Chapter 34
Previously:
“I agree. He’s a weirdo.”
Yeah, good that Arthur agrees with him there, but John still waits until that fucking fae is out of sight before he carefully lowers the hammer on his gun. Grunts a: “Fucking weirdo,” then slings the rifle back over his shoulder, gives Quincy a look.
Something’s so up there. The molly is hovering his hands close to Radu, John knows the look, the molly wants to touch so badly, but he’s not. They’re standing there, fucking glowing red eyes and quiet as hell, just staring into each other’s eyes. It’s creepy, but also so much like his bro.
When they do move, it’s still as if they don’t remember the world around them, totally lost in their conversation.
John takes a good look, because he may hate where he got the skill from, that all those years of being told he needs to be good at seeing to men’s needs, all those years of watching his father’s smallest posture changes in hopes of noticing the temper early enough, have given him a fine eye for details, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t use the skill. And he very, very much notices the detail of Quincy’s and Radu’s hands being close to each other while walking; he very much notices the slight twitches that both of them have, the quick reach for each other that falls short.
But he has no idea what to make of that observation.
Arthur looks at him and he’s pretty sure Arthur’s more confused about this than he is. Nothing for it, they need to get back, and he rather doesn’t want to let the two dracs out of his sight. Great, ‘his two dracs’ is supposed to be Darcy and Quincy, not fucking Radu and Quincy.
Later. Arthur’s leaning in, looks excited, even.
“Did I get that right? Quincy can enter the nexus now?” he murmurs to John.
“Shh,” John makes at him. He gets it, he’s excited, too, that they maybe finally have a way to get through that door and start properly looking for Darcy, but Radu was pretty outspoken about their fae listening in. He’ll take that paranoia, he never liked them.
But he can’t tell Arthur that, can only give their surroundings a meaningful look, then lean in close to whisper about something completely different: “Did you get anything out of Quincy? He and Radu, that’s… concerning.”
“Whoops,” Arthur mutters back. “And, yes… Apparently, Quincy’s drac took a look at Radu’s drac and they agreed that they both miss Darcy very much and are now… consoling each other by howling for her together, or something.”
“Or something, right.”
Groaning, John gives the two men ahead of them a long look, and it’s not quite as bad as it was with Darcy in the dreamscape when she dragged Radu along by the hand, but fuck does Quincy look at ease being that close to the guy. All John can do is shake his head. “Radu and our dhampirs. It’s a thing.”
“…Apparently he has a… scared drac in need of love and that works on our dhampirs…?” The way Arthur says it makes John think he’s not entirely convinced of that.
Problem is, John has a hard time not snorting. Quincy went hissy at the fae king, that was downright protective, that fucker only does that when he smells something for him to take care of. And culver, a hurt drac…
“Fuck, that would do it. Culver has a thing for hurt animals.”
“Um, true, what with her animal hospital and all… And she likes animals better than people, if she sees him as the… puppy Quincy calls his drac…”
“Puppy?” It comes out as a snort. Their Molly calling somebody a puppy? The guy who will complain endlessly about hair on his clothes but then invent ways to train their special needs puppies?
It’s been a week of reading up on fae, John’s not stupid. Quincy is sensing contract potential, but culver, no, culver went and wanted to love it better. He can’t fucking believe himself, but okay, if his dracs want it, he’ll make it happen, he supposes. Nothing else to do than grin and reassure Arthur: “I can handle a puppy. Alright, let’s do this.”
“I’m still trying to see it…” Arthur mutters, then gives him a sideways grin. “But we’ll do it, we have to.”
“For Darcy.”
He punches Arthur’s arm with a resolute nod before stepping back through to the castle, which kind of looks shabby after he saw the Court.
Okay, maybe not shabby, but small. He wonders if he can get the perspective right for replicating the Court in his dreamscape. Then he could show Darcy, she’d like that, yes, she would love to see a place she can’t go to, and he could make it happen.
That was the second round of thinking he’ll make it happen. Fuck, he misses her so badly. And yes, he told Quincy he needs space but… he misses him and now doesn’t dare tell him he wants him back. Fuck, even back in the bed that feels so empty.
The way Quincy is up ahead there, practically best friends and talking to Radu like they’re attached at the hip, he’s not even sure if he could tell him in privacy now. And when?, he’s been spending evenings and nights with Arthur.
