Chapter 111
Previously: The Rose of Whitby – Chapter 110
Jack, if he’s completely honest, really doesn’t want to try to console Mr Cobb. The man… boy, has not shown him anything but vitriol and dismissal for the entire time he had to deal with him. But he is the more parentally inclined one between them, and maybe, if he is going to the utmost end of his willingness towards the benefit of the doubt, maybe it is the lack of a positive father figure in Mr Cobb’s life that makes him so stand-offish.
And if nothing else, he needs to get him off Lucy, who is the only one with any chance to actually stand up to Draculya, and she did just start berating him and he’d rather listen to more of that. Not just for the data, also because it just might feel the tiniest bit reassuring. His rose is not scared of the man who killed her. That is very her and he wants to warm himself on that scalding hot level of conviction that he never feels himself.
So he scratches his best psychological knowledge and fatherly aptitude together. He knows he should likely lead with a comforting lie, but when he tries to start in with telling Gregory he did well so far it gets stuck in his throat. That’s simply too far, no, not even with painted-on bedside manners. So instead he tries for reassuring Gregory that if they work together, they can solve the problem, they can help Darcy.
All he gets back is a blank stare, but at least Gregory lets go of Lucy, then he looks around the room, shrugs, tears suddenly gone, and declares he’ll keep watch on the nexus, only to vanish a moment later. For the likely hundredth time Jack groans and questions what on earth his rose petal sees in the cretin.
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What? Again… what?! Now Gregory disappears again? That’s even weirder than the outburst in the first place. Arthur doesn’t know what to do with this. But then… it’s a social thing, isn’t it? Something he’s no good at. So he glances at Quincy for help.
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Catching the look, Quincy huffs and shakes his head, but much as he’d like to comment there, he should go tell Jack that it was a valiant attempt, just, uh, hi, lady, your husband already did that dissection look, fine, round two of charming Cycy’s parents it is!
So he puts his best grin on and confirms that yes, he would be the dangerously too-pretty offspring of her best friend, and he’ll be here all night and longer, because her own daughter thinks he’s too tasty and related to her not to nibble on. Pulling on his shirt collar a bit, he winks, and okay, he can see where Cycy gets it from, that’s a gleeful grin if there ever was one. She’s one squeal away from really making it clear that Cycy got more than that petite build from her.
“Mina-sweetheart, however did you make Jonathan wear those horns? This one couldn’t be more obviously not his! Aw, this is the best… And fine, for that I’ll slap your husband less… Wait a moment, husband?!”
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Jack noticed earlier already that Quincy is good at making himself liked. He doesn’t hold that against him, but the part that makes him smirk is not what Quincy says, but that (and Jack did not think he’d ever believe it) Draculya is being flustered. It’s so obvious that even Jack can read it, and it just might feel a bit too good, so he walks over to Art and elbows him to make sure he sees it rather than having his eyes glued only to Lucy.
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Now, Quincy is very fond of all this attention, and he’d love to preen more for Lucy and have a nice round of gossip, even if it includes his mother, but Cycy is still missing and he can’t have as much fun as he should as long as that is a thing, so he puts his hands up and claps loudly. “Honeys, I’m all for this family reunion turning into full-blown gossip and girl talk, but please, my personal queen of the night should be here for that, and most definitely not with that slime bag Llew, so focus, everybody! Shoo, tactical meeting.”
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“She’s with Llew?” Lucy lifts an eyebrow, then looks around, and notices John missing. That makes her fold her arms in front of her chest. “Alright, I’m missing a lot of things here. Jackie? Arthur? One of you probably has notes already. Let me hear it. Who do I need to kick?”
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Tactical meeting, yes, Arthur can do that. He’d much rather do that, and shove all these awkward social feelings and worries and balancing people’s pasts into some corner, focus on the important bit.
Which is getting everyone up to speed, and he already kind of did with Art and Dr Seward, but, right, Lucy wouldn’t know, so he pulls out his notebook and starts into the summary of how they got to this point.
Mrs Harker adds what they have in options for dealing with the enthrallment, and Dr Seward goes over why most options are just not acceptable, concluding that while he has to admit that waiting it out is the most logical option, Llew still made the decision after they clearly told him that they don’t consent.
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“Oh really now, you’re taking this all too seriously. I’m just helping! Better yet, I figured it all out for you despite you having no faith in me.” Leaning over the bannister on the mezzanine, safely out of reach of those silly bloodsuckers even if they pounce, Llew is giving them his best grin. “You want our precious Darcy back soon, don’t you? Midwinter soon, to be exact! The Wild Hunt won’t be able to say no to those emotions.”
