Chapter 88
Previously: The Rose of Whitby – Chapter 87
After waiting until Quincy is coming to enough to sit up groggily (and therefore probably be safe,) John gets out of the room. He is not having a discussion about what just happened with the molly. He can deal with him when he’s a misbehaving puppy of a drac, he does not want to talk to the guy. His skin is still tingling uncomfortably at the thought of where Quincy touched him. So instead, he gets into the study and tells Arthur that he’s up for baby dhampir duty.
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Arthur, of course, thanks John and dashes right down the hall to poke his head into the room to see how Quincy is doing, offers an awkward: “Uh… hey.”
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“Hey?” Quincy smacks his lips because what the hell is he tasting, and also… “What happened? Did Cycy punch me out or something? Or that big fellow of hers… I think I saw the back of him while I was collecting my marbles together.” He’s trying to feel over his face, is there a bruise here somewhere? None of this makes any sense.
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Arthur enters the room fully, goes to perch on the edge of an armchair. “…You don’t remember?” Is the confusion real or is Quincy pretending? After all, he is an actor…
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“Remember what?” Okay, okay, fine, Quincy’s ready to drop the niceties. He’s scared. He is not good with violence and he just came to. If these people drugged him, he is very far away from London and any chance of help. He’s alone in a country estate. He’s at their mercy, and he won’t bloody have it that they think they can do to him whatever they want, so he bristles. “If you don’t tell me what you people are trying to do to me right this instant, I’m going to shriek loud enough that they’ll hear me down in town!”
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…Well, if Quincy’s feigning the confusion he’s doing a really good job of it. And it occurs to Arthur that he’s alone in a room with a strange dhampir. Although… a baby dhampir. And one whose first threat is to shriek really loudly. That’s not exactly the worst thing Arthur’s ever dealt with. “Um, it was an accident. And Darcy is really, really very sorry. And I’m not really exactly sure what happened, but we’re not trying to do anything to you,” he offers- still watches Quincy for his reaction for signs that it is an act.
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Throwing his hands up, Quincy huffs. “Sorry for what? What was an accident? I’m pretty, not stupid. What aren’t you telling me? If you bastards drugged me somehow so that Cobb can live out some rape-the-poor-commoner fantasies, then he better believe I’ll fight back!” Now he’s really pissed. Just because that groom might be fine with dealing with the wannabe noble doesn’t mean he is. He has his pride, even though he suspects that he couldn’t do much against an aberration.
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Arthur gives the claws Quincy is now sporting a quick look of weary respect and decides that, well- Quincy wasn’t awakened before, his eye colour did change in a way he wouldn’t easily be able to fake. So he didn’t have the claws before. So he couldn’t have practised controlling them before. So them popping up would be a sign of him genuinely being upset, and not faking.
He meets his eyes, feels his stomach churn and a grimace on his face at Quincy’s words. He can’t really blame him for being suspicious, but… Anyway. It’s not like Gregory would do that. Also not like he’s around- Arthur realizes he’s not seen him, once again, since earlier. He shakes his head. “Nothing like that!” …How do you tell someone they’re a dhampir? Well, Arthur supposes you start at the start. “Have you ever heard of dhampirs?”
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“You would know what he does and doesn’t like, eh?” It’s spat at Arthur with as much vitriol as Quincy can find in himself, although, Arthur seemed so shy, maybe… maybe he doesn’t have much choice, either. Nobles do whatever the hell they want to with commoners. He suspects a commoner who managed to become nearly noble would be even worse, tripping on the power he never had before.
Maybe he shouldn’t be hissing at this one. For all he knows, Blondie just got jealous and decked him. But where is Cycy? He’s still in her room… Shit, he doesn’t know enough about the power structure in this household. What if Blondie isn’t the problem? Just the brute to do the job.
Cobb was avoiding his wife, wasn’t he? Buttering her up with a theatre visit. Or was that grooming? Controlling? Eyes narrowing, Quincy looks around, tries to decide if there’s any signs of struggle. Cobb’s an aberration and Cycy’s so tiny. If that arse did anything to her in retaliation he’ll… do what? He has even less power than her. Shit. If Cobb is that kind of abuser, he needs to get the hell out of here and while he feels terrible for Cycy, he can’t help her.