He made a mistake and now he worries he lost not just his girl but also his bro.
He needs somebody to talk to, openly, somebody to help him deal with the situation, but he shut himself off from it. And worse, he feels like he’d be weak, finally showing off that he isn’t strong enough if he asks Quincy for help. He’s not sure how you could ask another guy, even his bro, for… for some emotional support.
Fuck, where did that suddenly come from? John’s not sure what set him off… That’s a lie, it’s the way Quincy and Radu are so obviously close.
He thought that was him and Quincy. He feels replaced, left behind and he… can’t really take that. Not with culver missing.
No, he can’t give himself away. The only thing he can do is march off, go report to Art and Mariam.
He can do that. Be a good soldier at least.
~
Only a few moments later, Radu pulls his intense focus away from Quincy, his head turning like he’s listening for something, while Quincy looks surprised. And then Arthur thinks he catches a… concerned? look on Radu’s face, it’s hard to tell since he can only see it from the side, and he dashes off, a streak of white hair down the corridor and the stairs.
Arthur breaks into a run to follow him, pulling alongside Quincy, who only gives him a confused head shake at his questioning look, and joins him in running after Radu- but is left behind not much later as Arthur runs at full speed. He can just about make out Radu’s footsteps ahead- going for the door, it looks like, which Arthur hears open, and then… a strange keening sound, like someone in distress.
He arrives in the entrance hall, out of breath, to see Radu crouched by the door, talking softly to… Arthur frowns as he slows to a stop, careful of his footing on the tiled floor. A dark-haired woman, who is making the noises, and looks afraid… and somewhat familiar.
It takes him a moment to place her, because with everything going on, the other current crisis kind of took a backseat in his mind, but that’s a selkie. He’s pretty sure that’s a selkie.
He’s also pretty sure it’s not just any selkie, but the only one whose whereabouts they currently know.
Or knew.
In Hartlepool.
Even as he’s thinking, he can feel a sensation of dread slide over his skin. A cold, heavy weight grow in his stomach.
His breath speeds up even as he comes to a halt, a couple of yards away from Radu.
Hartlepool.
The last time he heard that word, it was Radu saying it. Flippantly. Earlier that night.
About the invisible cat. Being on the way to “ah, yes, Hartlepool.” And something about unfinished business.
Gregory.
Arthur’s eyes skip around the entrance hall and the open door (not that a door helps), the driveway, a slice of greenery he can see, the carpets and the doors and the side tables and no cat anywhere.
He could be anywhere.
The selkie is here when she shouldn’t be, and that means Gregory is here.
“Quincy!” he yells, takes a step back, and then another, and then turns and runs back the way he came. “Quincy!”
Quincy can sense him, Quincy can tell, Quincy could be in danger, Quincy can help.
He’s not sure his thoughts make sense, but he needs to get back to Quincy, now.
~
What is the meaning of this? Certainly, Radu promised not to be rude, but Master Lancaster was very loud. Internally just as much as externally. And there was distress to those thoughts. A distress that sounded as discordant as this poor woman’s mind. Discordant in a way that feels unnatural. Radu knows how minds feel even when reminded of a crisis.
This is more.
And it was Quincy’s name that was so loudly proclaimed. Is there danger? He refuses to abandon the woman to her fate, but he must see to Quincy’s safety above all.
Thank the heavens, he can feel his dear mind still running towards him. Master Lancaster only backtracked a short distance. There Quincy is, arriving at the top of the stairs, wheezing, Radu must again have forgotten how mortals function. But what he does know is the feeling of a mind scan. His Warmth is searching for someone?
His own power ripples out, faster than he believes dear Quincy’s could, and indeed, there, the household’s knight, hidden to his eyes, lurking. Maybe trying to protect them from him?
Although, no, Quincy must feel the presence, too, and the words, the curse, he flings has Radu for a short moment feel stunned with the crudeness of it. No matter, the curse is a mere expression of the distress. Not yet discordant but certainly beginning to show the same signs.
No, this is an attack not on him but on the household, and Radu refuses to have Quincy harmed.