Cackling, he takes a few steps and wags his finger before anybody interrupts him. “I have just the solution for all your problems, I just need a little bit of time to get some fey artefacts, don’t have them right on hand. But hey, there will be a crown, Darcy gets to be a fairy tale princess! Just one little detail, no… wait,” he counts on his fingers with a giggle, “more like two. We need to mix some naughty bloodsucker magic in and we need a number of people who love her. You deal with that, I’ll get the artefacts, and remember, you don’t have any other good choices!” Waggling his eyebrows, he winks and vanishes again to a frustrated hiss from that disgusting (but amusing) fake Leanen Si Quincy.
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Arthur groans. “…This is like that time with the London house- what does he mean? What solution? What’s he talking about? Why can’t he just explain things?”
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“Because spring court fey can’t hold a thought for long enough to express it even in brief,” Vlad grumbles, hands clasped tight, only to lean forward and massage the bridge of his nose. “Much as I do not want to even consider it, but Midwinter is mere days away, this may well be the fastest solution, and I may have been able to help with vampire problems but I fear I am not able to stride into Faerie in the same way.” He is not exactly comfortable admitting to this weakness, but it is far from a personal failing.
“What’s this spring court?” the young scholar asks, unsurprisingly. “And, we don’t even know what idea he had, so how can we decide whether it’s okay to go along with?”
“The same as you can categorize vampires into minstrels and knights, you can categorize fey into spring, summer, autumn, and winter. As we have more pressing matters to deal with, let me keep it at, those courts exhibit what one could call stereotypical traits for each of the seasons. With spring court fey being whimsical, as Llew is showing off,” Vlad explains. Although he is looks between all of them, all he can see are various forms of annoyance and worry, he is likely the one with the most knowledge here.
“He is fey, there is always a price to pay, no matter what idea it was. I suspect, based on the sparse information, that he plans to somehow sacrifice something to the Wild Hunt. An enthrallment certainly is emotional, but I am no mage, I have no knowledge of how any of this may be resolved.” His eyes wander to Mina; centuries ago, he is convinced she could have answered. Didn’t she use a ritual herself to do the impossible? Right now, though, all he can do is shake his head.
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Jack had jotted down what he could from the jabbering and lists what they know, plus his caution. “If this requires people loving her and there is some emotional sacrifice, how do we make sure that it isn’t that love that’s being lost? From what I understand of fey, they tend to trick people with apparently small requests.”
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Arthur can’t say he likes the sound of a sacrifice. “…So how do we get proper information out of Llew? Because this is way too important to get tricked over? And what about Darcy? She’s still stuck in the nexus, isn’t she? We can’t just leave her there!… Can we?”
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“Do we have any way to get in there?” Still with her arms folded, Lucy doesn’t like any of this. If Vlad, the big bad vampire of her past, admits to being unable to get into Faerie then she’s not convinced there’s much they can do.
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Putting a hand to her forehead, Mina groans and shakes her head. She feels like she should remember something, but it won’t come into focus, no matter which logical avenue she tries to approach from. And she’s not exactly willing to reveal her past to Art, so no, she has to leave it at shaking her head.
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Jack was absently flipping through his note book, knowing full well that he didn’t have extensive notes on fey even from when he researched them the first time he learned about rose petal’s involvement with them. “Rose petal seemed to be extremely emotionally upset. I had half an impression of her drac clawing to the surface. I have little doubt that this is highly valuable to a fey. There may not be anything we have at our disposal that we could barter with. Especially because even if we buy her back until midwinter, how do we contain her?”
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As much as Quincy wants to hiss and huff and argue just to argue, something about Jack’s assertion that Darcy’s unhinged emotions are valuable hits him deeply. Yes, that drac of hers… no, he doesn’t really want to let go of it either, and that just might mean neither would that poison moth. He hates it, hates it so much that he’s about ready to hug Arthur again just to have somebody to hold and make himself feel better, but that’s not going to fly right now, so he just huffs and agrees with Jack’s assessment.
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Art can’t think of anything to say, either. When Jack, the man he knows has done more than any of them for Darcy, doesn’t think they have an avenue of negotiation, then he doubts he can come up with anything.
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Arthur bites his lip and again fights the urge to hug a pillow to his chest- or ask the house for his/Darcy’s genet to cuddle. If Darcy were here, she would hug him. Or he could hug her. Well, if Darcy were here to do that, they wouldn’t be having this conversation.
But… is it an awful thought that he’d rather she were here and one of the others missing? Yes, that’s a pretty awful thought. He doesn’t want anyone to be mind-raped by a vampire and kidnapped by fey. (Okay, he doesn’t know how bad that actually is, but he can’t say he trusts Llew.)
