The Glass Coffin

by Megan Derr

  "Master Pajari, thank goodness!" Michael said, sounding frantic. "The coffin has begun acting strangely. One of the curses woke and is doing something. You need to come at once."

  Rostislav stifled a flare of annoyance at the horrible timing of it all and said, "I'll be there in a moment. Make certain no one goes anywhere near it." He hung up, and then fired off a quick text to Jesse. Tucking the phone away again, he murmured the necessary words and vanished.

  He reappeared in front of the museum and immediately headed inside, not surprised to see Michael already waiting for him at the desk. They headed to the elevator without a word, and only once the doors had closed did Rostislav say, "What's happening?"

  "It's glowing, and I can feel it's calling for something—a vampire maybe?" Michael asked. "I can't sense more than that; the layers of cloaking magic are truly impressive."

  Rostislav grimaced and followed Michael out of the elevator and down the hall to the room where the coffin was kept. As he'd said, it was glowing—as though bathed in moonlight, the colorful roses shining, looking somehow almost alive.

  Careful not to actually touch it, Rostislav held a hand out over the coffin to get a read on it as best he could. He frowned thoughtfully, and then poured in more of his own energy, eyes closing as he sifted through the layers of spells trying to get a true sense of what was hidden, what it was seeking, what had woken it in the first place. Why had he not sensed the dormant nature before?

  In fact, the coffin felt very different than it had before. More than cloaking magic had been involved in hiding all its intricacies. As if something or someone else—

  A hand landed on the back of his neck, and sharp, prickling magic washed over him.

  Then everything went dark.

  *~*~*

  When he woke, he was staring up at a ceiling mural depicting all manner of paranormals—at least, normal concepts of paranormals. They would have been amusing if he was not staring at them through glass.

  Rostislav fought panic and looked around, but could see nothing except that he was in a room clearly intended to host a party. He could feel the coffin doing something to his magic, tugging at it, like he was a wine bottle on the verge of having his cork pulled. Oh, gods, a drain spell, that's what the cloaking spells had been hiding. The damned coffin was going to drain him.

  He really wished people would leave draining to creatures that did it naturally. Fuck it was going to hurt when the drain started working. At least it hadn't started yet.

  Reaching out as best he could in the limited confines of the coffin, Rostislav searched the magic for weaknesses, loopholes…and came up with nothing, but confirmation that he was a dead man—after he endured hours, even days, of agonizing pain.

  Fantastic.

  Movement caught his eye, and he saw Michael walking toward him, along with a smaller, slighter, much frailer figure. Rostislav eyed Michael, who was in imp form, with dark green skin and long, curving horns. "You played the part of powerless imp very well," Rostislav said. "Your skills with cloaking magic are like nothing I have encountered."

  The slight figure behind him, a withered old man who had to be several centuries old, gave a dusty laugh. "Michael is unparalleled in such workings. It is what I have trained him to do since I first purchased him."

  Rostislav looked at the man, and then back at the imp, its glowing blue eyes fixed on the old man with a look of adoration that made Rostislav's stomach churn. It wasn't often an imp was broken to enslavement, but when it happened…

  "Who are you?" Rostislav asked.

  "My master is Elijah Belham, and I am the last remaining Belham. I was the first to cross the ocean to come here to the new world," Michael said. "Sadly, my descendants have not survived."

  Rostislav grimaced at that, because it was suddenly very clear what was about to happen to him. "You're going to drain me so you stop looking like a husk."

  Belham lifted a hand and twirled a finger. "You are just a conduit, before I make of you the last bite."

  "That spell is illegal," Rostislav said. Technically, there was no such thing as illegal in the paranormal world. There wasn't enough cohesion and cooperation amongst abnormals for such things to be established. But there were certain unspoken rules, such as not entering a territory without permission or announcing one's self. Also no mass drainings, in part because they drew too much unwanted attention, but also because it was too much risk and loss for too little reward. Stealing so much energy would replenish Belham, but one life wasn't worth the many he would take. And not all beings were meant to live for millennia, or even centuries, and only demons were true immortals.

  Belham just gave another dry, wheezy laugh and rapped the glass. Rostislav cringed at the noise.

  So Belham was going to drain everyone attending the museum's new year celebration and Rostislav would be used as the conduit—the murder weapon. "Why me?" he asked. "Would any abnormal human do, or is there something about me that is necessary?"

  "A little of both, after a fashion," Michael said. "We have found, through trial and error, that the best conduits are those humans who, amusingly enough, would have also suited the original glass coffin."

  The original … Rostislav froze as comprehension struck. "What makes a witch who's fucked a vampire so special? I have no doubt there's hundreds of those floating around."

  "Not just fucked, and you know it, witch. Don't be stupid," Michael said. "The coffin was originally designed to hook any witch, sorcerer, or alchemist. But we noticed that some did remarkably better than others, and started to investigate what made them different. We learned it was those abnormal humans who had long, lasting relationships with vampires, and tailored the coffin to let us know when such a person was found. Something about the constant feedings makes the body better adapted to draining of all types. You've been conditioned for it." Michael rapped on the glass with his knuckles.

