Chapter 2
Previously: Obsidian: Crystal Heart – Chapter 1
Fuck! Why is Quincy still in the library? Why isn’t he through and over to his mother already?! At least Arthur’s there, too. It’s good to see he’s unharmed, and he can pack a magical punch, too, so better to have their firepower all in one room.
“The bloody door won’t budge!” Quincy hisses as John sprints up the stairs and Arthur adds that he thinks the attack is messing with the house magic.
Even as John turns to aim over the bannister down towards the entrance, he asks if Arthur got a better view, they could only hear the voice from where they were.
“Some guy, pretty sure he’s fey, showed up on the roof,” Arthur tells them. “He’s looking for ‘his daughter’, and he’s really powerful and nasty- he threw Gregory off of the roof and he put a pain spell on me. Darcy intercepted him and said something, I couldn’t hear what, and then started leading him to the door into the house- maybe she’s taking him to Mrs Harker?”
~
“I knew it was fey!” Huffing and kicking the door one more time just out of frustration, Quincy turns and stands at John’s side… Okay, fine, yes, half behind him, he’s not afraid to admit that he’ll happily hide behind their manly man. “That voice ran right through my veins, tingling all over. If he’s after my mother… Oh bloody hell, more family of mine?!” He hisses, then realises something else and turns to Arthur, puts a hand on his arm. “Wait, honey, pain spell? Are you alright? Should you be upright?”
Now, Arthur assures him he’s fine. How much he believes that, he’s not sure, but it will have to wait for later, because John is shushing at him and while he normally won’t let himself be shut up by any man, John probably means it because of Darcy approaching. Yes, he can hear her steps, but even more so, her mind is the brilliant (if furry) flame he found he can sense somehow when he just listens inwards.
Wait, pain spell, if that fey… Then he has to swallow a snort, because right, his Cycy and pain, yeah, that would have done nothing. Okay, she’ll be fine. Please?
Somebody pinch him. The man who follows behind her into the library has him drop his jaw, and he doesn’t do that often, but bloody hell, dhampir weakness or not, now that is power and beauty! He’s just plain ridiculously tall. Quincy wants to be that tall! Oh Divine, please let that be an indication of how tall he’ll get if he’s related to the man. To that icy pillar of inhuman grace and strength in every flowing motion.
Hello, Quincy outpost to Quincy central. That’s the arse who tortured Arthur and might be hunting your mother. Less slobbering over him being tall and powerful and those facial features to cut oneself on and those impossible proportions, so slim, so unimaginably slim and long-limbed… yoo hoo, Quincy outpost, anybody home? For hell’s sake, you had a lovely threesome just last night, get it together!
Shaking himself out of it, and definitely not by way of side-glance at John’s very nice shoulders, Quincy straightens up and takes a few steps towards his grandfather(?). Who apparently also knows where to look, because he’s focusing on John and the gun. Yes, yes, that one’s worth another look, he’s aware, but hello, right here! Clearing his throat, Quincy tries again, but his grandfather just gives him one short look before asking Darcy if it is behind this door.
Dismissed? He dismissed him like that?! Who does that oversharpened birch-stick think he is?! Just about to give him a piece of his mind, Quincy shuts his mouth when the man doesn’t even need to touch the door, just gestures at it, to rip it clear out of the wall with a sneered: “Garish. Poison moth frivolity.”
Eep! Okay, maybe he can wait a bit longer with making any statements. Especially because he has to duck under the heedlessly-thrown door, too, now. Maybe John looks ready to shoot, after all, if Darcy didn’t shake her head again at him, but Quincy knows when he’s outgunned.
Then he spots what’s behind the hole in the wall and forgets all about his grandfather, or John’s shoulders, because… because that is true beauty right there. Not just incarnated into a body, no, the real deal, swirling streams of light like veins and arteries. A network of power that calls to him. Every pulse makes his toes twitch, makes him want to throw himself through the dark opening and trust the net to catch him.
But then his grandfather shackles it, forces something ugly over it. It feels like the house spirit, and maybe that’s exactly what it is and that means it’s ugly because of Llew. That fits. He hates him, for more reasons than he can count, and he’s pretty sure only half of them have anything to do with what the man did!
There is no beauty in the lights bubbling up around the edges of the opening, they are as ugly as the rips in the surrounding wood. Quincy finds himself grinning when his grandfather’s gestures coat the lights with ice. They draw out into icicles and the way they chime, first one, then in a building melody with more touches, has him tingle again. That is power, that is control, and it is ripped away from the sluggish Seelie… really? Uh, where did that thought come from? And why does he want to cackle now?