But if Darcy were here, he’d feel… safer. More grounded. Not so… anxiously adrift? That’s kind of what he feels like.
It does help to now have all these adults here to help. It occurs to him that that’s a lot more adults than they’ve ever had to help with any sort of crisis, which… given the size of the crisis, is good?
Anyway… he can’t come up with any brilliant flashes of insight on how to get Darcy back or solve the issue of how to contain her, either, so he just kind of nods in resignation.
After a moment of tense, drawn-out silence, Lucy suddenly claps her hands, startling him. “Well,” she announces, and turns to Mrs Harker, “if there’s nothing else we can do there, Mina-sweetheart- You’ve been holding out on me! A dhampir, and an affair with that one!” She waves her hand at Mr Basarab. Arthur can’t read his expression, but Lucy beams at Mrs Harker. “I have to know everything!”
Mrs Harker hasn’t even said anything yet when Quincy exclaims: “Gossip time, and about me? Don’t you dare think you can exclude me from that!”
While Arthur is still trying to keep up with the change in mood, and to figure out whether it’s genuine or forced, Lucy smiles at Quincy, tells Mrs Harker: “Oh, I like him!” and stands up, offers Quincy her arm. He hooks his through hers, and Mrs Harker joins them, Lucy doing the same for her.
Then she sweeps off with both of them, but not before Mrs Harker asks Mr Basarab: “Would you mind tucking in Lucy Jr?” And even though it’s a question, the tone is more like… she’s expecting him to do it. She’s pretty good at that, Arthur thinks.
Mr Basarab inclines his head to her, and says “Of course,” and also gets up, gives the rest of them also a nod, and says, “If you’ll excuse me,” and leaves for the stairs to the mezzanine while Lucy drags Quincy and Mrs Harker off to the main door to the library.
And just like that, Arthur finds himself sitting at the coffee table only with Dr Seward and Art, left behind.
Of course, he feels really very awkward with that, but also kind of relieved, because… well, he knows Dr Seward and Art, and he likes them. Yes, he realizes with some surprise, he does like Dr Seward by now. He feels a lot more comfortable with Art, but he knows that Dr Seward will do whatever he can for Darcy, that they have a common goal there, and that he isn’t as strict as he looks.
Art watches Mr Basarab leave with some suspicion, and the main doors close after the others with Lucy asking Mrs Harker whether she named her child after her, so Arthur can’t hear the answer there. Once Mr Basarab, upstairs, is also gone, Art leans in over the coffee table, towards Arthur, drops his voice even though they’re alone in the library now: “Well then, Arthur, tell us about that vampire. Any ideas on what to do about him, yet?”
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“And there I thought you would get stuck on Draculya being commanded to the childrearing, Art.” Jack observes, but, with one more look up to the mezzanine, making sure that door is closed, he scoots in closer, too, notebook out. “If I’ve heard right, killing him won’t break the enthrallment, so we need to see to that first, but afterwards…”
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Arthur bites his lip, also leans forward. “Um… I’m very concerned about how much power he has to read minds and manipulate emotions and memories and such- like, would it even be possible to get close to him? Would he know right away who we were and what we were planning? And… and could he just make us forget if we did meet him?”
He shudders a little- it’s creepy. Yes, of course powerful vampires are scary in general, but with mind powers like those, this Radu feels… feels untouchable, like a ghost. Arthur can think of about half a dozen ways those powers can be used for manipulation. He’s already met and chatted with Mr Basarab, unknowing of who he was facing. If that had been Radu… For all Arthur knows, he could meet this Radu on the street, have every thought and plan in his head plundered, and then walk away without even remembering a conversation happened.
Or could meet him and be left thinking they talked about something nice, that he liked him, while unknowingly betraying his friends, his… family.
He doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like the idea one bit. “I, um, I brought fighting him up with Mr Basarab, but he said he wasn’t willing to hurt his brother,” he continues. “So I asked him about ending the feud between them, but he also said that wasn’t possible. My impression is that he isn’t really mad at his brother, isn’t really his enemy, but also can’t or won’t do whatever it would take to make up with him. Oh… and he said Radu was insane, so…” He trails off, because, yes, that whole ‘insane’ bit doesn’t help with his worries about Radu. Who knows what logic an insane powerful vampire might or might not be following?
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“An insane minstrel. Damn minstrels in general, but an insane one?” Groaning heavily, Art fishes around in his pocket for another cigar, this day somehow manages to only get worse.