  Rostislav winced again.

  "Just a few hours and it will begin. I doubt you'll be aware of much, then," Michael said. "You just have to lay there and let the spells work."

  He'd be aware of unbelievable pain, but Rostislav had the distinct impression Michael didn't care. They left, leaving him alone in the dimly lit room, surrounded by the trappings of a party yet to come. Terrified to the point he had to focus on his breathing to avoid screaming and thrashing. Scared of dying alone and in time. Distraught he'd never get to make amends with Jesse. Never get to say goodbye to anyone.

  He shifted, moved, reached into his pocket—but they had made certain to leave him with absolutely nothing. His chalk, phone, everything was gone. He was helpless, and nobody would look for him until it was too late.

  Would Jesse think he had bailed on talking to him after all? I love you, too. How could Rostislav have been do blind? He'd been so convinced that Jesse would treat him the way all vampires tended to treat humans, and ignored so many tells.

  Like the fact that Jesse had always supported Dracula Desrosiers's decision to adopt a human. Like the fact it was Jesse who'd made the first move, and tried to ask him to breakfast that morning. Looking back, there were so many little things—smiles, drinks, touches, gifts, things he'd attributed to his relationship with Johnnie—that should have tipped him to the truth.

  Instead he'd fled like a coward and acted like a bastard and now he was going to die without ever getting to say the words Jesse had been brave enough to voice—and right where any abnormal could have easily overheard them if they'd wanted.

  He really was a fucking fool.

  Rostislav closed his eyes, tried to calm down and think of what he could do that would accomplish something—anything. Trapped in the coffin, however, there was precious little. How had that poor girl endured it for centuries before Jackie had managed to save her?

  He opened his eyes when he heard someone approach and braced for Michael—and froze in shock, eyes stinging with relief, when he stared up into Jesse's beautiful face. Jesse looked furious, but relief swept over his
face when he realized Rostislav was staring at him. "Not that you don't look beautiful behind glass, and I won't say I haven't been tempted, you stupid, stubborn witch, but this is not quite the glass I had in mind."

  Rostislav glared at him.

  Jesse's mouth quirked. "Give me a few minutes to extract some answers and a solution, sweetheart." His hand hovered over the glass, but he wisely did not touch it, and then he was gone again.

  Sweetheart? Jesse Adelardi was a cool, controlled vampire powerful enough many assumed that one day he'd make a marriage that brought him a Dracula title of his own. Normals feared and adored him without knowing why, and knowledge did not make abnormals fear him less. Never in his life had he heard the chilly Master Adelardi use a word like sweetheart.

  He could not decide if he liked it or not. Hopefully, there would be plenty of opportunities to help him decide.

  Just as the agony of waiting began to drive him truly insane, Jesse returned—lip split, a lurid bruise on one cheek, clothes torn, and a very pissed off looking Belham in tow. "Now, human," Jesse said, and there was the fearsome vampire Rostislav knew.

  Jesse tightened the grip he had on the back of Belham's neck and said, "Tell me how to free him and I'll kill you quickly. Do anything that displeases me and you know exactly what I will do to you, and how cheerfully I will do it."

  "You can't get him out," Belham said. "I'm not stupid enough to put escape clauses on the damn thing. He stays until he's dead."

  Rostislav rolled his eyes. There was always an escape clause; only a complete fool practiced such dangerous magic without ensuring they could escape if some awful mistake was made—and they were made often. It was just one of the many reasons abnormal humans had short life expectancies despite the nature of magic giving them long lifespans.

  Jesse, clearly as convinced as Rostislav, dragged Belham closer and said, "Your little imp isn't dead yet, but I can go back and fix that. Is that what you want? To hear him scream, hear him beg you for help while you stand here unable to do anything?"

  Belham said nothing, but even Rostislav could see the words struck a blow. "I'm not telling you a damn thing."

  "I can certainly start with the imp and then keep going. Would that convince you to talk, if I smiled at those winsome guests slowly trickling in, drew them in one by one and feasted like a king? Do you think I'll be punished for it, given you've offended not one but two friends of the Desrosiers family? The Dracula might prefer quiet, peaceful methods, but hurting my witch means upsetting his son, and what do you think that's going to get you?"

  Voice trembling with rage, Belham spat out a retort like it tasted foul. "You wouldn't dare. Even if you hadn't gone soft, Adelardi, the Dracula has, and everyone knows it."

  "Soft? You think we've grown soft? Did you forget what life was like in Europe not so many centuries ago, when we left it to come here? Do not think that because I spend my days with slot machines and hotel rooms that I have forgotten how it feels to draw humans in with a smile and bathe in their blood and screams. There are reasons piddling little hunters like you exist, Belham. I used to be one of those reasons. Don't think that I wouldn't hesitate to return to those days if I thought it was necessary. Release him or you'll find out why so many of your ancestors died faster than they could spawn successors."