Standing up and shielding the cowering woman behind his wings, he turns to the knight and goes on the attack. He shan’t kill, he is no monster, and he was under the impression that this knight was part of his beloved’s entourage, her husband even, but the thoughts from Master Lancaster and Quincy are full of fear and viewing this ‘Gregory’ as an enemy.
His mind and drac lash out, it has done that so many times, it knows how to hurt, easily, it does not need to aim, but aim Radu must. He does not intend to blast the room, only the hidden assailant.
Hidden no longer as the fiend’s concentration surely breaks as Radu’s attack stuns his feeble mind.
~
‘Whereishe?Whereishe?Whereishe?’ hammers through Arthur’s mind while he clutches at Quincy’s arm, presses himself to his side, not sure whether he’s trying to hide behind him or shield him.
Can’t hit him if he can’t see him, can’t, he needs to know where he is!
He doesn’t have to ask, he doesn’t have to talk, thank fuck, Quincy’s eyes are red and he’s reaching out with his hands as if he’s touching an invisible bolt of cloth, he’s looking for him already, he can read Arthur’s thoughts.
Then there’s a sort of smacking sound, like a small animal impacting a wood-panelled hallway wall, and there he is.
Arthur’s emotions flip, rage deep and cold and burning, nauseating in it’s suddenness, disorienting, all consuming, and he screams and lets loose.
A staccato flare of lightning, one-two-three-four-five, their light too bright and cold like the rage, their power hot like the rage, blinding.
He blinks in the aftermath. Purple splotches dance in his vision and the hall seems dark like night time. He can’t make out any details.
The air smells of petrichor and burning wood and hair. There’s a sharp cracking sound, like a tile breaking.
Arthur’s breathing heavily, and swaying, he braces the hand he’s not clutching with against the nearest wall.
He feels sick, clammy, and curiously empty. Hollowed out. Like someone scooped out his middle and left only numb surface.
“What the fuck?” he asks, because… what the fuck?
~
No! it hisses to itself as it teleports across the grounds, putting distance between itself and the vampire.
And Arthur.
Why? Why is the vampire attacking it, instead of the hunters, instead of the dhampir, instead of Arthur?
Letting the vampire in should have worked. It should have created chaos, fighting. Even with the vampire forcing it away without it noticing, it should have come back to an opportunity.
The vampire wants Darcy, and it wants Darcy. The alfr have Darcy. Ideally, the vampire would have cut down everything in his, and its, way. Quincy isn’t letting himself be primed, anyway, is too dangerous, with the way he can sense it even when the others can’t. It would’ve been worth the sacrifice, if the vampire had gotten it Darcy back.
Or had created enough chaos, had taken out at least some of them, maybe broken open Quincy enough for it, even.
But… it doesn’t know how the hunter fared, does it? Or the dreamwalker. That one always throws himself in danger.
Arthur turned out to be a better meal than it expected. But he is also too dangerous, and now it must spend the energy it got from him on repairing its form. The vampire’s attack left it stunned for too long to dodge the whole of the attack.
It is, still, hungry. If the selkie it brought them just in case leads them to any more of those delicious places, it won’t be right away.
It goes hunting for the others from the other side of the castle.
~
Reporting in to Mariam and Art didn’t do shit for his mood. It just means that he’s back in the study. John fucking hates the room, always does, but without Darcy, it’s a personal torture chamber. Worse, because Mariam is asking him if he can spare some time to give final input on some barony paperwork.
Spare some time? When they finally have a tiny chance of getting somewhere with finding Darcy?
“I don’t care about anything but getting my girl back! I don’t give a flying fuck what you do with the place, you want to run it? Run it!”
He didn’t mean to shout at her.
He never wants to shout at her.
The way she flinched away from him spikes helplessness through him – he can’t become his father! – on top of the burning anger about being alone with nobody to really talk to.
But… wait…
Mariam flinched away from the yelling, but also, his words, she must like his words. That’s a smirk underneath the way she’s trying to get her composure back.
A smirk, a shift in mood, and thank fuck for that.
Thank fuck for her power!
He’s feeling irrationally angry and helpless, that’s not him.
“Gregory!”
Now that shout, he fully means, and he can’t see anything, but he doesn’t have to. He’s done it in the village, too.
