it out.

When it’s vampirism or death, well, he would’ve lost Legundo either way, there’s no chance he could’ve ever convinced the doctor to become a vampire himself. 

“You start with this one,” the doctor pushes a tome into his hands, he looks down, the binding is a dark purple with white stitching on it, creating an alchemical symbol. “I’ll read through the ones I haven’t yet.” 

Sausage nods, but he’s lost in the book already. “Night Calls.” He mutters the title, and flips open the first page. “Different types of supernatural hypnosis and the creatures who cast it.” 

“If we find nothing about your case in this one, we’re lost.” Legundo sighs, the temptation to just let his head fall into his hands again is greater than any other, but he just takes a book of his own, and skips through the first few pages. He must’ve already started to read it.

“What exactly are your symptoms?” Legundo speaks up after a while. “Maybe I should’ve asked you this earlier, but I was…” He doesn’t need to say it, they both know what he means.

“It’s alright, you were stressed.” Sausage nods, looking up from his book. So far, it’s informed him about witches using potions to create hallucinations, or give people certain dreams or nightmares. Some sirens are able to make seamen sleepwalk so they row their boats into the open sea, or rocks.

“Despite dreaming of Pyro, is there anything else you’ve noticed?” Legs has shut his book by now, and is facing the author with an analytical expression. 

“Well, I feel myself growing tired.” He starts, mind slowly warming up, gaining speed at thinking of another lie to tell, of another tale he could weave. “It might be because I’m not actually sleeping when he calls me, because I feel as conscious as always.” 

The doctor nods and takes a feather out, and rummages through his desk for paper so he can jot it down and take notes. “Is there more?” 

Sausage nods. “During the day, I feel a strange pull towards the castle, as you must’ve noticed, I’ve been going there day and night for about a week now, but each time I arrive, I’m denied vampirism.” 

“So you’re asking them to turn you, but they say no?” Legundo furrows his eyebrows, trying to fit it all together, to take the pieces the author gives him and stuffing it into his own puzzle. 

“Yes, every time. I’ve found myself growing frustrated because of it, but as I’ve said, it’s because of Pyro.” Sausage sighs, then closes his book as well. “At the moment I’m relieved the ones who greet me there are against it, but when I am deep in the claws of their hypnosis? Oh, I must say, I am growing furious with them. It all feels kind of strange, seeing as I am not an angry person per se.” 

“Does Pyro give you orders during those dreams?” 

“Orders? I wouldn’t say so, no, they’ve never explicitly told me I should get turned, but they talk about vampirism, and praise it so much, when I wake up, I want nothing more than to become such a creature.

“When I manage to get a dreamless sleep, I do not feel compelled to give myself away to them.” He adds, fiddling with the binding, running, his fingers along the seams to soothe himself. 

“Which are the days on which you did not seek out the castle, I assume?” The doctor puts his feather to the paper, awaiting an answer before starting to write down another point on his list. 

“Yes,” Sausage agrees, and glances at the man as he continues to write. “Doctor?” 

Legundo looks up from his desk.

“Do you think he’s doing it on purpose?” He wonders aloud, while he does wish to make his story believable, should he sew enough hatred for Legundo to walk out and stake someone, this would not go over well for anyone.

“I— hm, I don’t know.” The doctor exhales. “He’s never seemed to be the quiet, manipulative sort, but do things like this happen unintentionally?” 

“What if he thinks he’s only dreaming as well?” Sausage tilts his head, acting as if he were considering something, a new angle from which to solve this problem. “Maybe they’re lonely.” 

He watches Legundo as he stares at his desk, unmoving as he thinks hard about something, and the author can only hope he’s nudged him into the direction he wanted him to go. He knows he’s got the books, now phase two should finally commence, the sooner he’s got this, the sooner he’ll be free from… everything.

“I’ll talk to him,” the doctor sighs. “I just have to make sure neither Scott or Owen are listening, those two are driving him to the edge of madness every time he tries to break free from them.” 

“I’m sure I can distract them, I’ll go to the castle, ask them to turn me, and they’ll reject me, just like before.” Sausage offers, though when he looks at Legs, he can just see the disagreement written all over his face.

“I don’t want you to, we have Apo and Cleo, those two could cause a distraction, I’m sure, but… they’ve already got a lot on their hands now. Maybe it’s better if you do it, maybe they can get their hands on that guidebook, no resurrection without the instructions.” His eyes do seem a bit brighter now. “We’ll kill two birds with one stone, and if I could convince Pyro to come back, if he’s without those two—”

“Sausage?” He turns his head to the author.

“Yes?” 

“This might actually turn out alright this time.” 

Hook.

Line.

Sinker.

Chapter Text

It’s fine, he can do it, it’s not like he’ll go back again after this. Legundo will be furious, but that’s okay, the townspeople will despise him as well, but it doesn’t matter. He won’t go back. If he hurts them, he won’t have to face them again, somehow they’ll get out of here, and he’ll live on, he’ll forget about it. 

Maybe he’ll ask Scott about it, someone who’s older than a thousand years cannot possibly remember everything they’ve done, which might be a tragedy in a lot of cases, but a blessing nonetheless, if you want to forget something. 

Sausage is aware you tend to forget the memories most dear to you, and those which you loathe stick to you like leeches, but nothing lasts forever, right? Leeches die, just like other animals, just like everything else. 

One crime, and he is free. 

Pyro stalks around the shore of the lake, glancing at the beacon time and time again, as if it could give him assurance, the doctor ordered him here by a letter the day before, which Owen was quick to snatch from his hands with an irritated hiss. Whatever falling out he’s had with the doctor still makes him act cranky and he adds more bite to his already sharp words.

First, the lumberjack was stuck in his own head, accusing Pyro of “conspiring with the enemy” again, which he denied with as much harshness as he could muster, but only when Scott appeared and let Pyro get a full sentence in did he calm down and agree to this meeting. 

But, of course, not without watching over him the whole time. If you were to ask Pyro, he’d argue Owen is putting this whole operation in danger, they all know vampires don’t stay invisible forever, and the one thing they’re supposed to get out of the doctor this time is time, the one thing Owen cannot afford to waste when melting into the shadows. 

It’s safe to say they’re stressed, and it takes great effort for them to still their limbs, though perhaps playing the small, terrified fledgling who has no clue about anything could earn him Legundo’s grace for a moment, right before he realises he’s been played like a fiddle. A surprisingly easy one, Pyro muses, either Sausage is a startlingly good actor, or Legundo is desperate and afraid.

“I didn’t think you’d actually make it,” a voice cuts through his thoughts. “I remember the last time we tried to talk.” 

Pyro scoffs. “Well, I’ve managed to get them off my tail for now. What is it you want?” 

Clueless or cruel?

He needs to decide which role he wants to play in the matter of seconds, both of them certainly have their benefits, but acting as though he knows little will make the doctor feel safer. Acting like an evil mastermind would only cut their discussion short, seeing as Legs might lose hope, if he can make him feel as if he can teach the vampire something, or even save him, on the other hand… 

“Sausage told me you’ve been appearing in his dreams as of late,” Legundo walks closer, arms crossed in front of his chest, wrinkling his doctor’s coat. There are still drops of dried blood on it, and Pyro can’t help but wonder if it’s his own, or someone else’s. 

“He… Doctor, I feel flattered, but I think that’s something Sausage has to come to terms with by himself. I don’t see how it’s any of my concern.” They tilt their head, praying to anyone who might listen he seems convincing enough. 

“Pyro, you’re entering his mind at night.” Legundo accuses him, taking a few more steps towards him. “And when he wakes up, he wants to become a vampire.” 

“I am doing what now?” He raises his eyebrows, maybe his intonation was a little off, but perhaps the lack of outright offence helps him sell it all the more. “What other stories is he coming up with, Doctor? How are his novels?” 

Legundo runs a hand down his face and shakes his head. “Pyro, this is not a joke, he’s becoming obsessed with the idea of becoming a vampire, because you keep telling him how great it is when he’s trying to sleep.” 

“I think I’d know if I were doing that, wouldn’t I?” Their hands rest on their hips now as they’re trying to give the doctor their best disbelieving face, forcing down the smile twitching in the corner of their lips. “As far as I’m aware, I’m sleeping safe and sound, and tell you what, I’m dreaming of a life in which the townspeople didn’t just come around to slaughter us.” 

“It was not the townspeople who started this,” Legundo groans. “When will you—” 

“Is it the point of this discussion?” Pyro interrupts him, and oh, they can see the anger boiling Legundo’s blood behind his eyes, if it were to spill, they might turn just as red as their own. 

“No, the point is you’re doing something, and for his safety, you need to stop.” The doctor rolls his eyes, disappointing the vampire once he sees not a single blood vessel has popped. Come on, come on.

He wants to be clueless, he wants to act afraid, but he can’t help the satisfaction rising with in him as he trips up the doctor and his thoughts, making his words stumble and become unstructured.

“However will I do that, Doc, when I am not doing anything?” He raises his hands in mock defence, it’s a little dramatic, perhaps a bit too dramatic, probably a thing he’s picked up from Scott. 