  "It's a glass coffin," Belham said sourly. "It works the same as the original, which means it will never work."

  Jesse laughed, slit his throat and dropped him to the floor, then turned to the coffin. "Rostiya, I never thought you were the type to make me prove my love is true." He placed both his hands on the coffin. The glass shimmered, and then vanished in a pulse of rainbow light.

  Rostislav trembled as Jesse pulled him into a tight embrace. He clung for dear life, hardly daring to believe he was free and that Jesse was there and loved him and had come for him, despite having no reason to do so.

  "Thank you," he finally managed. "I didn't think anyone would realize I was missing until too late."

  "You kept ignoring my texts," Jesse murmured. "I finally broke down and attempted to reach you through magical means and when that didn't work I became truly concerned. I tried your home, called the Dracula, and finally thought to come here. Are you all right?

  Rostislav nodded. "I'm fine. You got here before they started draining me, thankfully." He shuddered again. Jesse's face darkened, and he pulled Rostislav in closer again. Rostislav's eyes widened. "You—you weren't bluffing, about all of that—everything you said to him."

  "Bluffing?" Jesse sounded surprised. "Bluffing is a game for fools. I am many things, but foolish is not one of them. Except, of course, when it comes to you, which makes me something far more dangerous than a fool." He sank fingers into Rostislav's hair and drew him into a kiss. The heat of it rushed through Rostislav, made him shudder, and curl his fingers into the fabric of Jesse's torn clothes. Every torrid memory of their night together flooded him, made him groan, mingling with the relief of being alive, of having Jesse there.

  When they finally drew apart, he stared into Jesse's eyes. "Vampires don't love humans. They never love humans."

  Jesse made a soft noise. "It happens more than everyone thinks, or wants to think. There were good reasons it wasn't condoned once, but though those reasons are largely history, the prejudices and reprisals persist. You're worth all of it, though, and I am tired of pretending otherwise."

  Rostislav stared at him, and then drew him down into a kiss that was soft, lingering, and ached all the way down to his bones. "I was certain I was the only lovesick idiot involved here."

  "No, merely the ridiculous human determined to make everything more difficult than necessary," Jesse said, and traced Rostislav's lips with his thumb. "Shall we go home, Rostiya? I liked finally having you in my home, in my bed, and I want to see you there again, for as long as I can manage it."

  "Aren't you supposed to be preparing for your ball?" Rostislav replied with a smile.

  Annoyance crossed Jesse's face. "I don't care about the party."

  Rostislav kissed the corner of his mouth. "I'm sorry. I just—I don't want you to lose everything because of me." As though cued, he could distantly hear the ringing of bells chiming their way steadily toward the New Year. "Happy New Year."

  "I should think so," Jesse murmured. "It can't be anything but propitious, if I am starting the year with the only thing I wanted."

  "Stop—" Rostislav tugged on his hair. "Stop saying things like that. You never speak that way; say such—such ridiculous things. What was all that sweetheart nonsense?"

  Jesse kissed him, bit hard at his lips as he drew back, lapping at the drops of blood that welled up. He nuzzled along Rostislav's jaw, teeth scraping but not quite breaking the skin, until he reached the sore, red mark that lingered on Rostislav's throat. "Do you know how long it's been since I bothered to leave marks on anyone? I like knowing you carry proof that I made you scream, left you too tired to do anything but collapse in my arms and sleep like the dead. I didn't leave this because I don't care, quite the opposite, you stupid human."

  "Vampires," Rostislav muttered, but dragged him in for another hungry kiss. "Let's go home, then. I'm sure we've missed your party, but hopefully nobody will pay it any real mind. I hope you realize what we're getting ourselves into, vampire. It won't be easy."

  "We'll find a way to make it work," Jesse replied, gold eyes burning as they stared into his. "That's how the rules work after all. He who saves the damsel gets to keep the damsel."

  Rostislav rolled his eyes. "Take me home, vampire, before this damsel decides he can do better than a smart ass—" He laughed into the kiss as Jesse held him close, magic rippling as they vanished, leaving the museum behind.

  FIN

  About the Author

  Megan is a long time resident of queer fiction, and keeps herself busy reading, writing, and publishing it. She is often accused of fluff and nonsense. When she's not involved in writing, she likes to cook, harass her wife and cats, or watch
movies. She loves to hear from readers, and can be found all over the internet.

  maderr.com

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  meganaderr.blogspot.com

  facebook.com/meganaprilderr

  meganaderr@gmail.com

  @meganaderr

  [1] The Glass Coffin from Grimm's Complete Fairytales, Barnes & Noble Books edition ISBN 0-88029-519-8

  [2] Essays moral, economical and political by Francis Bacon