Chapter 6
Previously: Obsidian: Crystal Heart – Chapter 5
How the hell can Darcy be a napping mess? Quincy could bounce out the coach! And it’s barely an hour until the new century. A whole new century of possibilities and new inventions that might become luxuries, and he actually believes he’ll see most, maybe all, of it! The ball has him buzzing with eager energy and the thought of, yes, winning against the Divine, making it into the century well-dressed, with an affair rather than just a stray, and maybe most surprisingly, a friend, has him terribly tempted to run up to the roof just to flip the heavens off before he does anything else.
But they left Arthur alone and worried for them, and Darcy said something about Swiss chocolate from a pen pal, so instead of heading up to the roof, he’s holding the door for his darling, who is carrying Darcy. And shouting an elated good evening at Arthur as soon as they’ve made it into the library, only for their exalted leader to mumble that the solarium still has the cosy setup, she wanna cuddle in front of the fire and look up through the glass ceiling as they count the century out of existence.
Quincy has no objections to that, so after a quick hug to Arthur just to show him that yes, they’re all fine, he runs on and sets up the cuddle area. Pillows! Pillows for everybody and where is that fondue set Darcy was talking about? Thanks, house spirit! (He leaves the thought of ‘you weird Seelie thing’ unsaid.)
Right, hell, nearly forgot to check in on his mother. Well, with Darcy slowing John down, he should have time to quickly run over anyway. He leaves Arthur in charge of the fondue, stir that or it’s going to be clumpy, and that won’t do whatsoever for sneaking some of it for a decadent cocoa.
Turns out he needn’t have bothered, his mother halfway doesn’t notice him until he puts a hand on her arm. He startles back at her red eyes as they turn on him, before she smiles and explains that she’s trying to keep up with the goings on over at the vampire court. That’s her best friend trying to crown herself vampire queen, after all.
Sure, Quincy is curious, but that’s second hand spectatorship, and boo, not enough pathos, so he accepts the kiss and promise that she’ll come over shortly when the connection will be cut because her husband can’t run in and out of the Court to give her updates anymore at the height of the political event.
Fine by him, that means that in time for countdown he’s already been curled up with Cycy and his darling for a while, managed to coax Arthur to cuddle up on his free side and all of them laughing at Darcy not wanna human anymore and just be a wolf blanket across all of them. That Swiss chocolate isn’t to her taste anyway, so no loss there and more for the rest of them.
With his head leaned back so that he can see the stars through the glass ceiling, Quincy counts down with a wide grin. Bring it on, 20th century, it’ll be his! No more fear of his criminal record, no more patron chain, no more conviction he’ll die in prison or the streets. The world is his thanks to Cycy having dragged him into the darkness. Where else would his flame shine brightest?
His triumph is the tiniest bit ruined when something else is bright. Namely, the sudden glitter around a young woman, standing in the door of the solarium right at the strike of midnight. Even as Quincy is still stuck staring in surprise, he feels Darcy struggle to jump and put herself between them, but he doesn’t know, something… that sense of touching with eyes closed he has, somehow he’s not worried, and what the woman says makes him tilt his head in disbelief but suspicion.
“And that is returned in 13 years, 4 days, 6 hours and 23 seconds.”
That peculiarity about exact numbers, and it is kind of the right hair colour, and, unbidden, he kind of recognises that eyebrow shape as Harker’s, Quincy blinks and stands up. “Little honey?”
“Correct.”
Now that does sound like his little sister, but the way she moves over, fluid and confident, and then goes so far as to put a kiss on his chee,k has him all but splutter. He wonders if her eyes will be yellow if he looks closely enough. She is tall, extra for wearing heels, and shoo, really not the right moment to gleefully hope that’s another indicator of how tall he’ll get. Wait… get, future, she’s older than him?! Now it sinks in, she said thirteen years, yes, she’s older than him. His little sister is older than him and just what the hell?
Clearly, his emotion is written all over his face, because, okay, yes, still very much in his little (is that big?) sister’s manner, she calls him out for it. It’s all perfectly logical apparently. Their grandfather sent her back with a gift for their mother, and furthermore she would like to offer her services as a lawyer, in case he has forgotten, the law firm is in her name now and she couldn’t have run it as a child, now could she?
He… supposes she couldn’t have. Still, how is she feeling, is she alright… and yes, what John said, does she need help?
Apparently he’s being illogical again, and the gulf that has always been there between him and his sister widens in his mind. He has no idea who this person is anymore. His mother can be calm and collected, too, but this, this is inhuman.
