Chapter 7
Previously: Obsidian: Ash and Moonbeams – Chapter 6
“Darling, do me a favour and explode, please!”
Quincy absolutely and completely and with certainty hates fae!
They came all the way over here, even by bloody train to not go through the fae-magicked door- for what?! They can’t even get to his sister!
Her bloody secretary, and since when does she have one of those?, that one didn’t come with the firm, Quincy would know! But, anyway, the bloody secretary is telling him that he’ll need an appointment just like everybody else. And then he has the audacity to be fake nice and inform him he’s lucky there is one free at 8:30 next Wednesday already. But only if he’s there sharp. Ms Harker does not tolerate tardiness.
“I’m her brother!”
Yes, he’s shrieking. No, it doesn’t help. Neither does John trying with both threat and bribe.
Quincy huffs his way out the door. “I’ll be back Wednesday!”
Ugh, he knows why he hates fae.His little sister wouldn’t have done that before!
But more than that, he hates the fact that he heard the whisper, he felt the cold crackle under his fingernails.
Waiting, beckoning, demanding.
And his fucking drac howled right along. It’s so hard to push it away. Push both of them away. It’s hardly a day that Darcy is missing, and he feels as if he’s a half-step away from being Radu, being his grandfather, being willing to try how bad with violence he really is.
He doesn’t want to!
But he’s scared, so he hides into John’s arms on the way back to the castle. He hates returning empty handed. He hates the thought of a night without Darcy. At least… at least it’s not just him. John has always insisted on Darcy in between them, but tonight, tonight, Quincy knows that they’ll likely both curl into each other if they just dare.
~
It would appear his granddaughter is somewhat prone to being kidnapped. Vlad would not have believed it possible, but he wishes Radu had tried again rather than Llew being to blame. With Radu, even an insane drac is still a drac and therefore easier to understand, easier to predict.
Also, much as he still wonders what led to Harker’s demise, Vlad does not believe that Radu would truly hurt Darcy. With the Spring Court, however, he has no such convictions. Fae have their own plans and even less morals than he has. Sadly, they also lack his strict principles.
He truly hopes that the heavy stack of books he brings will lead to any answers, for they cannot seek council from his wife. She is in no condition to disentangle her self-awareness, flitting in and out as it is, reliably enough to remember any strategy that might deliver them.
What he can offer is attempting to beseech their hosts himself, once upon a time he had a gift for this. Long gone that his aberration is, now that he has a drac. The Lady Eluned indulges him in the request, even among the Spring Court, women are the more politically minded, after all. However, while his emotional potency was of enough interest to grant him audience, he has nothing to offer her that she is interested in. Darcy’s contract is still active, she is therefore alive, and that will keep her entourage at the castle, protecting it from the worldly intruders the fae wards do not always work against. She does grant him the glimmer of hope that she may reconsider should he return with anything of value. Still, he failed, and he has to tell Mr Silver and, he is sure by the heartbeat, his own son, that he could not retrieve the woman they love.
It is a bitter task.
When Vlad reports back his voice is measured, hands clasped behind his back as if he’s standing at attention, only the occasional twitch of his moustache breaks the illusion of perfect calm. It is the best he can muster, he dares not to show more or he suspects he’d pull everybody else in the room along with his creeping despair.
Much as he, and more so his drac, want to stay and fight, he has to return to the Court. They are fighting at two fronts. The situation for Lucy is still precarious. His brother hasn’t made a move yet, and that only worries him more. Looking at Quincy for a long moment, he wrestles with himself.
He wants to do nothing more than to take his son with him, hide him away in his mountain fortress.
But he can see the defiance, can see that Quincy would never let him, so, hurt but also proud of his son’s strength, he leaves again.
~
Miss Powlett joins them for the research of the books Vlad brought- or, as she says with a sigh: “You might as well call me Mariam, given the circumstances.”
The circumstances being her now being stuck with them in the middle of a crisis, Arthur understands. It’s hard to believe that just yesterday, meeting her seemed like a major challenge.