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“Huh?” Arthur makes, because… because what’s with that question? And the tone? And Quincy’s looking around suspiciously (not that Arthur can blame him there), but a further answer on Arthur’s question doesn’t seem forthcoming, he decides after a moment.
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That sounded unsure. Shit, Quincy really, really hates when he doesn’t have enough to work with to assess the social web between people. He doesn’t have any power here. The only one he seemed to have any with is Cycy, so he better get back to her. She might be his only chance of making it out of here. “Where is Darcy? Am I allowed to see her?”
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…This conversation is going all over the place, Arthur thinks. “Um, she went to clear her head. And if you want to, of course you’re allowed.” (Who’d forbid it, anyway?) “She, um, wanted me to tell you…” What had it been, things were a bit rushed and emotional and jumbled, he should’ve paid better attention to her message for Quincy! “…that she’s really sorry and if you hate her, she understands?” At least that was the gist of it, he believes.
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Shit! Shit shit shit! She’s in on it!
Or rather… she can’t help him either. She’s just as much a prisoner. Quincy hates this grey world with all its abuse! And he walked right into this trap himself, stupid!
Can’t be changed now. So what can he do to get back out? He refuses to be just another commoner never to be seen again. He knew a few of them. Hopeful idiots who caught the eye of some supposed benefactor and that was the last you heard of them. Of course there’s rumours. Places where nobles get rid of even the last shred of supposed humanity in them.
No… no, not all nobles are arses like that. Daniel at the front of the molly house is a noble and he’s tried protecting them.
But if Quincy is to become the latest bit of blood sports for Cobb, then how does Cycy’s earlier behaviour fit? He doesn’t see which way this pattern unravels and it bugs him. He hates not being in control, he has too little leverage on the people here.
And how does Arthur fit in? Why is he barring his way out rather than Blondie, who really would do a better job at seeming the prison guard? Unless of course he’s standing right outside the door, ready to deck him again if he makes a run for it. Plausible. Yes, plausible, but not helping in how to get out of this alive.
“She’s just as much of a victim. I won’t hate her for that.” He should say more, just which way is this web going to hold his weight? Which way does he have any chance of talking himself out of it? Arthur seemed unsure when he hissed. Maybe he can get on his good side after all. “If I’m allowed to see her, why don’t I do that? You can bring me to her, right?”
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Arthur tilts his head- victim? Well, it’s true Darcy didn’t exactly choose her dhampirism and all its attendant complications, but he thinks she likes being one well enough by now that he wouldn’t exactly call her a victim of it. Quincy seems to be… running off on his own assumptions? “Sure I can,” he agrees. “But first we should probably talk about the dhampir thing?”
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Fine, it seems he’ll have to listen to the rules of this game. That can only benefit him, probably, so he settles back down on the sofa and fixes Arthur with an expectant look. “Very well, spill, honey.”
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…Honey? Arthur doesn’t know what to do with that, gives a mental shrug, and moves on to the topic at hand. “So I take it you haven’t heard of dhampirs? ‘Cause, um…” Nothing for it, really, but to get it out there. “You are one. And so is Darcy. Which probably has something to do with her taking so much of your blood that you passed out,” he adds, since Quincy really doesn’t seem to remember that even happening.
“I healed you,” he assures him quickly, “but, er, well, it… woke up your dhampir side?” He waves a vague hand in Quincy’s direction. “You, um, have your powers now. …Or should,” he amends, “we don’t know exactly how this dhampir-thing works, there’s not a lot of good information out there.”
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What the hell? Alright, is this some kind of elaborate fetish setup? Has Cobb decided redheads are some other species, or what? And what was that about blood? Looking at his own wrists, Quincy can’t see any cuts or otherwise, so he raises an eyebrow. “Back up, honey. You’re not making sense.”