He realises that what it is: Fey. Their grandfather made his little sister fey, and now he feels only worse about being glad it was her, not him, who got kidnapped.
Her cold insistence that she is perfectly fine, and better than before, makes his skin crawl under her even gaze. Cold and measured out of that face that might just as well be on a statue for all the lack of rich life it has. He suspects that he could try his hardest and her eyes still would never open up to be portals to the Divine, because there will never be passion in them. For anything.
Divine but he doesn’t want to be around her! She creeps him out as badly as his grandfather did. Still, he refuses to let her get to their mother on her own, so he escorts her over, glad for having his own escort, because of course his lovelies don’t let him do this alone, and, not wanting to be left behind, even Arthur is coming along.
Apparently his mother was on the way to them already, they meet in the library, but the smile and gentle tease that she thought he wouldn’t even notice her being late turn to shock as he points out that he wouldn’t have if his sister didn’t interrupt them.
Somehow, it’s reassuring that his mother seems as emotional about this as he is. She’s not like his grandfather, and as long as she can relate to him, he has at least one thing in the world that will always make sense. One pillar to run back to when he needs to regroup. That’s what mothers are there for, after all. Maybe she can even help his sister?
Only that his sister takes both her hands and then, that is so the wrong way round, puts a kiss on their mother’s forehead as Mother has done every time they did something right. What is that supposed to mean?
“Mother!” he hears himself yell as his mother stumbles, would have fallen if not for his sister’s grip on her hands. Her eyes flash yellow and her normally calm expression breaks into a thousand shards of obvious confusion.
As he jumps to shove Lucy Jr away from his mother and hold her up more gently, he can’t believe his sister’s words. “I should have talked to Mother about the law firm before giving her Baba’s gift. I suppose several millennia of fey memories might be breaking her partially-human mind right now. That would be unfortunate.”
“Are you bloody shitting me?” That’s far from the most explicit thing he wants to hurl at her face, but luckily, he has a snarling and grunting wall of his lovelies close in front of him, shielding him so he can focus on holding his mother up. He’s not the one who does defence, he needs to see what he can do for his mother. Not that she reacts to anything. He has to shove her to the closest chair and push her to sit down. She’s rambling under her breath and staring right through him.
~
John can’t fucking believe that he’s standing here considering if he has to punch Quincy’s little sister. It’s been only a fucking week since he helped babysit her! He got along great with her, she was a weird but quiet kid, easy to entertain once he got the rules down for what she liked.
Now she’s giving them all a look as if they are in the wrong here. What the fuck is wrong with her?
Whatever is wrong with all fey, he supposes. Not as if John’s ever met a fey that didn’t deserve to be punched for one thing or another. He’s worried for Mrs Basarab, but he’s not taking his eyes off the person who did this, taking care of people isn’t his strength, he’ll leave that up to his bro.
Not that Lucy Jr, (if that really, really is her,) isn’t all calm now, explaining that it’s really a very generous gift but as all things, it comes with a price. If her mother is strong enough, she’ll regain herself. “Now, as it is the middle of the night, we may as well begin the contract for my legal services, as I cannot go and see to my firm at this time.”
Fey, fucking fey!
Clearly, Darcy agrees with him, given that she’s more interested in growling than polite negotiations. He’s not sure what he thinks of the idea of Lucy Jr offering to be their lawyer anyway. Sure, they kind of need a new one, but uh, okay, actually, he doesn’t think he trusts fey lawyers any more or less than human ones, they all are trying to trick you. At least with fey, you kind of know the kinds of tricks, maybe this isn’t even the worst idea, but still, what the fuck?
Uh, double what the fuck?! Sudden winter storm, out of absolutely nowhere! Sudden winter storm that decides to get the clouds through the window cracks inside their fucking hallway?
Oh… vampire, okay, right, this is his life now, he remembers.
Wait, it’s only been a few minutes?! How fast is that Basarab guy? In any case, he’s over at his wife’s side basically instantaneously, and that John can definitely respect. Good husband, apart from… fuck, he knows the way Basarab is balling a fist there.
Sure, he understands that the man is loudly demanding an explanation from Lucy Jr and not getting any less angry at her words, but no, John doesn’t want to be able to read all the cues. No, he doesn’t want to see his own father in the man. No, he doesn’t want to see the temper and the brimming aggression, ever closer to boiling over. No, he doesn’t want to feel as helpless as he did with his own father, but what can he do against a centuries-old vampire?
Stand by his bro’s side! And fuck the danger!
Even while John was feeling small and powerless, his bro let go of Mrs Basarab and pushed himself between Basarab and his little sister. John can see that Quincy’s hands are shaking, too, but he won’t, he can’t let him stand alone, so he takes up position right next to him, ready with a blast of his dreamscape if all else fails.
