Chapter 22
Previously: Obsidian: Crystal Heart – Chapter 21
John’s glad for not being the type of person who’s groggy when waking up. Might be his dream power, but he’s perfectly capable of thinking like he got switched on. Or, maybe, his mind just never fully sleeps, he just switches from where he is.
In either case, it’s very fucking helpful to be like that when the knock wasn’t really loud enough to fully wake you, but definitely loud enough for your puppy to instinctually realise that it must be Arthur and Arthur knocking this early must mean something is wrong and tumbling out of bed, ready to run to the door as is. ‘As is’ being buttfucking naked.
“Darcy! Stop! Sit!”
Good, that worked, she’s literally sitting down on the spot at his shout. Problem is, now the other drac also woke up, yawning and calling to the door that he’ll be over in a moment. Yeah, no, John doesn’t think so, that one is still sleep-groggy and just as buttfucking naked. (Okay, John can’t help the snort because, well, on the Molly, ‘buttfucking naked’ sounds naughtier. Accurate, but still.) So that’s another round of drac wrestling. “No, you don’t. You couldn’t find your way into your robe if you tried. Stay in bed. I got this.”
There, that solves that, Quincy turns and snoozes on, his bro can be perfectly selfish if allowed to. Okay, now to call to the door that they have it settled in here. Where is his own morning robe? Uh… fuck, that thing doesn’t have a high enough collar… a quick glance to the mirror tells John that, yes, just as he expected, his neck and shoulders… and okay, apparently one on his chest, too, is covered in hickeys. Well, the shoulders and chest parts he can hide, but if he stands in the door with his robe held up to his chin… nope, there’s one on his jaw, too, fuck. Okay, no hiding today. He supposes he has to really hand it to Quincy, so far he didn’t get caught, but that’s apparently really thanks to Quincy’s makeup skills.
Nothing for it. John has no clue how to put that stuff on and no time, so Arthur will have to deal. He ruffles Darcy’s hair where she’s still sitting on the floor when he walks past her and throws her robe over her, too, before Arthur happens to get the wrong angle through the door and combusts from not just hickeys but naked drac. Looking over his shoulder, well, thank fuck for small favours: their Molly, for once, doesn’t have his legs and naked butt visible but under the blankets.
Okay, extra nice smile now, have to be nice to the kid, uh, man- Arthur, in any case. John opens the door to see what’s going on and wishes Arthur a good morning, what can they do for him?
~
Arthur heard John’s voice just fine through the wood of the door- it’s not that thick- and it sounds like he really woke them, so he’s already blushing by the time John opens the door.
“I’m sorry, um, I didn’t mean to wake you,” he says, even though John doesn’t look mad. Still, Arthur’s eyes dart down after a short look up. “Um, there’s this letter, but I’m probably being silly…” He proffers the letter in question, feels more stupid and awkward than ever- he really should just have looked into it first – and then sees the bruise on John’s neck.
Which is a weird spot for a bruise. Should he offer to heal it? How did it even get there?
Which is when he realises what it has to be: a hickey. Why they have extra names when they look exactly like bruises, he’s never understood, and Gregory has never explained, only laughed at him and told him he’ll understand when he’s older, but anyway… at least he’s already blushing?
Suddenly, talking about the letter seems a lot less awkward, in comparison. “It’s from the Order of Galahad, and… it got me worried that it’s bad news. I haven’t looked inside yet,” he admits.
~
“Oh for fuck’s sake, what did the dolt do now?” Taking the letter from Arthur and whistling for Darcy, John doesn’t hesitate to break the seal and open the thing, but hesitates with reading it when he feels Darcy against his legs. Good, wolf version, not too-sleepy-to-walk-on-two-legs-and-still-naked version. He pats her and tells her to go cuddle Arthur, which she obviously does only too happily. With the moral support delegated, John pulls the papers out of the envelope and starts reading.
Don’t cackle. Don’t cackle! That’s your bro’s territory.
He also thinks Arthur would only get more worried, but John has a really fucking hard time not to grin plain evilly. Will you look at that, those financial reports he sent about the dolt didn’t go unnoticed. And even more so, apparently, the order is overall very unhappy with his performance. He didn’t send in enough reports of active duty to allow for his absence at their training facilities. Oh, oh, this could be so good for them, perfect excuse to kick the fucker out of the house.
Still, poor Arthur is worried enough to wake them up for this, so with an enormous effort of will, John looks back up and says in as gentle a voice as he can manage: “Just the Order writing that Gregory needs to be more cautious with his money and that they expect to see him at their training facilities, he hasn’t been on enough active duty, so he can’t be excused from having to go to school.”
~
Having a sleepy wolf Darcy leaning against his legs and hip to cuddle would’ve made even bad news much easier to handle, but John’s words make Arthur expel a breath of relief. “That’s not so bad- right? They’re not going to kick him out of the order or court martial him or something?” Arthur’s not sure what bad consequences there could be, but Gregory’s not the most diligent one, so him running afoul of some kind of rules isn’t really surprising. “In which case, I’m extra-sorry I woke you up…”
~
With a chuckle, John reaches out to pat Arthur’s shoulder because that’s too much fuss over nothing bad. “You do realise I can get us back asleep with a snap? Not that Molly didn’t turn around and go right on being comfy anyway. Don’t worry about it. In fact…” Why not be nice? John whistles in three squeaks and then leans down to grab the still sleepy rat off the floor and sticks Darcy into Arthur’s chest pocket. “The dracs will sleep some more, but how about us two get started with the day? You get ready for your ride, I’ll do my workout in the stables?”