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Well, at least now Quincy is listening, Arthur decides. “Right, so… well, you know how there’s mages and aberrations and such? Well, turns out vampires are real, too. And they can have children with humans, and that makes a dhampir. Which, uh, comes with a bunch of complications,” he admits. “I’m sorry?”
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Because that cleared everything up… not. Rolling his eyes, Quincy lounges out, chin on knuckles on the side of the sofa. “So, if I’m following along half-way here, Cobb has a vampire fetish thing and got bored of only playing it with his wife and since I happen to have been wearing my fake fangs to train for my role, I got targeted to be the new play thing. This is a very elaborate setup.”
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What? Also, ew! Arthur grimaces, and shakes his head. “What? No. I’m talking about your very real fangs, and very real claws, and very real whatever powers it’ll turn out you’ll have, and also the very real danger to you from both vampire hunters and vampires.” He gestures at Quincy’s hair. “That hair colour is a bit of a giveaway, or at least enough to make the wrong people suspicious, and, well…” He hesitates, but then forges on: “And I think you’re nice and I don’t want anything to happen to you. Vampire hunters are assholes and vampires are scary.”
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Cocking one eyebrow, Quincy keeps looking at Arthur, analysing the body language, the hesitation, the way his eyes flitted away there, the way he doesn’t know what to do with his hands, and all that makes him cock his head, too. That one’s sincere; he believes what he’s saying. What the hell?
“Do you expect me to just believe all of that?” Maybe he should be nicer, hell, no maybe about it, making allies is probably his best chance of getting out, so with a much gentler voice he adds: “Thanks for worrying about me, just… this doesn’t really sound as plausible as Cobb picking himself up a commoner because he thinks nobody will notice if I never get seen again.”
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“Gregory wouldn’t do that!” Arthur protests. “He isn’t like that! But, uh… I suppose it sounds a bit wild if you’re not used to these things…” Which he is, by now, he realizes. “And I can’t tell you how to use your powers. I don’t know how that works. I mean, your claws and fangs show up when you’re angry, but I’m not making a new dhampir who doesn’t know what he’s doing angry on purpose… No offence,” he adds, blushes as he realizes that maybe that was rude or something? “Um… Darcy could demonstrate? Are you going to believe me if you see her do dhampir power sort of stuff?”
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He just might, but Arthur’s blushing, now that is useful, so much insecurity, he can work with that and if Blondie is standing watch out there, well, let his feet rot! Instead, he pats the spot on the sofa next to him. “Tell me more. She would be here if that was how the play goes after all. Let me see if you have enough lore for this story that I can’t spot the lie.”
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Arthur hesitates- does he want to go sit next to the new and unfamiliar dhampir? But then again, Quincy doesn’t seem like a bad guy, and he has a lot to deal with. So he changes seats and takes the offered spot. “Um, well… we don’t know everything. Or that much, really. Most of our information comes from vampire hunter books, and…” Arthur scowls. “They’re ridiculously biased. They don’t… they don’t think of dhampirs as people, they use them as hunting dogs, and they have all these…” he waves a hand, “religious notions about how dhampirs are evil just ’cause they’re, you know, dhampirs, and it’s awful. And also it means they don’t really know what a dhampir can really do, but it’s the best source of information we have, still…” He shrugs. “So, um… what else do you want to know? Where do you want me to start?”
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Alright, that one is kind of adorable, Quincy has to admit, so earnest and sincere, so let’s play the niceties. “Do you have a book you like better? Can you talk me through what is a lie and what isn’t?” They wouldn’t write a whole book for this, would they? Maybe if there actually is one they at least built it based on some lore and he can play a role if that’s what it takes.
Wait, is that music? He shudders as he listens closer. A harp, a single harp, and whoever is playing it really knows how to put emotion into it.
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“Well, there’s a book that’s slightly less awful than the rest,” Arthur says, is about to ask the house for it, then stops and blushes. “Uh… also, we have a magic castle, please don’t be startled?” Then he asks the house for De Naturis Dhampirae and his previous notebook, which has his dhampir notes.