“You said you dream of a world in which we’re living together in peace,” the doctor tries his best to get back on track. “Do you talk to him then?” 

“Sausage?” Pyro cocks his head. “I talk to everyone, Doc. Everyone who chased me out, I see them at night, and talk to them, as if there could ever be a world in which we’re not clawing at each other.” 

The lies come easier when they’re half-truths, it’s something he’s discovered long ago.

“Maybe that’s it,” Legundo raises his head. “Maybe that’s what it seems like from your point of view.” 

“Do you still seriously think I haunt Sausage in his sleep? If anything, you are haunting me, in and out of sleep.” Pyro bares his fangs. “I wonder why.” 

“Perhaps you should consider to stop treating people like terrified cattle you can play with.” Legundo snarls at him, but breathes in in an effort to compose himself once more. “We’ve considered you might be doing it without meaning to.” 

“What? I’m supposed to have some superpowers I don’t know about?” Pyro laughs, making sure even Owen can hear it from wherever he’s hiding. “How did you get that idea into your silly head, Doc?” 

Small, fragile, stupid, breakable— 

“Pyro,” Legs breathes out, letting the quiet weigh on them both for a while. “I don’t believe you’re evil, I don’t think you’re a cruel and heartless beast.”

“I’m flattered, I don’t hear it often nowadays, especially since—” 

“But I am running out of options.” 

The vampire falls silent, prompting him to continue.

“The first one means you’re unaware of it, and unwilling to believe me, because you think yourself much less capable than we do. The second one means you know what you’re doing, and are trying to hide it, in which case I have little to no choice but to put an end to it by force.” 

“Have you ever considered the third option?” Pyro’s eyes grow wide with what one could call madness, or an extreme kind of confidence and joy. The stolen blood rushes through his veins, he feels his life, how, even through death, he is his own, and he’s powerful. He’s in control.

Legundo furrows his brow, and takes a step back, most likely without meaning to, as he stares the vampire in their eyes. “What third option?”

Is he really this trusting of the other townspeople? Does he really think they’re all innocent sheep with no role to play but aid in his power fantasy of being a saviour? Bile rises in Pyro’s throat, it’s a phantom sensation, they know that much, but it does not wash away the feeling of disgust.

“Bullshit.” 

Their smile is filled with sharp-edged and rough teeth, high on the thrill of being so above someone else they’re completely clueless. For the first time ever, he’s realising, he’s playing someone, he knows something they don’t, and it gives him the upper hand, and his opponent is not even aware of that. 

“I say you’re lying.” An incisor cuts his lip open, a drop of blood paints his pale lips. “Or that friend of yours is, I don’t really care.” 

But he knows, he knows! 

“Is there something you’re after, Legundo?” Their head snaps to the side, eyeing him in a world that’s almost horizontal now, before they straighten their posture again. “Are you trying to create a distraction? Are you after Owen’s book?”

He can sense the older vampire somewhere behind the trees. 

“I can assure you that I’m not lying, and this is not a distraction, Pyro, if you would just listen!” The humanity in his voice is repulsive, that annoyance, that suffering, it’s pathetic. Maybe they should all be glad he’s not a vampire, all his whining would make him a liability.

“Why should I trust you, Doc?” They smirk. “All you’ve ever done is tell us we’re somehow wrong, we’re sick, we’re dangerous, even as you try to convince yourself you think that coexisting is an option for us.”

“It’s because I know Scott and Owen would slaughter us all in cold blood if they could, and you’re on their side! I don’t believe you’re lost, but the only option for all of us to leave is if we either become vampires, or we cure every vampire, and what do you think they’ll force the rest of us to do? Without lending us the option of a cure?” 

“You try to pride yourself on knowledge you don’t have, Doc.” Pyro shakes his head, teeth still showing. “Maybe we could’ve gotten further, were we not attacking each other, but you’ve drawn your line in the sand, you can stay on your own side, that’s okay, but don’t expect the rest of us to follow.” 

“Pyro, you’re only dooming yourself.” Legundo screws his eyes shut for a moment, then blinks until they open fully again. “You were scared, and now you’re… I don’t know what to do with you.” 

“Do I matter too much, Doc?” 

“I swore an oath,” the doctor exhales, but his hands are clenched into fists and they shake at his sides. 

“But do we still fall under it, or are we a disease?” Pyro asks him. “Come on, Doctor, I know you think we’re parasites.” 

“Pyro, I don’t want to kill you.” Legundo repeats it, is he trying to convince himself? What if he just let lose? Why is he holding onto his morals so tight he’s getting strangled by them? 

Come on, Pyro grins.

Choke.

Why the hell did no one ever think about telling him how many books he’s looking for, hell, why did he never ask? Sausage is rifling through Legundo’s chest, looking at every book inside, wondering which ones are whose. Okay, every occult book has to be Avid’s, Legundo didn’t believe in that stuff. 

He pulls out six books with that in mind, reaching out for another one, arm deep in the chest as he scans the titles. He really had a broad collection, he thinks as the pile of tomes grows beside him. 

Alchemy, Hypnosis, Forgotten Languages, Creatures, Cures, Introduction to Sorcery, it seems like he’s spent a lot of time researching not only alchemy, but other elements as well. The next book he pulls out is one about chemistry, which he almost puts away, but when Sausage flips it open, on the first page, Avid’s scrawled his name in big letters, it looks like the writing of a child. 

The author opens one of the books lying beside him, and finds his name again, written in big, childish letters, and in another, and another. For how long has he owned these books? Why does a child own so many books about this? To his relief, he finds a few books in which his name looks as if written by an older person, meaning he must’ve gotten them much more recently than the others. 

After grabbing two more, hoping that’s all of them, because he’s getting antsy, he shoves the books into his backpack and swings it over his shoulder, ready to leave. He’s been in Legundo’s house for a while now, and he won’t be talking to Pyro forever, he just prays Pyro is doing a good job at keeping him distracted, and non-violent. A large fight is the last thing he needs.

The author almost reaches for the door handle, but his attention is caught by a note on the doctor’s desk. It’s small, the paper wrinkled, but it looks quite old, when he picks it up, he notices two different inks have been used, and while the second one doesn’t smudge when he wipes across, it does look newer. 

-wound on the neck

-childhood incident

-has not gone away (more than ten years)

-feral creature (vampire? Werewolf? Something else?)

-getting worse (bloodlust, coughing, throwing up)

The older notes seem to be describing an injury, though something’s up about them. Sausage takes out one of the newer tomes and looks at Avid’s name, his eyes grow wide when he confirms his suspicion, the writing is the same. Does Avid have this injury? Did he ever tell anyone about it? Did he tell the doctor?

He doesn’t know whose handwriting belongs to the newer notes, but considering where he found it, the author assumes it’s safe to say it’s Legundo’s.

-no answer in the books

-not a traditional vampire bite

-werewolf scratch? 

-too vague, need to talk to Avid

-cure?? possible??

-became a vampire to stop infection?

Oh, Sausage stares at the note with an open mouth. In a split second he decides to put the note into a book and stuffs both of them into his backpack, and looks out of the windows. 

On the outside, he can’t see anyone around, so he opens the door and stumbles out of Legundo’s house, now he just needs to get back without anyone questioning him. If he’s honest, he hasn’t spent a lot of time thinking about that part, he thought the stealing part of this would be much harder… until he realised that none of them have locks, which made it a lot easier.

If he’s unlucky, he’ll come across someone who wants to start another intervention, and if he’s very unfortunate, they’ll find out what he’s been up to. As he’s on his way out of Oakhurst, right before the gates, Sausage feels himself starting to break into a sweat.

It’s okay, I’ll be fine. Even if he’s found out, all he needs to do is run to the castle, someone’s got to be there, and he knows most of the people in Oakhurst don’t like setting a foot on that bridge… or what’s left of it. 

Pyro turns his head around, hearing someone running in the distance, his eyes flick through the woods until he catches a glimpse of Sausage’s coat flying through the woods. For a second he watches the author running through the forest towards the castle. No need to stall anymore, he breathes out, some of the tension in his mind finally losing its grip. 

“If that’s all you’re here to do, I think I’ll take my leave.” They regard the doctor with a glance, who’s breathing heavy and panicked. “Good luck finding anything in these pesky books of yours, who knows how long the grace of the heavens lasts.” 

Pyro turns his back to the doctor, in which second he hears a growl from behind, confused, he looks back, only to see Legundo charging at him with a stake. The vampire jumps to the side with ease, eyeing the madman who looks outright like an animal. 

They can smell the fear and fury on him, not even beginning to imagine what his mind must look like right now, it’s got to be a mess in there, thoughts running over one another, breaking off before they can take any kind of form, before he can think of anything else than primal instinct. 

“You’ll pay for this,” Legundo grunts, tightening the grip on his stake, and sprints forward, right at the vampire, who spins to the side with laughter, which doubles when Owen rises out of the shadows. “You can’t terrorise innocent people, you can’t—”

He tries again to attack Pyro, but Owen grabs him by the hem of the shirt underneath his doctor’s coat with a scoff. 