Quincy starts to really dislike what his grandfather’s presence is doing to his mind. He’s always had some whispers. He always thought it was the grey world trying to make him callous and dead inside like it is. What if it’s not the world? What if it is this… this right in front of him? The man’s hair is ice white and blue, his skin pale, the yellow eyes expressionless even if they weren’t completely monochrome, no iris, no pupil, no sclera, no nothing, just yellow. Is this what he’ll be if the whispers get to him? If he lets the tingling in his veins take over?
He halfway doesn’t notice when whatever his grandfather is doing comes to fruition, because he’s shivering and John’s hand is suddenly on his shoulder. Heavy and steady and most of all, warm. With one long shuddering exhale, Quincy drags his spiralling worries back and focuses on the world in front of him, on the way that Darcy has taken his other side. He has both of them, he can march right after his grandfather as the study in London shimmers back into existence out of the void.
~
Darcy’s glad for her dhampir speed, she really couldn’t keep up with all these people with too-long legs otherwise, and she refuses not to hold on to her sang du coeur’s hand as he rushes after the silly fey. She had really tried to lead him in circles for a while longer, but she’s no good at lying or small talk or whatever could have helped there. And she wishes she could have let John shoot him, but the big meanie could block Gregory’s demon with a mere gesture. It’s too dangerous, she doesn’t think she can hurt him at all.
But maybe that’s okay? She would be really upset and probably somewhat violent, too, if she thought somebody was hiding her family from her. So she’s really glad when Mina looks up at the approaching man and there is a spark of recognition, even a ‘Father?’ as she gets up to walk into his open arms.
Just, those open arms turn so fast into holding her wrist with one hand and cracking the other one across her face that Darcy doesn’t even have time to shout. Not before her dhampir sensibilities focus in on the smell of blood and the stream of it down Mina’s face. She can feel Quincy’s shock, the way his body tenses, and she tenses right along with him, and there’s John at her back, so clearly trying to decide if he has to shoot the man after all. No, she wants to help but… he hasn’t attacked them, only Mina, she… doesn’t like it, not one bit, but her first duty is towards Quincy, and John, and Arthur. Not Mina, so she holds them back.
“Four-hundred years I’ve searched for you, you ungrateful, murdering child!”
No, that doesn’t sound like a happy family reunion and maybe that’s wrong of Darcy but she’d be sad if her papa said something like that. Was Mina a bad daughter? Now, her papa never struck her but um, a father has a right to punish his children, doesn’t he?
Oh, but now that is a different look to Mina’s face. Tilting her head, Darcy tries to sniff, what happened? Those eyes look a little bit more like the fey’s, and if that is her father, that’s right, after all. And going by the words, maybe he is a bad papa, too?
“And since when have you cared about Maidin?”
As Darcy hears the answer she decides that yes, bad papa, maybe Mina was right to be a bad daughter in that case.
“Care? Don’t be stupid, Thrathnona, it’s unbecoming of your blood. You cost me not one but two family members’ contributions over hundreds of years. How do you intend to pay for it, daughter?”
Feeling the tug on her hand, Darcy focuses on Quincy and no, he doesn’t look happy with having been held back. No, he is a good son and that only makes Darcy love him more, so yes, she feels the tug, but no, she’s not letting go. Instead, she takes the first step closer, (feels John stepping right along,) but makes sure that Quincy gets to speak up. He’s trying to placate, to settle the obvious animosity down. She never gets how he does that with words, but the look he’s getting from his grandfather doesn’t seem very promising.
He only nods at Quincy’s words about there has to be a way to talk this out without anybody needing to get hurt, maybe find a payment that is good for everybody?
“Yes, pay,” that meanie fey kind of agrees, but turns back to Mina. “There is a debt to pay. And I see you have the means to pay it. You took a child of mine, I shall take one of yours. Which one will it be? The dhampir or the human?”
Now that does get Darcy to growl. No, he can’t have her sang du coeur! Oh, and the way John grunted, she’s sure he’s not letting anything happen to the child. Her John so likes children. But then the girl speaks up.
“You got it wrong, grandfather,” she announces and draws his attention with it. “It is 423 years, not 400, since Mother helped new father and got lost. I don’t know the months or days, because I don’t know the date.”
Darcy has no idea where that came from or what it’s going to do, so she lets go of Quincy’s hand just in case she needs to rush in after all, but then the fey laughs, (right, he never gave her a name, very fey.) Laughs and throws Mina aside as if she was a balled-up piece of paper you don’t want to deal with anymore.
“Nevermind. I want that one.”