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Did that bloody book just appear out of nowhere?! Quincy isn’t startled, he’s impressed. If that statement about a magic castle is real, then that is an alternate explanation for the missing servants and, okay, maybe a hint towards there being anything to this dhampir thing, so he leans in close and keeps asking Arthur about most everything in the book. He hates book learning but he’s good at having somebody explain things to him.
None of this makes too much sense, although some things aren’t too dissimilar to what he learned for the vampire play he was training for. The part about awakening dhampirs makes him shudder, and he really tries to remember but the last thing he really knows is, yes, kissing Cycy and feeling like he won. No wait, there’s more, not really a memory, more a feeling. Being horny as all hell and that’s just weird, she’s a woman after all. Does being a dhampir, if it’s real, have anything to do with emotions? “You said something about taking blood earlier…”
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Going back and forth over the dhampir book and his corresponding notes with Quincy makes Arthur feel more relaxed- this he can do. He nods to Quincy’s question. “Yes? Sorry, I really don’t know what happened there, it isn’t like Darcy to get carried away like that. Even if she’s really hungry, she usually makes sure not to hurt someone.” After all, she was pretty hungry in the cabin, but she still looked out for him. And the last time she bit him, too, she was the one who reminded him to heal himself.
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Oh bloody hell! Quincy jumps up from the sofa with a huff. “And she told you that she’d understand if I hate her! Ugh, girl is playing her heart out on that harp, probably consumed with guilt. Done, I’m done with that book. She needs somebody to help deal with those emotions!”
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Arthur tilts his head, and realises that yes, he can hear some distant strains of harp music drifting through the house. He closes the book and his notebook, puts them in a neat stack on a side table, where they promptly vanish, back to their places, he assumes, and stands up. “Okay, well, you know the basics, I’ll take you and you can tell her you’re not mad.” He offers Quincy a smile for that, because he’s glad for Darcy’s sake that Quincy isn’t.
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“Shoo, shoo, right now, preferably an hour ago. Time’s a wasting. If you’re not lying then I’m special and I’ll be damned if I don’t throw that in the world’s face. So let me at my saviour.” Quincy’s already striding to the door, opens it, and grins at Blondie, leaning against the wall next to the door, just as he knew he would. “Play prison ward all you like, you’re not stopping me.”
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That really wasn’t why John was there. Did the molly really think he’d leave him unsupervised alone with Arthur? What does he know if that’s at all safe? But he just grunts and inclines his head. “Not stopping you.”
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Arthur is inclined to agree with Quincy that he’s special- and he’s not sure whether it’s the dhampir part that makes him not quite like anyone else he’s ever met. He’s such an odd mixture of nice and demanding. As he follows Quincy out of the room, he smiles at John when he sees him standing there- it feels like John’s looking out for him. He’s pretty sure that’s what John was doing.
“This way,” he tells Quincy. Not that it isn’t perfectly easy to follow the harp music, but… it’d be kind of rude to just let him make his own way? Also, well, he’s still a stranger in their castle.
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Quincy’s never been in a real castle before, but it isn’t any more convoluted than the backstage at a theatre so he really doesn’t need a guide. Those notes from the harp are hooking right into his heart anyway, drawing him in irresistibly now that there’s no more closed door. Both literally and metaphorically, because maybe he did misinterpret the situation, maybe he isn’t as trapped after all, and that means he can run and support the one with the real power here. He had gotten so far with her already, and maybe they share something deeper.
Whatever this dhampir thing is, Cycy is his ticket. She didn’t even fully close the door to her music room, well, that won’t do. He needs privacy with his target, so he grins at Arthur with a wink and closes the door in front of him.
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Well. Arthur did plan to announce Quincy and check in on Darcy, but… that’s a sign he’s not invited. Is that alright, he wonders? What if something happens again? On the other hand, Darcy could handle Quincy just fine before. And she’s the more experienced dhampir. And she can yell again if there’s a problem. So he returns the way he came, to look for John and maybe get back to work instead.