“Says the one attacking unprompted,” he spits on the ground next to Legundo. “You’re no less disgusting than they used to be, you would’ve stuck them on a pyre if you could’ve, so you can burn the disease right out of them.”

“You massacred a whole town of people!” The doctor inhales, trying to get in enough air so he won’t pass out, he’s sure he will any second, out of fear, out of anger, out of something. “We can argue about Shelby, Drift, Avid, Apo, Cleo, hell, maybe even Scott, but the townspeople were right to start attacking you.” 

“They killed an innocent man!” Owen screams into his face, his own screwed up in raw anger, fangs on full display as his other teeth have grown sharper as well, the doctor is staring down the maw of a monster. 

“And you killed a whole town.” 

“He’s done more than they ever would have for anyone!” Owen’s claws dig holes into Legundo’s clothes as he tightens his grip, raising him a few centimetres off the ground, fury flowing through his body like the electric current of a lightning. 

Owen, Louis’ voice cuts through his own screaming. Owen!

“Shut up!” Owen shouts to the side, towards the beacon, or wherever Louis’ voice is coming from. “I don’t— I can’t—” 

Pyro and Legundo both glance at the older vampire, mouths slack and silent as they watch him. 

Owen, please—

“Shut—” his hands lose their grip on Legs’ clothes, and he’s back standing on his own feet, trying to get rid of this voice, this numbing sensation in his head, of the illusion of Louis’ voice. Wait, illusion? No, no, he knows that’s not right. “Louis?” 

Legundo mouths his name, eyes still filled with fear as he takes a few steps back from the two vampires.

“Owen?” Pyro speaks up, though he’s keeping a bit of distance between the lumberjack and himself as well, he does not want to be the next subject of his wrath. “Are you… okay?” 

They can’t help, can only watch as Owen seems to mutter something to himself in a frenzy, something which neither they or Legundo can hear. 

“What?” Owen shakes his head, snapping out of… whatever that was. “I’m, I’m fine.” 

The doctor furrows his brow, seeming almost worried for the vampire now. “Are you sure?” 

“Just fuck off,” the vampire shows off his fangs and snaps towards him, but does not go any further. He just turns around and leaves in direction of the castle, arm snapping out to drag Pyro with him by his coat as he walks away.

“Are you really fine?” Pyro tries again once they’ve put some more distance between them and the doctor, but Owen just clenches his fist in the fabric of the other’s coat. 

“Yes, let’s just hope that idiot managed to get his hands on Avid’s books.”

“That’s— that’s all of them!” Avid exclaims down in the crypt, sitting on Shelby’s bed as he’s yet to build a proper room for himself. “Thank you!” 

He grins up at the author, who although satisfied, looks a bit worn and concerned, but before anyone can ask him about it, Scott slings an arm around Sausage and nods. “You’ve done well, this is much quicker than I’d expected, seeing as how chaotic everything usually goes.” 

Oh, it was chaotic alright, the author thinks back to when he was sprinting through the forest, only hearing Pyro, Owen and Legs screaming at each other, unable to hear what it was about, but pretty sure something had been escalating over there, he could only hope everyone would get out uninjured.

“I believe a reward is in order, then.” Scott smiles, and after all these worries and troubles, it’s the sweetest thing the author has ever seen. 

“I know I’ve said I would, but I need a bit of rest after this.” He sighs, heart pounding again, what if Scott rejects him now? He should’ve thought twice before saying this, he can’t just deny an elder vampire!

“Of course,” Scott nods, patting his shoulder. “We’ll have a bed ready in a few minutes, you can rest in one of the chairs upstairs in the meantime.” 

“Really?” It slips from his mouth before the author can stop himself, he shouldn’t doubt their hospitality, he shouldn’t—

“I assure you, a coven led by me is a good coven, we treat our own well. Seeing as our deal entails your turning, by completing your end, you’re now a part of it.” The elder’s words sound like soft cushions, getting wrapped in blankets after a hard day. 

“Tomorrow we’ll pick out a room for you, Avid and Drift still need to get their own too!” Shelby smiles, sitting next to Avid as they flip through the pages together, both buzzing with excitement over the tomes. “For tonight, we’ll sleep in my room… those of us who do sleep.” 

“Forget it.” Avid shakes his head with a grin. “How do you think I could sleep tonight when I’ve finally got back my babies?” 

The vampiress laughs as she nods. “Fair enough, I don’t think I’ll sleep either.” 

Nothing the townspeople have said about the coven could’ve prepared Sausage for this, nothing could’ve led him to believe the coven would be so… warm, welcoming, especially not after getting rejected multiple times.

Sure, he’ll look up to the vampires with jealousy for the time being, still tethered to the ground, but he knows, he’s been promised, that he will join them in the night. 

Chapter Text

If Sausage could be called one thing today, it’s inconsistent, inconsistent through and through. When earlier he’d denied Scott’s offer to drink his blood out of exhaustion, he didn’t think he’d get this antsy, trying to turn about in his bed, one side, then the other, twisting and spinning like a merry-go-round.

It goes as far as to annoy the two fledglings trying to read the newly-recovered tomes on Shelby’s bed, glancing at him each time he changes position.

After what must’ve been an hour lying awake, staring straight ahead into the air with his eyes wide open, sometimes without blinking for minutes, which he’s sure isn’t healthy, he decides to sit on his bed, trying to gather the nerves to stand up and leave Shelby’s room.

Right after stepping beyond the door, a chill runs down his back, and the author starts to regret it, it’s much colder in the empty corridors with mud flooring and stone walls, and he still can’t sleep, even less now that he’s out of bed.

With a long sigh, he decides to go up into the castle, it can’t be much colder there than it is down in the crypt, and at least it has nice interior. Perhaps he’ll even be alone for a while, this way he can’t bother anyone busy with other things. Surely the other vampires are out and about, hunting, doing… vampire things.

Yet, the thought of the most experienced vampires leaving behind the castle to go out on their own sends another shiver down his spine, what if they get attacked? Avid and Shelby don’t seem incompetent, but if the people of Oakhurst think he’s been kidnapped? If the doctor spreads the lie about Pyro having hypnotised him?

Hell hath no fury like people who think they’re doing the right thing, and he’s even given them a reason to think so.

The wooden floors are rough, and the author can tell right away which part of the flooring was made by Owen, and which was made by someone else. Sure, Owen may not be a carpenter, or a construction worker, but he’s a lumberjack, and has got to know how to handle wood.

Planks and stems placed and hammered down by the others just are a bit rougher, probably easier to give someone a splinter, have cracks, and are just not as clean as Owen’s work.

It reminds him of the reality that this castle is more of a DIY project than the work of professionals, but it gives the building a certain charm, he’d argue.

“I thought you were in dire need of rest, Mister M.” It’s Scott’s voice that travels across the room, loud, yet not aggressive or admonishing. Sausage startles, and looks at the beacon, on which Scott has draped himself, drinking in the red light it emanates without rest.

“I…” the author trails off, unsure what to say, how to properly act in front of the man. When he still had a proposition to make, he had a goal, and anything he said or did had to get him closer to that goal.

Now he does not have one, there’s no purpose to this, nothing he wants to get out of it, so the words leave his mind just as easily as they used to come to him in times of need.

“Is the poet lost for words?” Scott smiles at him, it’s not cold, not really, even though it’s not warm either, it’s something in between, yet it is not one that he gives away on the daily, like when he’s trying to charm someone. “Quite ironic, is it not?”

And why is he asking? Why is he bothering with Sausage? “Words come easy when they have a purpose to serve.”

“I never took you for a manipulator,” Scott comments, hand running across the glass surface of the beacon, caressing it not unlike a treasure. “Pyro has told me what you’ve done, how you’ve done it, and well, I’ve already seen the end result. Though they won’t tell me what went down at the lake, which is quite frustrating.”

“I weave stories, Scott, it’s what I’ve always done.” The author shrugs. “The more dramatic, the better, if they remain logical? Perfect. As for the lake? I can’t say I’ve heard anything else than distant shouting.”

“A fight?” The elder raises his eyebrows, then copies Sausage’s gesture. “Perhaps they should sort that out on their own, I’d prefer Owen to progress our greater project, rather than mope about recent events, he’s been doing a lot of that lately, it gets exhausting.”

Scott chuckles, but can’t help rolling his eyes. “Terrible humans this, disgusting humans that, I think he’s lost sight of who he is, or ever wanted to be, a long time ago.”

How does he tell him that— “I don’t think I want to discuss Owen’s psyche with you.” Thoughts come out as audible words as sleep nips at the edges of his mind.

“Of course not.” That smile remains on his face even now, even when the author rejected his attempt at gossip. “Why are you still on your feet?”

“The inability to sleep,” Sausage sighs in what sounds like defeat. “I’ve been tossing and turning for minutes until I laid awake completely still for an hour. I believed completing my end of our deal as quickly as possible would relieve me of my nervousness, but alas, it has not.”

“A shame, truly.” Scott tilts his head, his eyes become fixed on the beacon for a while as the silence grows heavy around them. “You know, I don’t want to impose, that would be detrimental to the relationship between a vampire and their thrall, but if you were to hear me out, I would be grateful.”

