by Joy Demorra
Glancing at a slim book in front of him, the Viscount said, “Well, it looks like all of our physicians are busy at the moment—”
“That’s all right, I can come back later,” Nathan said in a rush, already taking a hasty step back. The walls were really starting to close in on him now, and he knew for a fact he’d never come back. Not unless Fiddildy convinced the rest of the guards to carry him.
“Are you sure? Because I can arrange—”
“Nope, absolutely fine,” Nathan cut him off again.
“Well, I’m sure you know best,” the Viscount said, smiling thinly. Nathan wasn’t sure he did know best, but he knew he had to get out of here. He was just about to make his excuses when the clock tower in the square struck four. The vampire perked up in surprise. “Good heavens, is that the time already? Well, that’s me done for the day. Fancy a drink?”
Nathan blinked. “What?”
“A drink. Down at the pub. I don’t know about you, but I could murder a pint.”
He was already halfway to the door when Nathan caught up with him. “When you say pint…”
*
The Mermaid’s Haunt was a quaint-looking pub with thick cobblestone walls and a thatch roof, which had seen better days. The interior was dim and only moderately dingy, the smell of smoke, stale ale, and salt brine hung thick in the air. Although patrons looked up when they walked in, the Viscount was apparently a frequent enough visitor not to cause a stir.
Sitting at a table in the corner, Nathan observed the vampire mingle with the tradesfolk milling around at the bar. Dressed in a pair of gray woolen trousers and a matching waistcoat with his shirt sleeves rolled up, Viscount Blutstein looked more like the son of a wealthy merchant than provincial nobility. It was a good look on him, especially the way his shirt collar gaped open and his necktie draped loosely around his neck.
Blaming the heat rising over his cheeks on the nearby hearth, Nathan reached up to pry his own collar free. It was probably profoundly bad manners to go completely bare necked around a vampire, but Nathan didn’t care. He turned the strip of black fabric over in his hands, flexing the leather band underneath. Designed to ensure a crisp line in the uniform, the collar also helped prevent the wearer from being garroted in battle. Nathan had always thought of it as redundant. Anyone who managed to sneak up on a werewolf and get that close likely wouldn’t be deterred by a strip of leather, but still, regulation was regulation. No matter how much it chafed.
“Here we are.” The Viscount returned to the table, setting down an amber pint glass in front of Nathan and a near-pitch-black stout in front of himself. Nathan stared at the Viscount’s drink in fascinated horror. “It’s made with oats,” the vampire said as he slid gracefully into his seat. “Mostly.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you have a wonderful knack for phrasing things ominously?”
The vampire laughed openly. “Thank you, I try. I promise, it really is just oats though.” He waved a hand vaguely in the air. Affecting a lazy slouch, he stretched his long legs out to the side, presumably to avoid kicking Nathan under the table. “And a few other things—malted barley, yeast. All that stuff. It’s somewhat of an acquired taste. You can try it, if you like.”
Nathan eyed the beer skeptically, but curiosity got the better of him. He picked it up and gave it a sniff. Undeterred by the Viscount’s enigmatic smile, Nathan took a sip. “Well,” he said, after a diplomatic pause. “I’ve never had to chew a pint before.”
“I did say it was an acquired taste.” The vampire laughed, his hand curling around his mouth to hide his fangs. Nathan wished he wouldn’t.
“I didn’t say I didn’t like it. Just an odd mouth texture.”
“That’s fair.”
Nathan tried not to watch too avidly as he lifted the stout to his lips and swallowed.
“We actually used to prescribe this in the clinic for anemia, but I’m afraid it was a little too popular a remedy. Personally, I level out after a few.”
“You know, when everyone told me you worked hard to make the clinic a success, I didn’t think they meant you actually worked there.” Nathan hadn’t meant to say that. He hoped he wasn’t blushing too much.
“Oh, I don’t know if I’d call it that.” The Viscount’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “It’s more of a hobby, really. I think I’m probably more of a nuisance than a help, but they let me dabble enough to keep my hand in.”