But his bro is using his own weapons: Words. And a tone that’s so disappointed and accusing it even cuts sideways slightly as Quincy hisses at his father that he won’t have it. “Stop looking like Harker! You aren’t even her father, and that means you have even less of a right to your bloody male entitlement to violence. Use your words if you are angry! Back off, or you’ll go through… John and Darcy first, and I’m never going to speak a word to you again. I refuse to be around any father figures who think they get to shove wives and children around!”
~
Quincy feels like he’s coiled tight around something inside of him, there is the strangest sense of fur that, for once, isn’t Cycy. But he had to do this. He is so bloody done with any men deciding for their families. No, he isn’t giving Basarab any slack just because of having had an idiot dhampir crush on him. He wanted to coo at him for rushing over so fast to see to his wife, but that privilege went out the window the second he pulled that big, scary guy routine to get what he wanted.
All of a sudden, it hurts a little bit less that his mother stole the man he thought was his best chance at ever being in love. Any man he should love doesn’t come with that bloody male entitlement to speaking with violence over words. No thank you very much!
And it works, he can see the anger crumble right in front of his eyes. If anything, his father (ugh, he’ll not get over that any time soon yet) looks scared and maybe even proud. More importantly, he’s backing down. Shaking his head gently, placatingly and pointedly turns away from Lucy Jr, instead walks over to Mother.
Yes, now that, that is a better man. Quincy can see the care in the way he cradles Mina close and insists that he needs to take her with him, keep her safe. He has to rush back, the election is at its most critical and Lucy needs his support. But he couldn’t ignore the attack on his family.
Quincy can see the underlying apology in the way Basarab looks at him. Ugh, fine, yes, he may go and it’s alright now. But seeing his father lift his mother up to carry her away still makes him tense. He can’t lose her to become like his little sister, that thought terrifies him. So, despite it sounding a bit too much like a whimper even to his own ears, he tells his father to please help his mother, to let him know if there is anything he can do.
It’s only a nod from his father, but this time, he’s struck by how much emotion is even in that, and no, down, he just said it doesn’t hurt that much anymore that he can’t have him. Still, his heart aches for a moment before he can shove it back. He has Cycy and really, she has just as many emotions and is so much more willing to hand them all to him. Could his heart please stop to always try to run back to the man he can never and should never have?
Or maybe he keeps going back there, even as he sees his father round the corner to the library, hears the door on the mezzanine close behind him, because otherwise he has to face the possibility of that being the last time he saw his mother and that’s even scarier. Scarier because now he’s left here with what might be his sister. His cold sister, his sister who might be a window into his own future, or his mother’s future, and that freaks him out.
Luckily, his darling can clearly see that. The man is far, far too observant, he knows him too well, and shoo, heart, you fickle thing, don’t get any idiot ideas of jumping from one impossible target to the next. That would be a disaster and frankly, having an actual friend is such a new and sweet experience, he doesn’t want to taint it.
But in any case, yes, John knows him. He’s growling at Lucy Jr that it’s far too late and the day was too long. They are not doing any important paperwork now. Darcy needs rest. All of them do. Her old bed in the London house should still be set up. She can stay the night there and they can discuss everything in the morning.
Quincy can so hear the unsaid ‘fuck off’ underneath John’s words, and that puts a smile on his face. Well, that, and the actual reason why he said that John knows him too well: John is shooing at him to take care of Arthur.
Yes, yes, his darling so knows that he calms down best when he can see to somebody else and frankly, he needs it! So he looks over to Arthur, who, oh Divine, right, was already feeling shit about how often they can only stand at the side and not do anything when the Divine throws stones at them.
Yes, he can so see that Arthur is indeed in need of being taken care of and nothing seems sweeter to calm his own nerves.
~
1 Jan 1900
Quincy never thought that he’d be glad to be back to sorting correspondence! But here he is, gladder than ever to play secretary. Breakfast was, at the absolute minimum, awkward, his sister complaining about the delay and that they could very well have done this yesterday.
Bah, not as if she didn’t apparently write out the entire bloody contract yesterday anyway! She hardly let them finish breakfast, apparently they are too late and slow with it. Maybe he can see Harker in her after all. At least, that level of standing on punctuality and protocol and what not feels like familiar bile in his mouth.