“Go ahead,” The author nods, blood rushing louder in his ears as he thinks of what kind of deal he’s made with the Goldsmith. Said Goldsmith is still cradling the beacon in his arms, basking in its warmth like a cat during a sunny day.

“I’ve never done something like that before, since no one’s ever asked me to, it was often more of a hungry thing, in more ways than one, if you understand what I mean.”

“What are you suggesting?” Sausage asks, mind going about a hundred miles per minute as he’s trying to process what the elder is saying to him. Are they thinking about the same thing? And if so, where’s the “back out” button? He’s far too exhausted for anything.

“Most likely not what you’re thinking of,” the vampire snorts without grace or decorum, but with honesty, which is something he’d never have expected of the immortal noble. “While yes, drinking blood can be stimulating to both parties, if they so desire, I am thinking of something much more biological.”

That does not prove me wrong at all, Sausage almost furrows his brow.

“Humans get tired from blood loss,” Scott states, simple as that, sitting up now that he’s got the author’s full attention.

“You’re saying you’d like to drink my blood so I can sleep?” He tries to clarify, to make sure that’s all the meaning there is behind the vampire’s words. “Is that… everything?”

“I don’t believe you want there to be more, so yes, that is everything.”

“And I don’t have to do anything else, I just—”

“Lie there and close your eyes, yes.” Scott nods, gliding off the beacon with a pep in his step as he approaches the human. “Though I think you should make yourself comfortable somewhere you’d be willing to sleep for the night. Were the beds in Shelby’s room not comfortable enough?”

“Oh, they were perfect, I assure you. I was simply anxious about… well, a lot has happened during the last weeks, especially the last few days, and it kept me awake.” Sausage clears his throat.

“That will not be an issue.” The elder extends his hand towards him, and without thinking, he takes it. “Let’s head back there, then.”

“Are you sure? I mean—” getting bitten, well, it seems a bit… intimate, doesn’t it? Willingly? Not just for a vampire’s feeding purposes but for—

As if he’d read his thoughts, Scott waves him off. “Those two can spend a few minutes out in the fresh air, I don’t get why they’re holed up down there anyway, when the beacon’s so nice. Very atmospheric, I’m telling you.”

“Thank you,” he whispers, not sure if he wants to be heard, or if he’d rather have his words unnoticed, but he’s aware that nothing can escape Scott’s ears.

“Comfortable?”

He’s lying in bed again, with the distinct difference that another person sits right beside him this time. Sausage can feel his heart pounding because of it, because he knows what’s about to happen, and it really shouldn’t unnerve him this much, he knows what this is for, nothing more, nothing less, and yet his pulse won’t listen to him.

“Very,” he just says underneath his breath as he wonder what it’ll be like. Will it be sharp? Will he feel anything at all? At this point it’s in the realm of possibilities he’ll just pass out due to anxiety.

“Are you still fine with this?” Scott tilts his head to get a better look. It’s quite unfair how it works, really, how the vampire can see Sausage just fine, but the human is stuck staring at the shadows in front of him, only hoping the vampire is actually where he assumes him to be.

“Yes,” he confirms, trying his best to sound sure of it all, but it doesn’t matter, because he cannot hide it. His voice is unsteady and his breaths louder than they would normally be.

He thinks Scott nods somewhere in the darkness, but he can’t be sure, and loses that train of thought anyway when he feels two sharp pricks on the inside of his elbow. Wait, what? Inside of his elbow? Don’t vampires usually—

“I don’t want you to die,” is all he gets from Scott, even the air feels invasive as it brushes across the wound, before he’s sunk his teeth back in.

It feels weird, sort of painful, but the author had expected to feel it more, in away. He always imagined something puncturing your body and its insides would be something you can’t ignore, something you’re painfully aware of, no matter how much you try to. Yet the sensation is barely even there, he just feels a dull ache, and that’s the end of it.

After a few seconds, his eyelids start to fall closed, and for some reason, he’s fighting to keep them open, some part of him does not want to sleep, even though he’s been aching for it.

Yet he’s incapable of fighting the warmth spreading through his chest, it flows from where Scott’s bitten into his arm, and gets stuck in his ribcage. He yawns, unable to close his mouth or hold his hand in front of it to shut himself up.

His vision starts to blur as he sinks deeper into the feeling, and the bed is the softest thing he’s ever been placed in, the most comfortable spot he’s ever been in in his life.

A pressure he hadn’t been feeling for a while disappears from his elbow, and even through the haze, he feels the elder wrapping a bandage around it, but even after what must be a minute, he isn’t gone.

Sausage can still sense the vampire next to him, even coming closer. He wants to ask what he’s doing, to look at him and try to see, but his limbs do not move, he’s too tired, too exhausted this time.

Scott leans down to his ear, and opens his mouth, he can just sense his fangs, doesn’t even see or feel them on his skin, just knows.

“Hush now the sun’s gone to sleep.”

Is he? No, Sausage has got to be hallucinating this.

“Close your eyes, rest now in peace.”

Scott is singing him a lullaby. Singing.

“When you’ll awaken the darkness will flee,” what an odd thing to sing for a vampire. “And the light will await you and me.”

He draws out his words, and they travel through the stale air, giving them life as the sound spreads through the room, through Sausage’s body, and he’s gone.

He needs to stop. Why is he doing this? At least drinking the author’s blood benefitted him! Singing him a stupid lullaby gains him nothing! Nothing! Yet he’s doing it without another second of consideration or rational thought.

Scott can’t even remember where he knows this song from, it’s so, so against everything he’s been priding himself on. Why is he singing something to Sausage about waking up to the light when he wants nothing more than to bask in the shadows forever? To stay as he is?

There’s got to be something wrong with him, he decides. Something very, deeply wrong. Is siring all these soft fledglings making him weak? No, no, siring makes you stronger, showing others how his world works has always helped him grow, strengthen his position, and made others agree that he was worthy of his power.

What’s happening to me? He asks himself with wide eyes which quickly dart to the door as it creaks open. Avid and Shelby stand in the frame, Drift behind them this time.

“Did you just— Was that?” Avid’s smile is brighter than a thousand suns which burn his skin away, no, they skip right through his hull and start searing his insides. “That was beautiful.”

“I don’t understand—” Scott mutters under his breath, but the rule of being heard applies to him just as much as everyone else, so the fledglings look at him with concern, if only for a moment.

“You should do that more often,” Shelby grins, but it holds no mockery, nothing of the sort. Shelby is genuine, as always, honest, bright, kind. Something I can never be-SHUT UP. He’s not concerned with kindness.

“I never expected the big evil vampires to sing lullabies to each other,” Drift whispers, one hand on Shelby’s, one on Avid’s shoulder as she tries to look inside the room.

“He doesn’t.” The red-headed vampiress shakes her head. “This is the first time he’s done this, I think.”

“Oh,” Drift opens her mouth.

“And we don’t need to talk about it,” Scott frowns. “One time and one time only, the idiot wouldn’t sleep otherwise. This was an action of necessity, believe me.”

They don’t look like they believe him, but try to do so very hard, and that almost makes it more painful, how they’re just not capable of that, even with so much effort.

He’s got to change. Fast.

The last time he was anything close to pliable, he— wait… what? Last time? No. There is no last time, he’s always been like this. Always. Why should he ever have been different? He knows why he chose to become a vampire, and that does not paint him in a gracious light. Nothing ever should. Nothing.

“Carpe Noctem.”

The elder melts into the shadows and falls into them, opening his eyes once he feels the presence of a desecrated beacon behind him. He looks around, he’s inside the crypt, the cave-like structure spanning above his head and painting intricate patterns of light and shadow on the walls around.

Carpe Noctem? Seriously? He just hurled some bastardised human motto at his coven and disappeared like a nervous fledgling? Something is wrong with him. Maybe Owen’s right, I am growing soft. No. No.

I need to stop this.

Chapter Text

“Do you think there’s enough in here to become a scholar?” Shelby raises both her eyebrows, ever the sceptic.

“I don’t know, but I’m willing to try.” Avid shrugs, flipping open his tome about ancient languages. Together with Drift, they’ve gathered in Scott’s part of the crypt, opting to let Sausage sleep in peace, acknowledging that he’s been having a rough couple of days, and they’re not going to sleep tonight anyway.

Also, the fledglings all agreed that if they put up a few candles around the place and brought carpets with them, it would be much more atmospheric than Shelby’s room. Learning in a vampire’s tomb was just exciting.

“Maybe the chests will start giving us books too, what if we’ve reached a certain number for the spirits to listen to us?” Drift speaks up, hunched over the creature book, though she glances into the book Shelby’s poured over, alchemy.

“That would be so cool!” The vampiress grins. “And it would supply us for years, think of all the things we could do!”

“We might not find Bigfoot in here, but we could make Bigfoot!” Avid exclaims, nudging her in the side until Shelby cannot contain her laughter anymore.

“If he’s not real already, he will be!” She gasps for air and considers it for a moment. “Who in Oakhurst has the biggest feet? If we just make them way bigger, the whole person, not just the feet, bam! We have Bigfoot! A bit of fur, and people won’t even know the difference between the legends and our creation.”