“Isn’t medicine an unusual hobby for a vampire?”
The Viscount snorted, giving Nathan a droll look over the top of his pint glass. “Captain, please. Who do you think came up with the concept of therapeutic bleeding?”
With an almost palpable snap, the tension between them lifted. Nathan soon forgot to be nervous and began enjoying himself as the conversation meandered. They flitted from topic to topic, going where the conversation led them—though mostly focusing on the state of the Empire.
“You seem to be doing all right here in Eyrie, though,” Nathan said, when the vampire proclaimed his disappointment in Parliament’s decision to send more troops South in response to the rioting on the mainland.
“Hmm, yes.” The Viscount shook his head. “Turns out not starving people to death or forcing people to work in unsafe conditions is good for public morale. Who knew?”
Nathan chuckled at the deadpan sarcasm dripping from the vampire’s lips. “Careful,” he warned. “Talk like that will get you branded as a Reformist.”
The other man gave him a curious look and took a long pull from his pint.
The hint hit him with all of the subtlety of a speeding carriage. Stunned, Nathan leaned further over the table. “Wait. Are you?”
“Shhh.” The vampire glanced surreptitiously around the crowded pub. Hunching forward in a mirror of Nathan’s own posture, Vlad said, “Keep your voice down. But yes, if you must know, I’m an advocate for change. Not that it matters.”
Nathan tilted his head to the side, trying not to be affected by the vampire’s nearness. It didn’t work. “Why not?”
“Well, for one thing, vampires aren’t allowed to vote. For a second, I’m my father’s steward.”
“So?”
“So, I don’t know how werewolves do it, but he’s my sire first and my father second. His word is law. And he doesn’t like change.”
Surprised a bit at the vampire’s candor, Nathan blinked but carried on, “Then how are you able to do the things you do? The free schools? The hospital?”
“Small things.” The vampire waved a hand dismissively as he sat back in his chair. “Petty distractions that don’t concern him. But actual political reform?” He snorted. “Might as well try to hold back the tide. Anyway, moving on to safer topics. How are you enjoying island life? Ready to run away yet?”
Slightly disappointed at the distance now between them, Nathan shelved his curiosity about the Count; there was something hidden deep in the vampire’s eyes that told him continuing would be a bad idea. “Your sister asked me the same thing,” Nathan replied, letting the previous subject drop.
“Oh, did she indeed?” The vampire laughed, twirling a thin cigarette between his fingertips. Nathan had no idea where it had come from. “When did she do that?”
“At the ball.”
The cigarette twirling stopped. “Ah. Yes. A rather unfortunate end to an otherwise lovely evening.” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “I, uh, wanted to say thank you, by the way. For not being insulted. About not being invited to tea,” he explained, when Nathan continued to stare at him blankly. His lips twisted. “Though I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t love to have you there to help level the playing field. Five Collins women and my sister in a confined space?” He shuddered expressively. “Those aren’t favorable odds for my remaining sanity.”
“What? No! No, it’s fine, honestly. No offense taken whatsoever,” Nathan said in a hurry. The other man wanted him there. It was enough to make the tail Nathan didn’t have any more want to wag.
; “Splendid,” the vampire said, flashing Nathan one of those pointy smiles that did strange things to his insides. “I confess, I love my sister dearly and her happiness is my paramount concern. But sometimes her whims are a little bit exhausting.”
Chuckling, Nathan took a sip from his drink. “Try having four.”
“My condolences,” the vampire said as he wedged the cigarette between his teeth. “That’s a lot of fingers to be wrapped around.”
“Keeps me fit.” Nathan watched as the Viscount lit the cigarette with a snap of his fingers. It would have been an unbearably suave move, if he hadn’t shaken his hand out afterward like it stung. “That’s a neat trick.”
The vampire made a dismissive sound in the back of his throat, snorting smoke through his nose. “It’s about the only trick I know.”
Nathan blinked. “But I thought all vampires were skilled with magic?”