Obviously, he offers her his first name in return. She’s already on first name basis with Quincy, and John barely lifts his eyes from his own book while he grunts: “John, then.”
She is great to work with. Which doesn’t change the fact that he would so much rather be doing this with Darcy and Quincy, and John. That’s how it would have gone just yesterday. He feels a fierce pang of… frustration. This futile sense of longing he’s way too familiar with by now: How he wishes he could just rewind the clock and live in the world of the day before again, where the awful thing hadn’t happened yet.
He forces it away, and focuses back on the texts. He’s still the fastest reader, but Miss Powlett- Mariam- is terrifyingly organised in her note-taking, so he reads and talks, summarises, and she writes.
Mostly, these books are about fae society, how it’s structured: queens and kings and princes and princesses at the top, and everyone else hardly mentioned. It seems to be female-dominated, (“at least I suppose there’s that to be said for it,” Mariam quips,) and all about contracts. Which are all about emotions, because emotions are power in a magical way that is above Arthur’s understanding of magic.
He can’t see how any of it is immediately helpful in getting into Faerie and finding Darcy, but… well, it can’t hurt to know how fae work, right?
~
This is his heritage, his blood, his birth right! Quincy, for long periods, reads faster than he thought he could.
This is everything he ever wanted, it feels right, right, right…
Then he realises what he’s doing. He gave in to one of the whispers, and didn’t his sister also sometimes talk about whispers? He doesn’t want to become like his sister! Be changed beyond any recognition! He doesn’t want to change!
He shoves the book away as if burned… burned, like he was earlier today, also by the fae. He’s really starting to hate them. They’re the new thing the Divine has decided to throw in his way.
No, no, he won’t!
With a snarl, he snatches the book close to himself again. He can’t fight, but if he knows enough, he might be able to talk! He’s good at that!
Obviously his agitation isn’t going unnoticed. Arthur interrupts his own reading and looks at him with unmistakable concern.
“…Are you okay?”
“I think we’ve established earlier that I’m really not, and all this… This is me, what’s in my blood, in those bloody whispers, bloody fae! They’re taking everything from me, my mother, my sister, my wife!”
Quincy snarls again, fangs visible this time, deliberately letting his drac closer. It’s so bloody upset that even he can start feeling it clearly, more like how he knows Darcy feels hers.
“You become what you fight.” Scoffing he puts a hand to his chest and tries to put conviction, not fear, into his declaration. “I won’t change, no, no, I won’t! I’m me and they can’t take that away.”
“No, they can’t!” Arthur agrees. “We’ll use your understanding of them against them!”
“I’m better than them! All these contracts for emotions!” Now he’s showing his fangs off rather than snarling, and yes, come here, you furry thing, good, good drac! “I make my own!”
“Culver showers you with emotions even without a contract,” John adds from over his own book, and Quincy could just hug his darling for knowing exactly what to say.
It’s good to have a friend, a co-husband, a stalwart support when they both are hurting from their goddess missing.
“Meaning, according to the books, you’re the big bad in the fae world.”
“Oh dear, you made him sparkle, sugar. That one has an ego. Which, it would appear, is a fae thing,” Mariam chuckles while twirling her pen.
What’s the problem with his ego now?
Doesn’t mean that Quincy isn’t shooing at the glitter.
Bloody fae thing. He didn’t mean to, John just made him think of his love too strongly. It happens. And well, he loves John, too, he can love, love a friend, and screw whatever anybody might think here, he’s not throwing himself at John as a panic rebound. He doesn’t love him that way!
But because he loves him, he also lets him push back on what Quincy wanted from him. He so, so was ready to hold on to John all night long, and he did tell him, but… his darling turned him down, wants space, doesn’t want to be in bed with a guy without their girl there, and yes, it bloody hurts, but that’s what love is all about, saying yes to what the other person needs. His selfishness can go fuck itself…
Still, he doesn’t want to be alone.
He’ll figure something out.