“What about The Creature from Frankenstein?” Drift suggests, though a pout takes over her expression soon. “On second thought, no, that ended horribly.” 

“Oh, come on, we’d be way better parents than Victor Frankenstein!” Avid argues with a playful roll of his eyes. “And The Creature would already have companions, we’re immortal!” 

“Hear hear, Avid wants to be a father.” Shelby snickers, ruffling the other fledgling’s hair. “Who’ll be the other parent, huh? Scott?”

“Wha—”

“We’re not blind, Avid!” Drift throws an arm over his shoulder and squeezes him closer. “Shelby and I have eyes, very good ones.” 

“I don’t like Scott! Not like that!” He says that, but can feel the leftover blood rushing to his face nonetheless. “What about you two, huh?” 

“Who— Stop deflecting!” The detective jabs him in the side until he falls over, lying on his side, trying to defend himself from the attack. “We can see how you look at your sire!” 

“Don’t get me started on your muttering, what did you call him?” Shelby’s smile is so wide it shows off her fangs. “Oh yeah, hot, handsome, pretty, and don’t make me mention that awful nickname you gave him!” 

“Wha— what nickname?” Avid snaps his mouth shut, eyes growing wide and lips forming a thin line, until he stutters out. “You, you heard that? Oh my god, Shelby, no, no! For the love of all that’s holy, don’t say a word!”

Drift is wheezing at her side and turns her head towards the redhead, though it’s almost faded by now, taking on a pinkish tone. “Good god, what the hell did you call him?” 

Silence, except for Shelby and Drift’s snickering. Avid is panicking, beet-red.

“Shelby, don’t you dare.” 

“He,” the vampiress struggles to stop laughing. “He called Scott ‘Sire Daddy’.” 

“You did not,” Drift gasps, trying to contain herself, but failing spectacularly. “Avid, you did not!”

“I did, okay?” He sniffles, heart pounding in his ears. “It was an impulsive thought, and I regret ever saying anything, because instead of ears, the walls have Shelbys!” 

“Same thing, really.” Said Shelby gives her friends a thumbs up.

“Come on, guys, we have a mission!” Avid tries to steer the topic away from… that.

“You’re just trying to make us forget about Sire Da—” he slaps a hand to Drift’s mouth. 

“Another word and I’m force-feeding you garlic!” His voice is the most high-pitched one in the crypt as he’s whisper-shouting.

“Fine, fine.” Drift speaks behind his hand. “You can take it off, I’m done bullying you for the night.” 

“I’m not.”

“Come on, Shelby, we can continue tomorrow.” 

“With you as my friends, I have no need for enemies.” Avid lets his head sink into his hands, but he smiles nonetheless. How wondrous how through giving into what he’s feared most, he gained two friends… and yes, a crush. 

Two great friends, and a chaotic crush.

“Owen?” 

“What do you want?” The lumberjack sits atop a beacon, looking over the body of water from the tower in the pale oak forest, not even sparing Pyro a glance.

They just turned it, and usually they’d both run back to the castle, or to another beacon, but the other vampire isn’t moving away, he just sits there and stares ahead. 

“Are you…” alright? Okay? Fine? Pyro wants to ask so many things, but so little leaves his mouth. They barely know each other, apart from Owen’s hate for humanity, his illness, and his deceased partner, they know nothing about him.

You could argue that’s much, but there are no details he’s aware of, only the abstract facts of what made the older vampire this way.

“I’ve never felt better.” And he’s a liar, a bad, but very ambitious, liar. 

They should let it go, they really should, nothing good ever came from trying to poke and prod at him, but they can’t. At the lake, he seemed more than just distraught, he seemed lost and terrified, but furious all the same. How can one person be so angry that even their terror is aggressive? 

“You shouldn’t dish out what you can’t take.” Pyro shakes his head, eyes raking across the vampire, trying to pick up something, anything. 

“And you shouldn’t open your mouth,” Owen grits out. Oh, how he lashes out like an animal every time, how he talks to the others with such calm, only to explode, shrapnel flinging off of him and cutting those who stand closest to him. 

Pyro presses his lips together into a thin line, he’s trying to shove away the hurt, it’s nothing personal, and he knows that, but why him? Why is he the first one people lash out at? 

“What was that earlier?” They can’t relent, reason denies them, but they do it anyway, again and again. “You seemed out of your mind.” 

Owen’s head snaps around to them with a glare, but he doesn’t show them his fangs, or threaten with his claws. They stay like that for a while, neither of them look away from the other, stubborn in their fight for… for what? They’re on the same side, and still they fight, still Pyro fears one day him or Scott will turn around to claw his heart right out of his chest, and Owen still treats them like strangers.

And yet, he’s the first one to relent.

“It was Louis,” he says, eyes falling from the other vampire down to the ground.

Isn’t that his deceased partner? 

“The ritual requires a spirit, a ghost, of some sort, otherwise it won’t work.” Owen sighs. “Louis is still around, and he talks to me, not always, but often enough.”

“Was he talking to you at the lake, when you…” 

“I didn’t immediately realise it, but yes.” The older vampire nods, his hair falling off his shoulder, it’s so long by now, it reaches the beacon, especially now that he’s not tied it in a ponytail, or any other style. “Hearing him, it calms me down.” 

“That explains… a lot.” The corners of Pyro’s lips twitch, they want to smile, to be sympathetic, but worry Owen might take it the wrong way. What if he’ll think they’re laughing at him?

“What do you mean?” 

“You seem a lot more peaceful.” They shrug. “You’re less aggressive, even at the lake, your first response was not violence, you didn’t attack Ren, Martyn and the doctor in that crypt.”

“Huh,” Owen hugs his knees tight to his chest. “I was busy with more important things, I can’t bother with senseless slaughter, killing someone would only draw Oakhurst’s attention, which would make everything harder for us.”

“Which did not always hold you back,” Pyro reminds him, sensing it might be his death sentence, but all Owen does is frown. 

“Would it be bad?” Pyro tilts his head.

“What do you mean?” 

“Would it be so horrible if you were less violent, even without the prospect of some big achievement?”  

“It’s not about me,” the older vampire spits out. “It’s about what they deserve, it’s about what they did.”

“They’re dead, Owen.” Pyro crosses his arms. “Yes, our status of conflict is not ideal, far from it, and we both contributed to it, but it never had to be that way. Every person who burnt Louis on that pyre is already dead.”

“And yet their violence is left behind, their hate, their—”

“You’re right, their hate is still here, but it’s not in them, Owen.” Pyro steels himself, preparing for his cold-blooded murder. Yes, Scott and Owen have both threatened him, yes, he swore to be a monster, everything to get a lick of power, he just wants to own his life again! But he can’t forget the human he used to be, as much as he despises it.

“They’ve left their hate in you, their violence and disgust lives on, but not in them, it lives on in you.”

His pupils are small, black pinpricks in his irises which flick around their surroundings in what could almost be described as panic. “Ridiculous.” The lumberjack huffs, hands tightening, veins pulsing underneath his skin.

“It’s not directed at vampires, instead at humans, but it’s hatred all the same.” Pyro continues to talk, maybe, if they’ve gotten this far, maybe they can get further. “You told me about Scott becoming soft as if it were a sin.”

They stare into the depths of the lake, down from the cliff. The stars reflect in them so bright, flares in the darkness, almost swallowed by the night, and yet they persevere.

“I wish that were true, I wish it would’ve been true when I got turned, I wish it would’ve been true when I tried to reach out for a cure.” It’s his turn to frown and sigh, to breathe into the night air and long for something he cannot name. He hasn’t lost a loved one, the only thing he’s lost is himself, and his life, and how could he ever get that back?

“I don’t think Sire has grown soft, nor do I think he will do so anytime soon.” Please, Lord have mercy. “What if you can start? You don’t want to be persecuted by humans? Make amends, as it stands, they’re most afraid of you and Scott, but they think you’re less reasonable than him. Yes, they have blood on their hands, but they’re just as afraid as we are, someone needs to take the first step.”

Maybe Pyro isn’t lost yet. Maybe he’s still in there somewhere, his hope still is. He knows he will never tell Scott about this, no, it’s far too dangerous, he’s gambling his life away even just talking like this to Owen.

Oh, surely he will run to Sire right away and give him everything. But maybe it was worth it for just this moment of sincerity.

“You would’ve liked him.” Owen stares right into the core of the beacon, only turning his head up to Pyro with an unnerving slowness. “He would’ve liked you.”

His heartbeat stops again, and again. 

“He thought it was incredibly important for all of us to get along,” the lumberjack’s voice starts to shake. “He worked night and day, cut time out of his own for me, and then continued to work night and day. For them. For all of us, even when he didn’t know their names or faces, it never mattered if they were new or old, it never mattered who.”

Owen swallows down a lump in his throat which feels more like a rock lodged in there. “And then they killed him, not even because he was a vampire, they didn’t know that. Someone planted evidence of the occult on him, and they burnt him without a single question, without a second thought.”

Pyro can’t believe what they see. Owen is crying in front of them, tears welling up in his eyes, running down his face, and he’s letting them watch, he’s looking right at them.