Even as he says it, he crouches down in front of Lucy Jr and, oh blast, no! But Darcy can’t make it over in time, the girl has taken his outstretched hand, shook hands with a fey! That’s a deal and she feels her own contract tingle on her arm as she sees the triumphant grin on his face even as Lucy Jr dutifully introduces herself and says that she’ll come along with him if her mother lets her.
Turning at a sound, Darcy sees that Mina is struggling up from the floor and wants to come over to her child, but that mean fey is waving his hand and even Darcy flinches at the sound of Mina’s body being slammed against the wall. Or maybe Darcy just feels that flinch because of the whimper from Quincy a split second before he runs to his mother’s side.
Lucy Jr speaks up again and Darcy really wonders where her thoughts always go, she’s not behaving like little girls do in books. “Father did that, too. I don’t like it. I can’t concentrate on the numbers when the voices are loud. But you don’t shout, so that’s good.”
Even as Darcy turns to figure out what she should do, what John thinks she should do, there’s the sound of ruffled hair and a surprised noise of comfort. The fey did something to Lucy Jr, something good? Huh? Darcy will never understand fey! But Lucy Jr is all thanking him and clearly feeling better and asking all nicely if she can go with him now.
Darcy’s pretty sure Mina didn’t need that snide reminder from her father that Lucy Jr shook hands with him, that there’s nothing she can do, but Quincy is holding her up. She thinks Mina looks more determined than hurt when she tells Lucy Jr she can go but that she will find her.
Okay, they’ll have to hunt the mean fey down. Just one more fey Darcy can’t stand. What else is new?
At least that one’s glitter looks less ridiculous than Llew’s. More like little ice crystals, but they still don’t smell right, so they aren’t real, just more showing off. The angry howl and shout from Mina at the glitter that she hates him is much more real. But Quincy is right there, helping his mother to stand up again, and Darcy thinks if Mina were her, she’d be stomping her foot right about now.
But as is, she holds her son tight, and that is always the right decision for a parent, Darcy thinks. John is also running over to support her, but given that she can still smell the blood, probably for the best that Arthur is also going over. Just in case that blasted fey is trying anything else, Darcy stays away, gives the room a stroll and sniff for anything else.
Not that she can’t hear the talking, after Mina told John how to set her nose so that Arthur can heal her. Apparently, they are not getting their fey to hunt the other fey, and Darcy’s very okay with that. She remembers Llew standing over her at the ritual, the hunger in his eyes, and the little deal they made right then, too. She hates him. Hates hates hates him! But if she shows him that, then he’ll just get horny off of it again, she knows him better than she’d ever like to.
Still, even with getting to dodge him, she has to talk to Eluned because the wards were breached. It turns out, at least she’s not getting blamed for it, just has to listen to the rant about the gross Unseelie and what does that snowflake think he can do against her? John’s sitting next to her, tapping little dreamscape messages with his grunted comments at her and the hardest part is not giggling at some of them. She’s glad that Quincy and Arthur are looking after Mina and that she has one of her men here with her.
Everybody is doing something, nobody has to do it alone. She’s so glad that despite losing Radu, she seems to still have a family, they aren’t angry with her, Llew, of course, just lied. No, she has them. They all have each other… well, and Gregory isn’t here, so that’s good, too. But she still should find out what she really got punished for so she can learn to be better for them.
~
John feels a little surreal sitting at the work desk in the study again. It’s afternoon and Darcy just went for her little midday nap so she can avoid the highest sun. How the fuck is this still the same day that they had an earthquake and fey invasion? He feels like he should be running around and help fix the house, it’s still stuttering back to full functionality, the structural damage must have been a bit much even for their spirit. But no, here he is, doing paperwork.
Okay, in a way, maybe that fits for the insanity that this place can be. Violent attacks for breakfast, endless drudgery for lunch. Didn’t those Christians have a concept for it? Purgatory, he thinks. And frankly, he kind of needs to learn these things. He’s heir, in England, that means he’s supposed to be Christian, and frankly, he’s not keen on it. Not that he wasn’t chuckling when Darcy was pouting about having to learn some of it for her official wedding. But fuck that day, still one of the worst he’s ever had to get through… and now he has his hand in the drawer where Darcy is hiding from the sunlight. It was automatic, he didn’t think about it. Just feeling his girl’s fur against his fingers makes him feel better.
Yeah, she had that fucked-up wedding, has that fucked-up marriage, but here he is. Her heir, the real man in the household, the one she really trusts, and not just with not minding that he has a snoozing rat of a girl. Who could? Her snoring is too fucking adorable like this and he can’t wait for her waking back up and always smiling at him, kissing him thanks, and then letting him take his own break.