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“What the big grump so eloquently tried to express there is that yes, Arthur, your estimation of the amount of danger is astute,” Jack supplies and flicks his lighter open for Art without even looking, too focused on the problem. “We do still have the trap book, but I highly doubt that a voivode, an old one at that, has any chance of falling victim to it. And even if, we don’t know which wood is required for him, we couldn’t even stake him when weakened by the sun in there.”
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“…Somehow, this time I’d rather have been wrong,” Arthur admits. “Um… do you mean he’ll figure out what the trap book is and not read it, or that the magic won’t work on him, that he could resist it somehow?”
“Vampires are powerful but they are not infallible. They can be tricked and killed. I merely don’t believe that we will have a chance with a device that relies on unsuspecting curiosity.” Shaking his head, Jack looks over at Art. “In all our years, not a single family tried going up against a voivode, did they?”
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“Nope, there’s not even a formula for how many to bring. You’re supposed to bring a fist for just a knight. Minstrels, at least two. Voivodes, pff, nobody even talks about that, and you know it.” Art keeps groaning, then realises that Arthur doesn’t know the terminology and explains that a fist is a hunter term for five full teams, each consisting of about five members. “We’ll never just overpower him.”
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“At that point, it just sounds like people would get in each other’s way more than be a help,” Arthur agrees. “Also, if he can read minds, that’ll just give him more information and people to manipulate.” He frowns. “The only way would be some sort of trap, but what kind, and how would we get him into it, and keep him in it? It’d have to be… strong enough to withstand vampire strength, and air tight, in case he can also turn into fog. And able to close faster than vampire speed. And then of course it’d have to kill him somehow. And of course that doesn’t answer the question of how to get someone that strong and fast and with that much of an information advantage into it in the first place…”
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Thinking over this not as a hunter but as a doctor, Jack wonders: “They are undead but their bodies are still physical. They cannot swim. Maybe… just maybe, if I can find something that is heavier than water that would incapacitate him, and we find a way to trick him into that water.”
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Arthur tilts his head. “Oh, if we could get him into some kind of liquid deep enough that he can’t jump or climb out…” It occurs to him that vampire hunting is an old occupation, but this, in a matter of days, is a new century- they now have knowledge and science and technology that wasn’t accessible before. New possibilities, like steam engines and electricity… and harmful substances.
“What about… an acid? Surely that would kill even an old vampire?” (And he shoves aside any consideration of how excruciating a death that would be to a conscious, feeling being. Radu’s the one who attacked, who’s pushing them into a corner. Arthur already decided he would do whatever is necessary, and, he resolves, he meant it.)
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Shuddering at the sheer cruelty of the thought, Art gives Jack a look. It might work but he isn’t entirely comfortable with that plan, so he wants Jack to decide.
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Thinking about the limited pharmacy experience he has, Jack still believes he remembers that acid is indeed heavier than water. How to keep them from mixing at all is another topic, but it’s the start of a plan. “Acid could work and most likely would kill a vampire. Art, can you remember if anybody tried electrocuting a vampire before? That could be our backup plan, or a way to ensure that he stays in the water long enough, if it incapacitates his muscle movements.”
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And this is exactly why Art leaves the planning up to Jack. He can follow a plan, even when it turns his stomach, but coming up with it, no, that’s beyond his ability to suppress his empathy. And he can’t say he heard about any electrocuted vampires, but most hunter families don’t have that much in resources and why go to such lengths when older methods work just fine for peasant vampires?
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Arthur starts some rough calculations in his notebook. “The weight of the liquid should slow even a vampire’s movements and interfere with him using all of his strength,” he muses. “Also, if whatever container it is- maybe something metal? Some metals don’t react with acids, right?- well, if it seals with little enough of an air gap, even if he did manage to jump up and turn fog or into a small flying form wouldn’t help, and it should reduce his options of getting leverage to destroy the trap by a lot.”
He can imagine all too well what it would be like, trapped in the dark in a box of liquid that eats you alive, but he makes himself not care- this isn’t the time to care. This is the time to focus on logistics and plans and numbers. The wincing horror sits in one part of his mind, out of the way. He knows it’s there, and that he’ll have to live with it if they do this, if they somehow manage to pull this off without getting killed.
He thinks he’ll be able to.
He doesn’t feel righteous or good about it, but… calm. Determined. Like a wolf at bay, teeth bared- he will bite, kill, if he needs to. It isn’t like he hasn’t done it before, he thinks, remembers the brief sight of a charred body.
He looks up at Dr Seward and Art. “That still doesn’t help us with how to get him into any kind of trap we could build in the first place, though. If we got into mind-reading range, he’d immediately know what we were up to. How do you lie to or trick someone who can read your thoughts?”