“Louis sacrificed himself, he sacrificed his eternity.” His voice breaks, it slips from one register into another and cracks. “And they sacrificed him.” 

It’s the calmest he’s ever heard Owen talking about it, and it’s the longest and most detailed he’s ever heard him talk about it. A picture forms in Pyro’s mind, of a man with long hair and fangs, walking through the streets of Oakhurst how it used to be 200 years ago, greeting the residents with a smile, shaking their hands, any day, every day.

A picture forms in Pyro’s mind, of a man with long hair and fangs, bound to a pyre with tears in his eyes, looking down to the people as they scream and clamour for his death. Of a man who knows what will follow his death, of the pain his absence will cause, and the hole it will eat into Owen’s heart forever. Of a man who’s never felt more betrayed by the people around him, and still does not hate them.

A picture of a man he’s holding close to his heart and inside his brain, someone who he would’ve loved to meet, had he not died two centuries ago. Had he not been destroyed by the very people he’d taken care of. For a second, he can feel Owen’s anger, he understands why he struggles to take that horrifying step, how irrationally he lashes out, finding himself baring his fangs at no one in particular. The world, maybe.

His vision gains back focus, and he looks at the lumberjack again, but there’s something else. In the silence, a quiet, consistent whisper, and it surrounds them both, but it’s only next to Owen where there’s a faint figure kneeling beside the beacon at his knees. 

A man with long hair and fangs, whose left hand draws circles on his partner’s back in an attempt of solace, even if he might not know or feel it.

“Perhaps you’d love to know he’s here right now,” Pyro almost tears up himself, the rush of images and emotions is overwhelming.

“I know, he talks to me.” Owen’s lips try to raise to a smile, but it never reaches his eyes.

“Can you see him?” 

“Can I…” the lumberjack turns his head. “No, can you?” 

“I believe so,” Pyro shrugs with a smile. “You’re right, he’s wonderful.” 

“Are you going to tell your sire about this?” Owen asks with a tense scowl, but his cold demeanour is ruined by the tears in his eyes.

“Who do you take me for?” 

Chapter Text

Didn’t Legundo say the coven only has one book? Well, Apo is staring at Avid, Shelby and Drift poured over about eight books, and none of them are holy, none. Where the hell did they get those from? The only thing she can think of are the chests inside the tombs scattered all across the area, and the books Sausage was asking about not too long ago.

She’s just about to ask them where they got those tomes, when a door creaks in the distance and she turns her head to see a certain author walk out of Shelby’s room. What is Sausage doing here? Her body almost freezes in place, but with enough willpower, she manages to walk towards him with quick steps.

“What are you doing here?” The architect raises her voice, trying to fit this situation into her picture of the situation, but as she turns and inspects it, it won’t comply. “What’s going on?”

Sausage whirls around to stare at her, mouth agape as he struggles to find an explanation. “I, well, you see, Apo—”

“I certainly see something, or rather, someone. Why are you here?” He was talking an awful lot about wanting to be turned, to the extent they had an intervention. A cold feeling gets stuck in Apo’s throat, and her mind races with a certain type of static where everything seems to stand still, even though it’s never been faster and louder. “You’re not a vampire, are you? Tell me you’re not—”

She wants to plead with him, to list hundreds of reasons why it’s a horrible idea, or why it was, is he even a vampire yet? The vampiress hadn’t felt anyone getting turned, but what other reasons for him to be here are there? Everything and more, she wants to ask, but on the ground, she sees a shadow towering over her. A shadow that could only belong to one person.

“And what would be so wrong about it? Tell me, Apo.” Scott has a talent for showing up at the most inconvenient times, or being any- and everywhere at the same time. Can vampires create clones? Apo is starting to suspect they can indeed, if not naturally, then with the help of those books.

“I— he—”

“As a member of our coven, shouldn’t you find it satisfying so many humans recognise our way of life as superior?” When she turns to look him in the face, his grin is stretched wide and full of teeth. He’s got to know she’s here for something, and not out of the good of her heart, why else would he treat her this way? “Why won’t you welcome my thrall as a new family member?”

“Your thrall?” If she only knew what that is, maybe she’d find it in herself to be angrier, and not just confused, dunked into unknown waters head-first. “You know very well that I’m only here because I got chased out of town.”

“And yet you always find another place to hang out at, don’t you?” The elder folds his hands, though she notices how his grip on his own hands is white-knuckled. What’s got him so worked up? As it stands, everything is going just fine and dandy for him! “I’m starting to question where your loyalties lie.”

Of course he’s the one to start spewing about loyalty, what a hypocrite, the only person he’s ever been loyal to is himself.

“My loyalty lies with the people least likely to kill me, Scott. I don’t know how or why it happened, but that turns out to be the castle.” Lie, lie, lie some more, anything to just get away from him. She can’t stand his smug face, how he carries himself as if he were above every other being, alive or dead.

“You should’ve learned right away that humans tend to lash out at things they don’t understand, may I remind you, you were no different.” How she thought a simple blade would be enough to end him, Scott will never understand, but the horror in her eyes as he rose from the dead again and again would forever bring a smile to his face.

“You threatened to kill me, of course I tried to fight back.” Apo wants to run a stake right through his heart, to spew more insults at him, but what if he’ll take her out? Her eyes wander over him, searching for any sign of a weapon or a stake, and finds none, which should relieve her, yet it still doesn’t take any of her stress away.

“We made a deal, remember? One which you agreed to, I was simply fulfilling it. If you do not wish to be attacked or turned, it’s as simple as not striking such deals, Apo.”

As if I had a choice! She bites her tongue, and half expected her teeth to cut it, but it only aches a bit. “I will keep it in mind for the future.”

“Perfect,.” Scott’s eyes close as his smile grows. She needs to wipe it off his face. Breathe, breathe. “How fast they learn, it’s fascinating.”

Rich, old, murderous prick, what more insults can she hurl at him in her head, it would be the prime time to find out, but Apo spots an out, an opportunity to achieve what she came here for in the first place. Complete the goal, get rid of the—

“Speaking of,” she relaxes her face, forcing the frown to leave with as much discipline as she can muster, and it indeed works, there’s only a faint trace left of her distaste. “Are we being supplied with books as well now? I saw Shelby, Avid and Drift reading, and those were not holy scriptures.”

“Oh, they’re certainly not.” Scott laughs it off and pats her on the back, he always gets uncomfortably close to others, as if he was trying to remind them who’s in control. Apo feels the urge to back away and hiss, but she has to play nice, and hates him even more for it. “They belong to Avid, he brought them with him.”

So those are the books, huh? There’s got to be something she’s missing here, between Sausage asking about exactly those tomes and them being in the owner’s possession once again, but it’s faint. He could’ve just taken them with him to the castle, or maybe he got them from his house later, she’s certain him and Shelby were sneaking through Oakhurst recently, although she’s got no way to prove it.

“Which is the perfect example for how to strike a deal the right way, Sausage knows how to bargain, I’ve got to give it to him.” His eyes rest on the author with satisfaction as Sausage glances around the crypt, looking everywhere but at Apo. A deal?

With every second that passes, it becomes clearer, the map on which she can spin a thread, connect the dots to one another, until it becomes a tapestry.

“You—” her mouth moves, yes, but she’s silent, trying to form words, but none of them actually get out.

“You see, what Sausage recognised is that vampirism has a price, not the one you pay when you are one, but the one you pay to become one, and he was not stingy.”

Scott’s right hand now rests on the author’s back while he pretends to flick dust off his coat with the left one, then moves to preen the author’s suit. Or rather, he pretends to do that as well, Apo knows he’d never get his hands dirty, and still the display makes it seems as if Scott was actually fawning over Sausage being a good businessman.

“Every single one of Avid’s books, he got, and his work was fast too, I must say, I was impressed. I still am, I don’t know if any of the others could’ve been as quick with it as him. Nabbed the books from the doctor way quicker than he could’ve said ‘amputation’ or whatever the new medical trend is, bloodletting?”

The elder vampire laughs as if he’d just told some grand joke, but the only one participating is him as Sausage and Apo stare at each other, one uncomfortable, the other astounded.

“You stole from Legundo?” She manages to force the words out of her throat, the author clears his throat, meaning to respond, but Scott interrupts again.

“He didn’t steal them, mind you, those books belong to Avid, Sausage just returned them to their rightful owner, and got a reward for it.” He waves a hand around as if he were trying to shoo away a fly. “Think of it like someone searching for a lost pet, some people pay a fortune to get them back.”

“What do you even need them for?”

“I believe they’re used for reading, Apo. I thought you were an architect, don’t you—”

“Scott, why those books? I’m pretty sure they had more than just occult books, if Legundo took them in the meantime, why bring back these specific books?” Don’t blow your cover, don’t blow your cover, but she’s losing her nerves. How can she stuff a deal and betrayal of trust like that way into a separate corner of her mind for later without it seeping through the cracks and infesting her thoughts?

“While I may not dabble in spells and magic often, it is entertaining to do so. Why should I police the literature my fledglings read? If they learn a trick or two, even better.” He just shrugs as if they were talking about the weather. “I’m sure they won’t keep them away from you, just go and ask.”