Until then though, he has to agree with Bitch, she’s right, no matter how much Quincy wants to both throw the books against the wall and learn everything he can:
“Now back to the books unless anybody has a better idea.”
~
Unfortunately, Arthur has no better ideas and no strokes of genius before it gets late and he starts yawning, and neither does anyone else. And Darcy doesn’t return by herself. Arthur hoped against hope that she would, but the clock moves to midnight and past it and there’s no sign of her. At least, he tells himself, the house magic is still working and Eluned said that means she’s fine, wherever she is. Well, for a fae definition of ‘fine’, which, he thinks, means ‘alive’ and not much more.
Yawning as well, John eventually gets up and elbows Quincy. “Oi, leave off. Dhampir or not, you need some sleep.”
For a second, Quincy huffs at him but then he relents, rubs his eyes. “Fine. Okay, Arthur, up, time for us to get to bed.”
Arthur considers arguing, yawns again, and sighs. “Fine, you’re probably right… Guess we’ll have to pick this up tomorrow.” He closes his book, finishes his cup of tea, and gets up. It’s weird not to have his own notes to sort, but Mariam has a copious amount of them, and splitting the work like that is more efficient. They got through a lot.
“I’ll do a check-in later. Just in case,” John tells them, pats them both on the shoulder, then walks off to a chuckle from Mariam as she gathers her notes and then leaves as well with a: “My, but I have a sweet fiancé. Sleep well, sugars.”
And she’s just out the door when Arthur feels Quincy’s hand curl around his once more.
“My room or yours? Preferences?”
That makes Arthur blink at him, and wonder if he’s so tired that his hearing isn’t quite working. “Huh?”
Lifting up their hands, Quincy states, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world: “My wife is missing, I had an absolute rubbish day, you’ve been great, you’re hired for boyfriend, so, my room or yours? I am not sleeping alone.”
“Er…” Arthur blinks some more, and no, clearly he’s tired and his brain isn’t working very well- boyfriend? …But it’s Quincy, who knows, well, what Arthur’s comfortable with, so… he trusts him, Quincy’s not going to do anything to freak him out, and also… he likes the idea of not sleeping alone, too. “…Mine?” he offers.
“Done.” That’s all it takes for Quincy to start marching, well, sleepily half-stumbling, towards Arthur’s room. “I’ll even behave and leave my underwear on. I hate sleeping with stuff on, but I promised, so there, cuddling will be just fine.”
“Um, okay… Thanks?” Arthur walks along, feeling a bit surreal. But cuddles are good. He could use some cuddles. And they’ll be better than the ones he can get with Katharina, who is, after all, only a cat. And he really doesn’t want to think about the other person he, once upon a time, used to get cuddles from.
“Did I just say ‘so there’?” Quincy chuckles as he opens Arthur’s door. “That’s what Cycy always says. I miss her. Okay, yes, I need that cuddle. I’ll grab the bathroom first, then you can have it.”
With a sigh, Arthur goes over to give Katharina a scratch behind the ears where she’s curled up in her usual spot on his pillow. “I do, too… Miss her, I mean. And need a cuddle.” He gives Quincy a shy smile of gratitude for being there, then sits down on the edge of his bed to take off his shoes.
~
For once in his life, Quincy doesn’t take forever in the bathroom, already walks back out with only his pants on and basically falls into the bed. He’s so tired, emotions having run over him since the early morning, and it only got worse. “Go, please, just go and get back here quick so I can wrap myself around you and hold on to at least one person.”
Arthur luckily nods and just does what Quincy expects from him, be quick, that one is efficient and has no idea of luxury, and right now, that is exactly what he needs from him. Just get here so it doesn’t hurt quite as much. Even if the pyjamas are annoying, at least Arthur is willing to be cuddled. Not like John. Quincy respects his need for space, but right now, he can’t be alone, so he wraps himself around Arthur, arms and legs and sticking his face into his hair.