Nevertheless, they all read the bloody thing over, twice over, but not even Arthur could find anything in it and Darcy really kind of needs a new lawyer, so she did end up signing it. And growling all the way through the thing lighting up and vanishing into her skin. Now, if Quincy could get rid of that seriously weird feeling of jealousy at his sister that gave him, he’d be so very happy, and no, he doesn’t want to understand it, he doesn’t want to think about it either.
He’s just glad she’s out of the house, and if he doesn’t have to see her in a long while that will be too soon, still. Ugh!
Maybe Arthur had the right idea, after the contract signing he asked if he could take the rest of the day off. Quincy didn’t even need to back him up, (the poor thing was done with the world yesterday evening, too,) before Cycy, obviously, all but kicked him out of the room. He should enjoy that treehouse tăticu (really, really girl?!) made him. The idea of being alone somewhere with just himself and the Divine sounds bloody nice but then, okay, he’ll admit it, correspondence sorting or not, he maybe, just maybe, doesn’t actually want to be anywhere else than with Cycy and his darling.
He knows that the reward for all the work will be cuddling and story picking, maybe some lovely, lovely good night threesome (no, he still keeps his hands off John, of course, but ever since they discovered Cycy’s dirty-talking fetish, they have the best vocal sparring matches,) and then dreamscape drama galore. It’s such a great evening routine that he just might not want to change anything about it for at least a good few weeks before he’ll probably get antsy and need a change. Or maybe just another stray. He’ll decide then. After he helped John to win Cycy’s heart. He should have it.
With all the daydreaming about his evening plans, Quincy nearly missorted the grainy letter. Paper that cheap normally is routine stuff: Using the estate’s cider press, updates about cattle that technically belongs to the barony, that kind of thing. But when he’s about to put it down on the stack, the texture on his fingers feels off, so he takes a look after all. Oh, that’s dried seawater, he thinks. Still cheap paper, but no, not just a note, that’s a letter.
Their fingers nearly brush when he resorts it right as John reaches for the top of the requests pile. With a grin between them, Quincy waggles his eyebrows and fingers. “Trying to make me swoon with the little gestures of affection?”
“In your dreams, Molly!”
John can try to sound gruff all he wants, Quincy knows that glint in his eye. He’s not the only one looking forward to their evening. Oh, he could just look at that dear face for a while and once more marvel at himself, because, sure, John would be such a bloody catch of a guy, but no, he’s his friend, and that’s precious and rare and he wants to make very, very sure he doesn’t lose it.
Still absently looking at John’s face, half daydreaming about working that nice chin out with a bit of makeup and half wondering how the stubble would feel against his lips if he was allowed to give him an affectionate peck, Quincy notices the shift in expression. The way John’s eyebrows come down and those ice-blue beacons of determination narrow, so he asks what has his darling so disgruntled.
Of course, at first he only gets a grunt back, but he thinks that’s John’s ‘not sure yet but it sucks’-grunt, Quincy’s still cataloguing this manly-man morse system. It takes Cycy also looking for John to put the letter down and explain that it very well might be tax fraud, but it’s a fishing village saying it needs a tax break, it can’t pay because their men are dead or lost at sea.
Quincy shakes himself and swats at John because that sounds gruesome!
“If it’s real, sure. But I’ve seen more than one supposedly lame horse and oxen miraculously starting to walk when we investigated.”
Okay, barony work is just the worst, Quincy decides right there, but still, that means they have to go and check up on this, doesn’t it? In… he checks the address on the letter and, right, what did he expect? He never heard about the place, it’s a worse hicktown than Whitby, because why wouldn’t it be? It takes them half an hour to even find it on the map, but then it’s not that far away.
John is giving the stack of letters a look, then the map, and finally asks if that’s just him who would prefer to maybe have a stupid investigation to sitting in the study. At least it’s doing something, anything’s better than paperwork.
Now, Quincy doesn’t fully agree, but if it’s between sitting here alone and doing the social correspondence without having somebody to bounce his amazing quips off of and coming along on a roadtrip with his lovelies, fine, he could be convinced. For the right price.
Cycy is giggling hard at him for that, she knows exactly what he wants, and John might be rolling his eyes at him but still snorts. “Fine, dreamscape spa day it is. You’re the most spoiled dhampir there could ever possibly be!”
“I’m afraid that title goes to Cycy, because she gets to be spoiled by being loved by a man like you, darling.” Score, that line made John full on cough and rub his neck while Cycy is blushing but agreeing. That goes right on his ‘get them together’ win-list.
Having to get ready for a longer ride in the middle of winter does not get on any positive lists though, ew! At least he doesn’t feel the cold any more, but really, really, this is how he has to spend the first day of the new century? The indignity! He should force Cycy and his darling to take him out to some big production in London to make up for it.