Is he stupid? Why would he let her of all people gain knowledge of any kind?

“Go on.” He nods at the three fledglings gathered in his part of the crypt. “I’ve got to take my leave now, but if you’re already staying here, it would do you some good to spend time with your coven and learn a bit more about your new lifestyle beyond a thirst for blood.”

Leave to do what­? On one hand, Apo wants to follow him, to see what he could possibly be up to, but he’s not stupid, he’ll know, something tells her that he will, better to comply for now. If she gains his trust, perhaps she’ll get to see that book Legundo was talking about, then she can make her move.

Was this how Sausage thought of them? Was he only ever nice to them so he could betray Oakhurst in the end? Was it all worthless to him? Something he could just throw away for the chance to become a vampire?

Well, he wronged them, now it’s her turn to make it right.

“You want to read with us?” Avid raises his brows. “I suppose you can… as long as the book stays where I can see it, I just got them back, I wouldn’t like to lose them again, not a single one.”

Apo doesn’t say anything, just sits down next to the trio, and looks at the covers, unsure where to start. Where does one start studies like this? What are the basics? What’s too advanced, and what should she read when she doesn’t actually want to learn anything about it, but has to fit in somehow? There she sits, lost, without instructions.

“How about you start with ‘Introduction to Sorcery’? It’s pretty beginner-friendly.” Avid grabs the book and nudges it towards her. “It might not cover everything, no, it definitely doesn’t cover everything, but it’s a good tome to begin with.”

It does say introduction, it can’t be that difficult to understand. Apo nods and takes the book into her own hands as she tries to settle down in a way she’s comfortable with, but no matter how or where, she can’t help but feel… observed, as if someone were keeping an eye on her at all times, no matter where. Why should it be different? She’s walked right into the lion’s den, and expects not to get eaten alive by them.

“Are you okay?” Shelby speaks up after a while with a curious expression on her face. “I could get a pillow from my bed if the carpet isn’t soft enough.”

Apo shakes her head. “It’s not that.”

Drift looks her up and down for a moment. “Do you feel watched?”

Can she say yes? Or will it only make them dislike her?

“I know I used to feel that way during the first few days, I mean, Scott killed me, and I only settled for the castle because both my friends are here, so… well, I didn’t have a lot of good thoughts associated with this place, but it gets better with time.”

But Apo doesn’t even want to stay here! She wants nothing more than to go home and fall into Cherri’s arms.

“The company makes it easier to settle in,” Avid chimes in. “I used to be terrified of vampires, I hated them… you can imagine how paranoid I felt when I started living here. I constantly feared Owen, Pyro or Scott would stake me in my sleep, but I had Shelby, and then Drift, and to be honest, Scott isn’t that bad.”

Not that bad? Apo can feel the blood starting to boil in her veins, images of her on that hill with three vampires flashing in her mind. She cannot remember her turning, but it must’ve been violent, she wouldn’t have made that choice willingly, Scott forced her, she knows that much. The clearest thing she remembers is that he didn’t give her a choice, except vampirism or death.

How does that man give Avid peace?

“Maybe I’ll get used to it.” Is everything she has to say, or rather can say at the moment, mind overfilled with thoughts and memories which won’t fit together, make it hard to think of anything, incapable of coherent thought, but she knows there are eyes on her.

“What does she want here?” Owen whispers to Scott with a nod at Apo, they sit on the railing above the fledglings, cloaked in shadows.

“I have not figured it out yet, but the longer she stays, I’m sure she’ll either give something away, or might finally accept her fate.” The elder sighs. “There’s always the option to take her out if it doesn’t go well, but I’d hold my stake close to myself if I were you.”

“You love your cannon fodder,” the lumberjack huffs. “I think Ren and the doctor were right with their notions of nobility, as much as it hurts to say it.”

“Why should I refrain from taking the route that takes eyes off me?” Scott points out. “It’s great to be feared, but I’ll save that for once we’ve gotten rid of the beacons, until then, I just try to not turn into public enemy number one, but as of now, you still hold that spot with ease.

“I hope that deceased partner of yours is at least half as good at diplomacy as you say he is, otherwise we might have an actual problem on our hands, I’ve heard on one of my late night strolls that the doctor is rallying against us.”

“What a surprise.” Owen rolls his eyes, could that man never stay in his own lane? He knew it, he’d said it all along, first he wants to cure them, then he wants to kill them, Legundo sees them as nothing but parasites and diseases.

“He’s convinced the price for revival will get them all killed,” Scott says. “I’m not sure where he got that idea from, but it serves to raise the tension.”

“They’re only dead if they get in our way, you can tell him that during your next ‘late night stroll’.” Owen grunts and looks down from the railing, watching the fledglings some more, Apo has indeed started to read that sorcery book.

He can’t say he likes or enjoys her presence, but getting bested or surprised by the elder is an annoyance he can relate to, as much as he wants to cut all ties and connections to the people of Oakhurst, and vampires outside their core coven. 

“Do you think they’re going to try it?” 

“Hm?” Scott hums and looks down to where his fledglings are burying their noses in the tomes as well.

“Do you think they will try spells? Magic?” Owen can’t say he isn’t curious about it, it would be hypocritical if he weren’t, and he’s well-aware he’ll need to get some reading done as well, if he ever wants to speak that incantation.

“Have you seen their enthusiasm? Of course they will.” While the lumberjack cannot see him, he can still hear the smile in his voice, and the strange kind of fondness it radiates.

I don’t think Sire has grown soft, nor do I think he will do so anytime soon, but does Pyro truly see him? Does he hear how he has no bite to offer to his fledglings? How he talks of them as if they meant something to him, even if only a little? Owen is convinced Scott is not the same anymore, granted, he doesn’t know him well, but he knows what he used to think of him when they first met, and it’s different.

“Will it work?” 

“Why wouldn’t it?” The elder chuckles. “Depends on if they do it right, if they screw up the spells or incantations, it won’t, but if they get it right? Sure.” 

“I thought the beacons might be a problem for the occult,” Owen shrugs. “They keep us trapped here, they’re powerful enough to tether us to this place.”

“And that’s all they’re doing,” Scott reminds him. “The beacons are not holy forces, neither are they unholy. They can be converted to either side, and serve both in equal measure, if they let the humans cast their little spells, they will not hold us back from doing the same.” 

Neutral forces, huh? Who built them, and why? Owen can’t remember them being there during his time, so they must’ve come after, but who did it, when he killed everyone? Who in their right mind would return to such a place and meddle with it? 

“You should ask Avid for a book,” the elder advises him, and as the faint outlines of his form melt shine through the shadows, Owen can see him waving a hand in their direction. “I’m sure he won’t say no.” 

“Is there something you’re not sure of?” 

“Rarely, it’s how I’ve stayed alive and in power for over a millennium, give or take a few years.”

He knows Scott doesn’t give instructions without reason, they always serve a purpose, yet he finds himself growing reluctant to follow his advice. Owen can make his own decisions, he’s not some fledgling who’s reliant on an older vampire for help, especially not when it comes to matters such as these. Scott has had his run of power, but Owen has left his mark on the world too, he can’t erase that, and if he spends a few more minutes trying to lie to himself, he’ll start to believe they’re equal in power.

“One of the most important things in life is to know when you lead,” Scott’s voice is as smooth as silk. “And when you follow.”

Chapter Text

“Has anyone seen Sausage?” He’s losing his mind, he let it fall somewhere around the lake, maybe into the lake, and then it drowned, and Legundo will never get it back, just like those books. It leaves an itch in his brain, something inside him is clamouring for him to hear it out, but he does not listen. 

“I haven’t seen him since yesterday,” Pearl tells him as she strides through the gate into Oakhurst. “Is he not around town?” 

“No, I knocked on his door, looked inside his house, went around the gates, I looked everywhere!” The doctor runs a hand through his hair, trying not to pull at it and maybe rip out a few strands in the process.

“Don’t you think it’s suspicious?” Abolish walks into their small impromptu meeting before the fountain, silver sword tied to his belt as always. “We try to talk to him, and two days later, he disappears.”

“Not to mention he was acting weird.” Cleo peeks out of her front door and approaches the group. They still need to get used to her white hair and red eyes, but none of them can say it doesn’t suit her, she almost looks as if she were made for this.

“He spent the whole next morning looking around as if there was someone out to get him.” 

“Did he?” Legundo sets his jaw in an effort to not start screaming in frustration right then and there. Out to get him? Who? Pyro? But he was with them! He couldn’t have taken him, could he? No, that doesn’t matter if it’s hypnosis we’re talking about. Sausage could’ve just walked out on his own.

The doctor must’ve looked pale as a sheet, or maybe his skin stretches across his bones like a skeleton, Lord knows he’s been forgetting to eat these last days, because the vampiress fixes him with a suspicious expression. “Do you know something?” 

Do I know something? I’m starting to feel as if I know nothing. Maybe he should finally start laughing at his own stupidity, it’s long overdue, how could he leave Sausage alone when he knew a vampire was out to get him? Is he still alive? Is he one of them now? “I…” 

“You told Sausage not to be ashamed of wanting to be a vampire, don’t be ashamed to tell us what you know, we’ll find a way to… to fix this, whatever this may be. If there’s a monster that needs slaughtering, don’t hesitate to call out for us.”