John keeps yelling, wordless now as he allows the anger to roll through him like the stormfront he wants to be. Like the way he visualises his power to flood the room in every direction. The pain cracking into his head is just more fuel.
One lightning strike, Mariam, right next to him.
Another lightning strike, Art, at the desk.
And there, a third! Demon!
Dodging.
No, you don’t!
It doesn’t matter that John feels each of those lightning strikes rattle through him, he keeps honing in, no longer covering the entire room. He can aim now that he felt the mind.
Another loud boom.
His lighting strikes don’t make sounds…
Boom, boom, boom. The sound of metal clattering to the floor.
A wild grin forms on John’s lips. He can’t look away from where he keeps pushing against the demon, but he doesn’t need to. He knows those sounds. Right next to him. That must be his fiance, who apparently was packing iron. That’s a woman!
He lifts a hand, finger pistol up. Not because he has to, but because it should help her aim.
Boom. Thundercrack.
Aim and… nothing.
Again!
Nothing.
For a moment longer, John pushes, but if there is no target, all he’s doing is shattering his own head here. The demon must have fled. He won. They won!
Turning to Mariam to holler in triumph, instead he sees her gasp and lift her arms. It’s fine… just… a… headache.
~
“Arthur! Help!” Art yells even while he runs to make sure Mariam doesn’t go down as she catches John’s body.
Damn, everything happened so fast. He must have been out for a moment, by the time he fully came to, he saw Mariam lowering a revolver just a moment before John looked over, gushing blood from his nose, and fainted right into her arms.
What the fuck happened?
“We need a medic here!”
He knows his voice is booming, let it. He doesn’t dare move John, not before he can stop that nosebleed. A nosebleed from using his power? He’s heard about it before, but he’s never seen it. Please let the kid be okay!
~
Arthur doesn’t have an answer to what the fuck, and he still can’t seem to catch his breath properly when he hears the short, sharp barks of the gun echo through the house.
Radu’s turned his attention back to the selkie, who understandably hasn’t gotten any less distraught in the last few minutes, Arthur’s noticed at the edges of his awareness, and Quincy is tall and warm and secure next to him, has stepped closer, his hands on Arthur’s shoulders, his voice saying soothing things that Arthur can’t seem to process.
Everything seems oddly flat and colourless, like there’s a pane of soot-filthy glass between him and the world.
When he hears the gun shots, though, he only has one thought: Gregory.
So he lurches towards the stairs even before there’s a distant shout of Art’s voice, even before Radu provides: “The hunter is calling for medical assistance,” behind him.
He can’t seem to run properly, his breathing not wanting to settle, his whole body feels oddly distant. Like there’s a delay between his mind and his limbs, so he reaches for Quincy again, says: “Help me run.”
~
Him? He’s slower than Arthur when it comes to running!
Quincy is pretty sure the only reason he’s not a jittery ball of nerves right now is because his brain realised it’s not after the fight yet. Also, somebody got hurt. It has to be John. His darling!
No, no, no, he can’t lose him, too!
And he supposes that counts for a reason because there’s the furry thing, his drac, and he finds his hand tight around one of Arthur’s wrists, and his feet hammering across the distance feel like there’s something running right along his legs. How many does he have?
Does it matter?
No, it doesn’t. Just dragging Arthur along and seeing to his darling! He even seems to really help with the running, Arthur needs the steadying, he’ll have to check closer later, not now, John first!
“Coming, we’re coming!”
Be alright, be alright, be alright! Please!
~
With Quincy pulling him along, all Arthur has to focus on is staying on his feet and putting one in front of the other as quickly as possible- he can do that much.
What the fuck is wrong with him?
He’s never felt like this!
And he should be feeling more urgency, on some level he feels the urgency, but it’s like it’s all in his head, more like he knows it’s there than feeling it with his body. Even while his body is a jittery, unstable mess.
Like his… panic? was that panic? just now left him all burned out.
But none of that matters.
The fact that his limbs don’t feel quite attached and he still feels like a fresh breeze is going to knock him over and have him curl up puking doesn’t matter.
They have to get to the study and he has to get himself together enough to heal whatever, whoever they find there, whatever the demon did.
~
He’s breathing! Thank the Divine! Quincy can see John breathing.