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Darcy can smell Quincy in the room before she even dares look over. Just… he smells different now. It’s still him, clearly him, still smelling so good that she wants to go right back to sticking her nose against him. Just… that sense of being hungry, of how delicious he is, is gone. No, now it’s really as if those hungry glances earlier were about wanting to kiss him. She did kiss him, well, he did, but she didn’t mind at all… She wishes he would do it again.
How could she possibly think that?! He’s likely here to yell at her, let her know how bad she is, and her fingers seize up on the harp strings, giving her anxious anticipation a musical underscore as ugly as her worry. She’s been bad, she knows it.
She can’t help herself. Quincy is here because of Gregory. Gregory shouted at her, Gregory scratched her, what else than that can she ever expect when she’s bad? And it’s all her fault. If Quincy wants to beat her for what she did, she’ll accept it, she deserves it. She still presses her eyes shut, her Papa never hit her, even when he was scolding, she isn’t used to being disciplined like this, but she’s read so many stories where it happens.
Just… it never does. Quincy’s steps approach, he’s right there, right close enough to hit her, but it’s not the palm of his hand she feels, it’s both his arms circling tight around her and a very gentle whisper against her ear. “I don’t hate you, Cycy. It’s alright. I’m alright. I’m here for you. We have to stick together against the grey world.”
She feels tears welling up. Not anger, he’s giving her forgiveness. He’s giving her care when she expected hate. It reminds her of her Uncle Jekyll, and that thought makes her sob. She realizes that she doesn’t know anymore what to expect when she’s bad. And that is the worst. It gives her nothing to learn from, to do better, and that’s all she ever wanted.
Maybe she gets what Quincy means with the grey world. Maybe his story is also a gothic fairy tale, and yes, then they could both walk through it together. His drac and hers. Her drac wouldn’t have to be alone, and it felt less alone lately, hasn’t it? Since the day she met him, right? Maybe it was always him, and that makes the tears really start flowing.
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“Shh, it’s fine. You’re doing great. Get all those feelings out. Let go of all that hurt.” Quincy’s not letting go of her despite her tears quickly turning to blood, (and he’s trying hard not to wonder if that’s his own,) instead, Quincy hums softly, soothingly.
There’s a mirror across from them and he catches himself thinking that she is oddly beautiful. Maybe that has something to do with the blood. If he is a dhampir he’s supposed to like blood, right? In either case, she might be ruining his makeup job, but no, she definitely is more attractive now and that really doesn’t make any sense.
He has to shake his head to get those intrusive thoughts out, they really aren’t helping right now. And she’s starting to calm down slightly. Poor thing. That was a lot of hurt, and he doubts that it is all about him. Maybe he got the situation wrong but he isn’t convinced he got everything about it wrong. She’s unhappy about something, and that is both a perfect in for him but also so bloody alluring. He just can’t say no to somebody in emotional need.
For right now, he gently tips her chin up once she turns in his arms, and smiles, gets his handkerchief out and dries her tears. Divine, touching her makes those intrusive thoughts worse. Still not helping, shoo!
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Once she can see through the tears again, Darcy notices that he’s smiling at her with fangs, and it brings a blush to her face. He’s not attractive, why does he fluster her so much?
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Noticing that reaction and where her eyes are stuck, Quincy lifts his hands to his own face and blinks, presses a finger tighter against the fangs, pushes his tongue first against one, then the other, and gives an exasperated huff. “I’ll say, I didn’t really believe any of that dhampir stuff but, huh, I suppose I won’t need the fake ones for my next big role after all. You’ll have to help me figure this all out, won’t you? I’m sure we can talk this all out.” Taking her hands, he guides her over to a couch and offers his open arms.
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She’s not sure if she should. She’s worried about hurting him again. Of not noticing. But… but he just doesn’t smell like that anymore. She doesn’t understand it and her eyes are still stuck on those fangs of his and, because of that, his lips and it felt so nice kissing him. That blush really isn’t going anywhere, she thinks.
It’s completely wrong! She nearly killed him and all her drac can focus on is wanting to lick all over him. Still, his arms are so inviting, so she covers her face with her hands but sits down right next to him. She keeps her hands between them when he pulls her in, not that she’s sure that’s any kind of safety.