And he would have kept just working through their routine, weird as it is on that day, but the way Quincy is slinking into the study sets his protective alarm bells off. Yeah, yeah, fuck off on him having that urge with the molly. He’s their molly… and the molly who has Darcy all smitten over him and still made a point of involving John in seeing to her freakout. No, that man, (and he really is a man, no matter how much of an obvious molly of one, anybody who disagrees can get punched!) is his bro and he doesn’t give a fuck how weird that is.
Everything here is weird, so fuck it!
Taking his hand out of the drawer, he grunts at Quincy to not just sit down at his normal secretary spot, nah, they have a sofa in here for a reason. He’s getting such a bristling look back and it makes him snort. “Going to give me the ‘I don’t need to be taken care of’ line? Sure, fire right ahead, as if I’d care about a molly like you.” He underscores it with a friendly clap to Quincy’s shoulder and sits down on the sofa himself, crosses his arms and challenges the dolt.
~
Bloody hell, could the damn hunk stop being such a charmer? Fine, yes, he was about to give him that line, but also, he’s not doing so well and he was looking for Darcy and that was stupid, he knows she’s napping… Which makes him wonder if he was looking for John after all. He said they are in this together, didn’t he? It’s okay if it’s just an exchange, fair deal and all that, not him being taken care of. He’s helping John, too, right?
Great, and now he has his face on his shoulder and is sniffling. He hates looking so weak, but then, the obvious shock and surprise on John’s face plus the hesitant half hug is kind of worth it. He doesn’t like being hugged, for different reasons than John, but well, they both have their male egos, and he can at least do something for John’s with this pitiful display. Yeah, just taking care of that problem for John, not being shaken like hell.
He should have suspected Darcy to be in the room, and to wake up at so much as a tiny little shudder from him, he’s not really crying… no he’s not… Hell, he is, and he’s making very bloody sure to hold Darcy tight, not accidentally get an arm around John just because she squished herself between them.
~
Uh, what did John say about this place being weird? Now he has a ball of dhampirs at his side and kind of, sort of his arms around that? How does he always get into these situations? But okay, he can’t really fault Quincy, the morning must have been fucking rough on him. John might not have a clue how losing a sister feels like, but he has a clue about how it feels seeing a mother beaten bloody. It fucking sucks. To put that mildly.
So sure, okay, he guesses he can give Darcy backup on totally not taking care of their molly. Because huh, no, Quincy isn’t trying to shoo either of them away. John wouldn’t be caught dead showing this much emotion to anyone, and if anything, only to his girl, and well, Darcy loves the molly, but… but Quincy never tried to make her his girl. Why would he? And here he is, crying on, well, sort of him first. What the fuck does he make of the situation? Okay, other than his need to protect his molly screeching with a gale of a storm in his mind.
And Darcy’s a disaster with words, he knows that much, so… uh, okay, here goes nothing. How does their molly normally formulate that? Right. “Can we talk this out?”
~
Honestly, Quincy isn’t sure he can. Where does he even start?
Is he terrified of his sister being kidnapped? Sure. Is it what freaks him out most? No. Does he want to admit to that, especially in front of the obvious wannabe dad? Eeeeh, not really. But then, does he want to be one of the legions of idiot men who bottle things up and never talk about them? Sure as hell not! And he’s kind of being held by… he, uh, he’s not even sure what to call John. Not a stray, despite, yes, he’s helping him, but… didn’t he just say equal deal… Isn’t that what you have with a friend? Does he for once actually have a friend? That feels so strange. And now his brain ran away from the question again, didn’t it?
Ugh, Quincy outpost, you are as good at being scatterbrained as Quincy central is at being single track. Okay, come on, you have a pretty head for more than that fabulous hair of yours. And it’s not just, uh, his friend, it’s also Cycy, his queen of the night with her wings around him. She said she’ll protect him, she showed him how much in control she lets him be. With her, no, there’s nothing scary to showing his own emotions.
So where to start?
He starts by talking about how the world always felt like it’s after him. Always trying to push its greyness into his heart, trying to make him dull and cold and just less. He’s fought so hard, so bloody hard, to push back. To not let it make him bitter. To hold his own torch as high as he could despite the trouble it always got him in. But… and now he does shudder and curl himself a bit into his Cycy and his darling.
But what if it’s not the world, but his own blood and heritage? They saw his… grandfather today. Icy cold, beautiful perfection. He doesn’t want to be like that. He wasn’t even screaming at his mother. Accusing and vengeful, but cold through it all. That was nothing short of Quincy’s worst nightmare.