“Some of us.” The Viscount took a long drag from his cigarette and fixed Nathan with a grin that was particularly sharp with self-derision. “But not this one.” He snapped his fingers again, pulling them apart slowly so Nathan could see the threads of energy dancing between his fingertips. They fizzled and died almost instantly. “I can’t tell you how upset my Grandfather was about that. Gods unrest his soul.”
“What about illusions? I thought vampires were famous for them…”
“Nope. Totally hopeless.” The vampire tipped his head back, rolling his neck out as he exhaled a cloud of smoke, and Nathan caught the briefest glimpse of tongue sliding over fang. “What you see is what you get, I’m afraid.”
“I see.” Nathan’s gaze slid to the cigarette wedged between the vampire’s fingertips as he processed this knowledge. They were nice hands, slender and dexterous. Like the hands of a pianist. Or a pickpocket. Either was just as likely, Nathan thought. He could certainly imagine the vampire skillfully slipping his hands into his pockets.
Or perhaps that was just wishful thinking on his part.
Seemingly mistaking his interest, the Viscount pulled a thin metal case from his pocket and offered it to Nathan. “Oh, er, no thank you,” Nathan said, shaking himself back to life. Smoking was a habit he’d never understood the appeal of. Though he was willing to admit in this moment that some people could carry it off. “They smell familiar is all… clove?”
The Viscount nodded. “Another acquired taste, I’m told. I get them imported from Steocidell.”
“The desert folk there smoked them all the time.” Nathan trailed a finger through the puddle of condensation on the table. “They used them to treat pain, if I remember.”
Stubbing out his cigarette, the vampire said, “You never answered my question, you know.”
“Which one?”
“About enjoying island life.”
“Yes, I’m enjoying my time here.” Especially a certain Viscount’s company, he couldn’t help but add mentally.
“Good. And your arm?”
Nathan struggled to keep his tone casual. “I… it’s fine.”
“Come now, Captain,” the Viscount said, giving him a level stare. “A person doesn’t wear a sling for no reason. Can I be blunt?”
“Yessir,” Nathan responded automatically to the note of authority in his voice.
“Vlad, please; I always prefer people to call me by my first name before I insult them. And please do forgive me for saying this, but you do not look well. In fact, dear Captain, I’d go so far as to say you look like absolute shit.”
He was so kindly sincere about it that Nathan forgot to be offended. “If it’s all the same to you, I prefer to be called by my first name by the people insulting me, so Nathan will do.”
“Deal,” Vlad said, offering his hand over the table.
Nathan shook it, then hastily let go. That touch still made his skin tingle. “I haven’t been sleeping well. Or… at all, really.”
The Viscount—Vlad, he reminded himself—tsked softly, more sympathetic than critical. After another drag from his cigarette, he said, “I know some of what brought you here. But I was led to believe you were… recovered.”
“I am,” Nathan replied, then jogged his head from side to side, struggling to find the words to explain. “I’m still better than I was, after… well, after everything that happened. But now…” He shrugged with his good arm.
He didn’t have the words to convey how awful things had been. Or how much of himself he’d lost despite his best efforts to claw himself back together. Piece by piece. Day by day. Only to still fall short of the mark. It was as infuriating as it was terrifying, but he also knew complaining about it wouldn’t help. His family had made that abundantly clear.
“But now it’s getting worse again?” Vlad prompted.
Nathan nodded reluctantly. He’d been so naïve to think he could handle any of this. To even dream he belonged back in the real world when he was half a ghost himself. His father was right; he should have just stayed home, kept his head down, and made the most of what he had left…
“May I ask exactly what happened?” Vlad asked, breaking Nathan’s spiraling thoughts.
And Nathan… Nathan told him.
He told Vlad everything that had happened. He recounted the days running up to the last battle: the increasing violence and bloodshed in the streets—how their shaky foothold in the West had been, at best, a balancing act between ruin and chaos and how no one had seemed willing to listen. He described the constant shelling. The sound they’d made as they whistled through the air, and the deafening silence that had followed the explosions.
He told Vlad about the silver-tipped bullet.