He needs the touch, it’s always been the one thing that made him feel… feel, everything. His direct connection to the Divine, his way of touching the fibres of existence… Right, that must be the ‘strings’ the fae talk about.
That’s why it always felt as if there’s something more there when he strokes his fingers over a person, especially a person who needs him. He’s done something fae, and right now that makes him angry, but that strong feeling surging through him puts a fanged grin on his face.
Yes, he’s doing something fae and he’s doing something vampiric, too. He’s doing so much more, and it will be enough, he will be better than whoever exactly took his wife away from him. She’s his! His! And he knows that’s his drac and he welcomes it… welcomes the still howling lonely wolf, chuckles with a sob. “It’s still howling for her. Still letting her know where to go. I hope she hears it… hears me.”
~
Arthur cuddles into Quincy, likes the feeling of safety from Quincy wrapping himself around him like that- somehow not like he’s doing Arthur a favour, but like it’s something he wants. He didn’t know there was a difference, but there is.
“I hope so, too! I hope we find her soon, or that she finds back to us soon… I was kind of hoping, all day, that… that she’d just come back and everything would be okay. Lor- uh, Art said that… that we can get the Order of Galahad to…” He has to swallow, it’s still all tangled up inside him, his emotions, like a big, spiky ball high in his chest, and he doesn’t really have the time or space in his brain to figure them out right now. So he makes himself continue: “To exorcise Gregory. Just leave it with them and he’s going to be… not a problem anymore.”
~
Arthur’s hair tickles his skin with the warm blast of air as Quincy starts cackling. He can feel that Arthur is upset about it, but he can’t find it in himself to push his own self-interest to the side. The best he can do is pet Arthur’s back even while he focuses on what he wants, not what he might need to console Arthur over.
“That old road-sideshow! Good, once she’s officially a widow I’ll marry her fast as I can! I’ll get John to replicate the dress she wore for our wedding in his dreamscape.”
Then he realises that, actually, that was far too much lingerie for Arthur to be comfortable with so, he just pretends it wouldn’t be good enough, and really, he wants to go extra big when he gets to put a contract on her.
Hell, that was a whisper.
He growls back at it but digs his heels in.
“Screw that, John and I’ll make her a better one! The biggest, most idiotic fairy tale thing ever. She’s going to love it! Oh, oh, and I’ll stall until I have John’s issues fixed so that Cycy can faint from marrying both of the men she loves. Ugh, John was already getting better, just a few more weeks! I know I can fix him! I know I can get Cycy to fall in love with him! Come on drac, howl louder so her instincts go ping at what’s waiting for her here! That has to be bait enough that she can find her way back!”
~
“…Road-sideshow? What kind of insult is that?” Arthur finds himself chuckling, too, though he also finds some tears welling at Darcy not being there with them. “And, uh… I’m not sure her marrying both of you is going to work in the official human marriage way…”
~
“Bah, who cares?! It’s Darcy, she’ll want a private wedding anyway. Who’s going to stop us? My father being scandalised? Let him. Not as if Cycy wouldn’t be following her mother’s tradition.”
Rubbing his nose into Arthur’s hair, Quincy starts putting kisses all over it, yes, this feels good, this feels like he’s in control again. He was right, Arthur is great at this. Perfect, much better boyfriend than Gregory ever could have been. Useless, that one, really, not even the emotions were good…
He did a fae thing again, didn’t he? Fine, so what if he did? He likes emotions, sue him… He has a creepy lawyer sister now.
~
“Well, I don’t care,” Arthur agrees. “Nobody here cares… I don’t think? Do you think Mariam would care? Only if it cut into her own agreements, I think?” Arthur relaxes- Quincy kissing his hair feels weird, but in a nice way, and he yawns against Quincy’s shoulder. This is nice and warm.