What if he has the capacity for that in him? What if that’s what he feels when it seems the grey world is pushing on him, when there are the worst cool whispers in the back of his mind? He could feel himself cackle internally in the morning at his grandfather wresting control away from the house spirit, showing that he is more powerful than the sluggish Seelie. That insult made perfect sense to him, even though he never heard it before. Is that his actual nature asserting itself?
Is he chained to that fate? He doesn’t want to! He’s… scared.
There, he bloody said it! He admitted to it! And oh Divine, looks like he’s getting a reward for it. Cycy is a burning fire of protective love. He can feel her claws at his side, and she’s growling so very, very loudly and he’s not sure he’s hearing all of it with his ears.
Not that his darling is any better at all. If not for Cycy between them, he thinks he might get a few ribs broken from how much of a bear hug he’s currently getting here. Phew, breathing is overrated, he likes this!
Especially because, and that part makes him chuckle, John outright smacks him over the head for how much utter bullshit (his formulation) that fear is. He’s a dhampir, he has more heart than brains as is! Maybe he should hiss at that, but it’s said with so much affection, that’s plain sweet. John… likes him? Oh be still, you fickle heart, you, oh, huh, no, not romantic anyway, what is this weird warm feeling? Friendship, he supposes… Weird, but… Oh bloody hell, fine, thank you.
And Darcy is declaring that she’ll protect him from any and all fey and chains and what not, she (really, now you blush about that?) loves him and nobody hurts somebody she loves!
There is definitely a bit of pain underneath John’s laugh at that declaration, but he does tell him there, he’s been told. Quincy doesn’t like that pain in his… friend’s voice one bloody bit. Oh no, not on his watch. And really, this is ridiculous! He’s a molly, it’s not as if he’ll ever be able to love her back properly, and that idiot clearly is blind, because how in her right mind can she not be in love with John?!
Idiots, the both of them. John isn’t trying hard enough, or there’s something else wrong. Not to worry honeys, he’s here and he will fix this idiotic situation! And hey, it’s just fair then, he’ll help them, they help him, so he brings up a more specific problem of his: The fact that Cobb gifted him the bloody theatre in Whitby.
~
Gregory did fucking what?! John has no idea how many times he’s now said that he’s fucking had it with the cat. Then his brain gives him far, far too devious a thought for his own liking. He doesn’t like that he knows exactly that this is what his father would have thought, but then again, does he feel bad about it? No… not really. And he didn’t spend a gleeful afternoon compiling all the incriminating financial evidence against the knight postulant for nothing. This is just the latest nail in the dolt coffin. “So you are telling me I have perfect blackmail material against him?”
~
While Darcy is still blinking, Quincy tries really, really hard not to purr at John. Seriously, he’d insult Darcy’s taste if she wasn’t enamoured with him, because girl, open your eyes! Loyal and dedicated is one thing, but smart and ruthless for you on top, that one’s such a keeper! So he confirms, yes, he has. If he lets him get to his room quickly, he’ll deliver the incriminating piece of documentation right away.
And he would have, with a spring in his step and grin, if Darcy hadn’t whimpered that this is all her fault. She’s so sorry, she knows that Quincy is with Gregory, and she said it’s okay since she has her own affair, but she didn’t mean for Quincy to get hurt by it. She never can manage to be a good wife, not even when she’s enabling her husband in his affair. She’s trying so hard to be good, but she always gets it wrong, she probably deserves being punished again. At least then she’d know what to do better.
Somebody hold Quincy’s horses and beer and whichever other sayings there are because what the Divine forsaken prolapsed asshole did she just say?!
Point one, ew! Point two, he is nobody’s affair like that! Cobb, or kitten, is his patron. The idiot he has around his little finger to finance his career, and frankly, he is starting to think the idiot is far too much of an arse to be worth even that much effort! He is in no way, shape, or otherwise with Cobb. Ew, again.
“Cycy, I don’t know what happened that you ended with that utter failure on every possible social front, but for Divine’s sake, punishment?!”
He finds the look of utter shock and discomfort mirrored on John’s face. Good! And wait a moment… he can work with that! A grin spreads on his face and he winks over Darcy’s head at his darling.“Now, I know you try to be a good wife and that this grey world gives women the worst ideas about what that means on the front of the husband having the right to punish his wife. But you know, rights come with responsibilities. A proper marriage contract lays those out and rights only are granted when responsibilities are fulfilled. Or in other words, a husband’s rights only fall to the man who also fulfils the responsibilities. And well, I might not be anybody’s affair like you thought with Cobb, but Cycy, I am your affair. I have to be, because well, that darling hunk over there has been taking his responsibilities very seriously. So how about you ask the man who really should be your husband about what he thinks of punishment?”