How it had passed through him and left him gasping on the ground, unable to move but knowing some vital part of himself had been irrevocably lost. Nathan glossed over the delirious days. The weeks, months, spent lying in recovery, barely aware of his surroundings as the insidious thrum of silver poisoning coursed through his veins.
Some things, he felt, were better left unsaid.
The vampire listened intently, chewing on the ragged edge of his thumbnail. He was frowning, but his expression was mercifully devoid of pity. Which was a good thing, because Nathan wasn’t sure he’d be able to handle it. But he also felt weirdly… relieved. It felt good to finally talk about these things—like a weight had been lifted from his chest—even if he could feel the mood between them sinking like a lead balloon.
It was made all the worse for Vlad’s continued silence. He didn’t like the chatty vampire being quiet. It was unnerving.
“The hearing loss isn’t so bad,” he murmured to break the mounting tension. “I can get by with my right ear. And it’s easier if I can see people’s lips move.”
“And your arm?” Vlad asked, moving his hand away from his mouth.
Nathan appreciated the gesture. He shrugged, then wished he hadn’t when the muscles screamed. “It’s never healed right. Between you and me, it still feels like the bullet’s in there sometimes, but the surgeons all looked at me like I was mad. It was easier to just go home, in the end.”
Vlad stared at him for a while, his handsome features contorted with sorrow. However, when he spoke, his voice was firm. “May I see your hand a moment?”
Confused, Nathan hesitated. He’d been expecting some benign platitude or expression of regret. But not that. Wordlessly, he extended his right hand over the table, his large fingers feeling clumsy in Vlad’s slender ones.
The vampire examined his palm, then turned it face down to inspect the back of Nathan’s hand, paying unusually close attention to his nails.
“Can I see your other hand?” he asked, and Nathan obliged, working his left arm stiffly free of the sling. Once the vampire repeated the same examination, he relinquished his hold on Nathan’s hand and sat back in his chair, his head tipped to the side. Nathan could almost see the gears working in his mind. “I think we ought to take you to see Dr. Allan.”
“Who’s that?”
“He’s an alternative life doctor.”
“You mean alternative medicine?”
With a sigh, Vlad tilted his head back to gaze at the ceiling. “Not really, no. He’s a specialist when it comes to unique cases. Studied abroad a lot, if you catch my meaning.”
“Right,” Nathan agreed, not really understanding but not willing to show his ignorance either. “Well, if you think he’d be able to help…”
“I do.”
“Then I suppose I’ll try and see him sometime soon—”
“No.” Vlad stood up, finishing the dregs of his drink and slamming the glass down on the table, a manic gleam of determination entering those dark, glittering eyes. “I mean we’re going to see him right now.”
*
The vampire moved so quickly through the streets that Nathan would have worried about keeping up with him if Vlad hadn’t been dragging Nathan along by the hand. Not that he minded, he quite liked holding Vlad's hand. He just wished Vlad would let them move at a more sedate pace. “Where are we going?”
“It’s just up this way,” Vlad said, indicating a lone tower standing atop a jagged outcrop of rocks overlooking the sea on the outskirts of town. The place appeared to have been a windmill in a past life, the exterior repaired and patched together with spare scraps of metal. At the very top, a giant metal contraption that looked like a weathervane but clearly was not hung motionless in the breeze.
Nathan squinted up at it. “Is that a lightning rod?” He followed a thick tangle of wires down from the roof to… “Are those graves?”
Pulling Nathan onward, Vlad told him, “Don’t worry about it!”
It was only when they were outside a sturdy door which had definitely had a pitchfork embedded in it at some point, Vlad finally let go of Nathan’s hand. The vampire kicked the base of the door, and the sound reverberated through both the windmill and Nathan’s skull.
“Just a minute!” a muffled voice shouted from inside. Several moments later, Nathan heard rapid footsteps descending toward them and the sound of many locks and bolts being unlatched. “Won’t be a mo!” the voice reassured them from the other side. “Can’t be too careful, you know.”