Pearl pats him on the back, but it’s so heavy he fears he might just keel over, when the hunter notices, she starts holding him by his coat.

His heart beats inside his throat, which is humbug, he knows that cannot be the truth, that’s not where his heart is, and yet the sensation is just as powerful as if he were clueless regarding its whereabouts.

If he didn’t know his mind was lying to him, telling him he’s suffocating on fresh air, he might’ve cowered in fear, and yet he’s still trying to swallow down the truth. He failed. He failed so many people, and now he’s failed Sausage too.

“I—” his vocal cords give out, and his voice slips into nothing, like a breath lost to death. “I think I failed. No, I don’t think I failed, I know I have.” 

“Failed who? Sausage? How? There was nothing we could’ve done, that man was obsessed with the idea of vampirism the second Scott flaunted all the benefits, maybe even before then.” Cleo scoffs, showing no sympathy for the author, but she doesn’t know what Legundo does, she’s not aware of the horrors he’s told him about.

“Not by choice.” The doctor shakes his head with a grim expression.

“What do you mean?” Abolish wonders aloud, brows furrowed in confusion. The last few times he’s seen Sausage, he was head over heels for that fantasy, except on that night they tried to intervene, but the author hadn’t seemed honest then, and he’s sure the others think the same.

“Yesterday, Sausage told me he was being haunted by a vampire in his sleep, that they were causing this wish, he said he was afraid, and wanted help. He didn’t want to become a vampire!”

One hand running down his face, the other gripping onto his own coat like a lifeline, the doctor tries to recall his talk with Mister M to his best abilities, but it’s all a blur in the stress he’s under, memories tumbling and blending into one another like a dream. 

“Who?” Abolish continues to ask, he wants to know, he needs to, he needs to know who could possibly be this dangerous to them. If they could make someone want to be turned, to call them to their doom, they need to be eliminated in an instant.

“Pyro.” 

…

….

“Hah!” Cleo cackles, uncontrolled and without restraint, as loud as she wants and as loud as she can.

It scares off a few stray bats and birds which were perching on the wooden walls of Oakhurst, but it does not stop her, on the contrary, she hunches over as laughter becomes everything she can utter, to the confusion of every bystander.

“Cleo?” The doctor can’t believe what he’s hearing, seeing, does she care so little? Weren’t they trying to come up with a cure together? Why does she care so little for Sausage’s fate, why is she entertained?

Is the vampirism getting to her? No matter how stoic she may seem, how calculated and analytical, pragmatic, it cannot have left her unfazed? Is this her last straw? Is she going mad at last?

“You—” The vampiress tries to catch her breath, but fails and continues howling. 

“Cleo, someone is in danger!” Pearl reasons with her, but her roommate shakes her head with tears of laughter in her eyes, barely caring to wipe them off her face.

“You—” They bite their lip and poke it with their fangs, but pay the damage no mind. “You were lied to!” 

…Lied… to?

Their meaning doesn’t register in Legundo’s head at first, twisting and turning as he tries to fit them into his understanding of the situation at hand, but no matter which way he turns them, and how often, they won’t. They just won’t fit. Sausage didn’t— Sausage isn’t a liar.

“You were lied to, Doc.” Cleo giggles, but does her best to inhale and exhale in a steady rhythm to come back down from her euphoria(?) high. Can vampires get light-headed? “Pyro is way too young for a Blood Call.”

“B- Blood Call, wha- what is that?” The doctor manages to stammer out, mind reeling and racing.

“A method vampires can use to lure in their prey, but it’s very advanced, and most fledglings can’t do it at all, not for at least ten years of experience, five if they practice. Pyro hasn’t been a vampire for long enough, I can’t do it either, even though I know about it, and how it would work.” They give a short explanation and tilt their head.

“Scott would probably be able to, but he’s been asleep for so long, his Blood Call would be a bit rusty, nowhere near enough to convince someone to turn.”

“How does it work?” Abolish is once again the one to question the others, trying to soak up information. 

“It’s difficult to explain,” Cleo says. “Think of it like telepathy, and the vampire can do it to you when you’re awake, or asleep. It’s easier when their victim is asleep though, because they can make it look like a dream… or nightmare.

“With it, they can demand whatever they want, which is food, most of the time. There’s a chance to resist it, depending on how powerful you are, or the vampire, but if you’re the victim of an elder, you’re… as good as dead.” 

The group stands still in stunned silence.

“Legundo, Pyro is too young for a Blood Call, as are the others, and Scott would need to polish his, but he’s got no need for it, and he hasn’t made one attempt at it.” Cleo insists, trying to hammer her point home. “Sausage was lying to you.” 

Why— Why would he lie? It makes no sense, why would he need to lie? Did he take his books? What for? What purpose? He’s gone, he’s left, so he never gave up his obsession? I— I—

Legundo’s blood is rushing through his veins so loud he can hear it in his ears, and soon it becomes the only thing he can hear as tiny white dots dance in his vision.

“Doctor?” Someone asks, he doesn’t answer, doesn’t even know who it is. “Doctor?”

His heart is pounding so loud it becomes exhausting, and it doesn’t rest, it doesn’t let up, never slows down, it just keeps going and going and going and going and going and going and—

“DOCTOR!”

Legundo’s vision goes to black and he goes limp. Gravity takes him.

“You’re no less disgusting than they used to be, you would’ve stuck them on a pyre if you could’ve, so you can burn the disease right out of them.”

“Why should I trust you, Doc? All you’ve ever done is tell us we’re somehow wrong, we’re sick, we’re dangerous, even as you try to convince yourself you think that coexisting is an option for us.”

“You were lied to!”

“No less disgusting— We’re somehow wrong, we’re sick, we’re dangerous— Convince yourself— Coexisting is an option for us— You were lied to!”

“Disgusting— Wrong— Sick— Dangerous— You— Not an option— Lied!”

“Disgusting— Wrong— Sick— Dangerous— You— Liar!” 

“You— Disgusting— Sick— Dangerous— Liar!” 

“Liar!” 

“You’re disgusting.” 

“They were right to start attacking you.” Dangerous, dangerous, DANGEROUS! 

“Doctor!” 

Someone has slapped him. Someone in a dress, with long brown hair, and an axe attached to their bag. 

“…” His throat is dry and the clothes he wears stick to his body due to sweat. “Eh?” 

“Oh my god, finally!” It’s Pearl who’s sitting right next to him, all kinds of… spices littered around the two. “We thought we’d lost you, Doc.” 

“What’s happening?” Martyn shouts in the distance and breaks out into a run when he sees Legundo lying half-conscious on the ground. “Legs!” 

“I…” Why is his vision blurry again? He just passed out, that’s what happened, right? Why is he already on his way to seeing jack-shit again? He just— No, he’s not passing out. He’s…

“Legs, are you alright?” Pearl sneaks her hands underneath his back and tries to sit him up, but the man is almost completely limp in her arms even now that he’s awake and somewhat aware.

The doctor just manages to shake his head, it feels like a great effort to him, yet he’s aware he could only move it by a few millimetres.

“Is there something we can do for you?” He snaps his head to his left where Abolish has knelt down beside him as well, holding garlic near his face. How hasn’t he noticed that sooner?

It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t change the fact he doesn’t know the answer to his question, doesn’t change the fact his lips won’t move.

“Fffff…” he tries to speak, but it’s all slurred and lost in the haze of his mind. “Fffffuuu… g.”

Cleo nods with her arms crossed. “Fuck indeed.” 

“What’s going on?” Martyn demands to know, eyes flicking from person to person in search for a clue. 

“Sausage is a liar, and a traitor, apparently.” Cleo fills him in… a tiny bit. “He lied to the doctor and took the books he was searching for from him, and ditched Oakhurst, at least that’s what I gathered from this mess.” 

“Ho do yuh…” His lips still won’t cooperate, neither will the rest of his mouth, spit filling his mouth until he’s drooling. God, he must look absolutely pathetic. 

“Legs, it’s not that hard to figure out, you are searching for a cure, Avid has occult literature. It’s like calculating one plus one.” Cleo sighs, eyes scanning their surroundings. “What I didn’t expect was Sausage of all people turning out to be such a liar.” 

“He’s an author…” Abolish shrugs. “Storytelling is his profession.” 

“But making up stories and manipulating your neighbours isn’t the same thing, is it?” Pearl looks around to see if anyone agrees, but no one can bear to look at the other.

“What a bastard.” Martyn’s expression falls into something the others can’t define, whether it’s betrayal or hurt, no one can truly tell, perhaps it’s a mix of all those things, but no one dares to ask. 

“What do those books mean for us?” Pearl looks at the doctor, but he doubts he’s able to give a coherent response at the moment, yet he still tries. 

“Cvn wl ge moh powrfl. W’r in dnr.” When has he ever felt this tired? Never. He doesn’t he think he ever has before. 

“The coven will get more powerful, we’re in danger.” Cleo translates, speaks for him.