~
“She can human-marry John, get the title… Oh great, I’ll be baroness consort, that’s weird. I’ll have to figure out how to do that the flashiest way possible. Low bar of standards to overcome though.” Stretching out a bit more comfortable, a bit less clingy, Quincy kisses Arthur’s cheek, lets his fingers run over his chest with closed eyes, humming comfortably, yes, the touch is nice. Not as nice as lying in bed with his wife and John would be, but he’ll get there again, soon, just as soon as they find a way through that bloody door.
Arthur chuckles a little. “You’ll be the flashiest and most stylish ever,” he mumbles, voice slurring a little as sleep draws closer.
“Obviously I will, and you get to stand in the shadows and chuckle while I dance around the stuffy nobles who really don’t want me there.” Yawning but wondering why his eyes don’t want to grow heavy, Quincy finally snickers. “You don’t have a flowerpot in your room, do you?”
“Oops,” Arthur says. “House, can we have the flower pot from Quincy’s room here? And standing in the shadows and chuckling sounds like fun…”
“Thanks…” Quincy just about manages to get the word out before he’s asleep, the last night and day catching up to him in one big crash that he allows himself to give in to, feeling comfortable and in control with Arthur in his arms and a soft blanket over both of them.
~
This is very bad. And after it had such a good meal off of Darcy, too! But Midgard keeps grinding and eating at its facets, and as it becomes stronger, more aware… It becomes more aware of how precarious its situation is.
With every truly successful feeding comes growth. But with every growth comes yet more hunger. It cannot seem to find an equilibrium, a balance. There must, it suspects, be a way, but to find it, it must become stronger. Better. Smarter.
And for that, it must feed. Otherwise it will lose what progress it has made.
But the Alfr have stolen Darcy, and its next best option is in Arthur’s room.
Well. Better the mage than the dreamwalker.
The little mage. The inexperienced, little mage, who really… Wouldn’t he fall to fear if he catches it? Isn’t he skittish and easily frightened? It is not quite so little itself anymore. Maybe it can take a bite out of the mage, too.
~
Arthur fell asleep not long after Quincy- he thinks, because he’s feeling very fuzzy the next time he wakes up, like he’s only been asleep for a short time, and would really like to still be asleep, to go back to sleep, and he’s not sure what woke him… A paw to the head, he realises as there’s another less-than-gentle swipe.
Katharina. Does she want him to let her out…? But she doesn’t usually wake him like this, and now she’s hissing, and there’s some kind of movement of the blankets…
He jerks his eyes open, to find a silhouette standing on the blankets not a foot from his face. A small silhouette.
A cat-shaped one, balancing on the blankets on Quincy’s hip, who’s lying side-ways, curled against Arthur.
It’s dark and he can’t see much, a shape of triangular head and pointy ears and a curl of a tail, and Katharina shifts against his head, and is still hissing.
Vaguely, he notices that there’s no shine to the eyes, no reflected cat luminescence, that he can’t tell where they are at all.
Vaguely, he remembers the creeping dread of the gleaming eyes of the plant monster, last year, months ago, what feels like an eternity.
Vaguely, he decides that this is not any better.
Mostly, his mind is a buzzing thing, and his body a coil of burning emotion.
Get away. He has to get them away, but he can’t, they’re in a room and in a bed.
So he has to get Gregory away.
The demon.
Before he can think about it, before he can let fear make himself doubt himself, turn his limbs weak and watery, he sits up and strikes out. Hard as he can.
The impact is soft and furry, and the demon isn’t heavy at all, it’s just a cat’s weight, (the cat he killed for this, for this, cruelly and miserably,) and it flies away, lands somewhere beyond the bed with a soft thump.
Maybe Gregory’s too surprised, but Arthur hasn’t got time to think as he scrambles up, up to where he can see the small shape, and he’s casting, the lightning flashes, the whiteness sears into his eyes- right where the blob of Gregory’s cat form was, just a fraction of a second ago.
Did he hit it? He doesn’t know, and now he’s blind, his vision nothing but dancing flecks, and his heart is hammering so fast, and he feels like that lightning is still running through him, jittery and like he wants to scream and cry and laugh, he doesn’t know which, or maybe all of them at once.
~