Hell, he’s half on Mariam’s lap, he should be happy about that! Yes, that’s what Quincy is going to focus on when he throws himself on the floor next to his darling. Still dragging Arthur along, half sliding the last meter and, yes, smacking at Godalming to get out of the way.
“Give that here!”
The handkerchief he snatches away is an utter mess, blood-soaked. Where is it coming from?
Face? Is it a slash? No, nothing there when he lifts it slightly. Thank the Divine again.
And John’s not coughing, either. Just trying to mumble… heh, but stopping to fight feebly against the attention when he realises it’s him. Take that, he’s his darling’s safe spot.
The low groan as John slumps back on Mariam’s lap makes a stream of blood spurt from his nose though. A nosebleed? It’s a nosebleed? What did his brute do now?
“You are such a disaster. Hold still! Head down, not up. You’ll just swallow it. That’s my strong point, not yours. Hush, hold or I swear, I’ll lick your nose to make you.”
Good, that gets him another groan and a weak punch but John is listening. Is he ever relieved.
~
Okay. Okay, John is conscious, that’s good, Arthur tells himself as he somehow manages to collapse in an ungainly pile on the floor next to them without twisting an ankle or hitting his knees too hard on the carpet.
Focus. He needs to focus.
One hand on John’s arm. He goes for the full touch rather than hovering, because he really doesn’t have the coordination or energy, and he needs the grounding.
And then he forces his foggy mind onto the spell matrix and to cast.
Instead of the usual easy flow, it’s like scraping out the bottom of a barrel, or like urging along a trickle.
It’s slow, and it’s such hard work. It’s like being hit in the face with exhaustion like a big pillow: fluffy yet surprisingly weighty.
But he really can’t spare the attention to think about that. For now, all he needs to do is keep the magic going, for another moment, and another one, and another one.
~
Fucking ouch. But at least now, it’s just the migraine John expected, not whatever the fuck else he managed there. He’s in too much pain and can tell too much that Quincy is a shaken mess.
Whatever. The world can go fuck itself.
It’s a struggle but he rolls himself over, yes, to a tut, a tut cut short, because yes, that’s him rolling himself over against his Molly. It’s too fucking bright out here. He can press his eyes shut against Quincy’s middle and just groan.
He’s not even going to complain about that steadying hand behind his head or the way he can hear how touched the Molly is while cussing him out for getting blood on him. No, Quincy needs him to accept a bit of care. And his head is killing him, that little bit of movement is all he could manage.
He tries to speak, to tell Arthur thanks, but he’ll puke if he goes through with that sentence.
Luckily he doesn’t have to. Quincy caught it, he’s telling Arthur for him. Yeah, he has his bro. That one can take over on demon watch now.
~
Luckily, when John moves, the healing was pretty much done. Arthur doesn’t even think there was a lot to heal, he was just so slow that it took… however long it took.
And the collapsing of the spell matrix makes him all woozy and he flops back. Against some sturdy legs, and he manages to turn his head to find Art crouching behind him, looking concerned.
Art. Dad. Who’s big and warm and doesn’t look like he’s about to fall over, not like Arthur feels.
So he lets himself slump against him, and closes his eyes because… He just needs a moment. He’s pretty sure he needs a moment.
~
What happened? Arthur normally seems to heal most everything with little effort. Now he looks like he is about ready to also collapse. Putting a hand on his brow, yes, he’s clammy with cold sweat. Time for a dad decision.
Carefully, Art shoves his arms underneath Arthur and stands up. “Boys, you’re both ready for the medical tent. Quincy, help John up, you are on nurse duty again.”
Good, he’s getting glowered at, but he’s seen the kid before, aftershock is that one’s problem, giving him something to do is just what he needs, too. And then Art can try to figure out what the hell happened. It can’t have been Radu, can it? Minstrels operate differently and, right, he thinks John yelled Gregory’s name.
Shit! Gregory, the demon. He nearly forgot about that!
“Mariam, set up a telegram in the name of Lady Rossmore, we’re calling in Galahad. We had a demon attack. This needs to go out as soon as possible.”
She’s crossing herself, but Art doesn’t think that’ll do much, he knows that the damn imposter got married in a church, after all.
She’s capable to do that without him, he has to get the boys over to, hm, Darcy’s room, big bed and a sofa. Yes, that’s the right spot.
~
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