~
“Oh, right,” Arthur says as he realises how true it is that falling asleep is really no big deal with John around, then smiles at him, and rests a hand over the warm bulge in his pocket that’s already starting to give cute little rat snores. “Okay, let’s do that. It’s super-foggy, though, I’ll have to see if I can even see far enough.”
~
“Maybe you should join me in the workout instead then?” Not that John thinks Arthur really would. He’d be less dainty about it than Quincy, though. “Just let me find some trousers.” Seriously? Some days he thinks the Molly has some kind of fabric sense, that’s a sleepy pointed finger, yes, right where his trousers ended up. Not that he doesn’t appreciate that talent, but it’s still funny to him. “Out in a minute, go ahead.”
~
It is so hungry. Yes, there are plenty of snacks to be had in London, but they are so much more fragile than its dhampirs. There is no point in tuning them, they break so easily. It barely got really started and one of its last favourite snacks beat her husband to death, and then, instead of letting it bask in the helpless notes of the despair she swung into, to repay it for taking its other food source away, no, she threw herself out a window. Stupid Midgardians.
It just wants to gorge itself again. And its dhampirs are right there. It even almost, almost got at Quincy this morning. Left alone to sleep, finally, by the dream walker. But he must have sensed it, because he woke up and went straight back to the dream walker’s side.
But now- now! It perks up the small, invisible form’s triangular ears. They are talking about going to the hunter’s house to research something: Arthur, John, and Quincy.
They are going to leave Darcy alone. Alone and undefended.
It has to seize this opportunity. And maybe… maybe it can improve the opportunity.
It has an idea to keep them busy. An idea that might sow some delicious emotions. An idea that might even, at the very best, rid it of Arthur and the dream walker.
It teleports away. It must hurry to set things in motion.
~
Oh fine, Quincy can be the better man. And really, it’s not as if he is used to just walking into noble residences. The butler has a point. The house is still evacuated from when Radu waltzed in thanks to Darcy. So really, it’s a reasonable reaction that he says he’s in no position to let anybody he doesn’t know into the house at the moment. Quincy was along to give Arthur social backup if they needed to present some more elaborate lies on the spot, but with the place apparently being empty but for one person, Quincy doubts Arthur would get much distraction anyway.
Fine. He bows and smiles amiably and lets himself get turned away from the door. It’s a nice enough area, he’ll stroll around. In what he’s wearing, nobody should immediately decide he needs investigation. And… after that vision, no, even if the police shows up, they can suck it. He’s not afraid of them anymore.
Hey, maybe there’s even a cute little closeted noble molly around here for a quick good deed. In either case, it’s bright daylight, too, so Quincy won’t worry too much about Radu. Not even with the mention of the vampire scare the household had. And he remembers his vision of Radu.
That one still puzzles him. Maybe it’s the one he’s the most disturbed by.
The look in those golden eyes.
The way Radu ran away when he shouted at him.
Maybe there’s more to that. Maybe there’s more to this man who let Darcy dream again. But that’s neither helpful nor fruitful right now. Nope, strolling through the fancy part of town it is for the moment.
~
John can appreciate protecting a household, but he doesn’t like the way the butler looks at Quincy as he strolls off. If that guy is making one comment about their molly, he doesn’t care if that’s Godalming’s butler- nobody is being an arse to one of his dracs!
Uh… yeah, that’s a comment alright. Just not the one he thought. If he wasn’t ready to explode at Gregory for this, (what the ever loving fuck was he thinking?!… okay, that’s a moot question, there’s nothing going on in that skull,) he’d be tempted to laugh.
The fucking butler seriously pulled them into the house, did something or other that John suspects to be magic, and lets them know that they’ll be safe in here. The knight postulant had the fortunate chance to let him know of the situation in their household. He’s aware that the man he could turn away is the vampire who infiltrated them. The hunter sigil should have rid them of the mindcraft. Now, if they just stay here, Gregory, and surely his order, are in pursuit by now.
John’ll need more time to figure out what the fuck is going on here, but right now, there are two things that loom huge in his mind: Keep Darcy safe and keep Quincy safe!
That means, 1) he has to run out after Quincy as fast as he can in case Gregory is pulling this shit as a cover for murdering Quincy in jealousy, and, 2) give Arthur a chance to still get the info on the hunters that are after his dhampirs. Okay, use all those years of abuse to put on a perfect poker face and play along.
He doesn’t need to manage for long. He just also needs to get Arthur to play along. Right, that first, he’s gotten more than enough practice in lately. Pushing his power outwards, he makes sure the butler is in a closed little daydream bubble, (not that whatever hunter stuff he has blocks that,) and then gives Arthur a very quick summary of what his plan is. The kid looks about as ‘the fuck?’ as him, but he’s also smart, so yes, they agree to try this.
Once John drops the dream field again, he doesn’t even need to pretend he’s angry. He’s furious, just not really at Quincy. But he is the official head of security for the Westenra household. He, (supposedly,) supports Gregory in his knightly duties. He cannot abandon his post like this now that his mind is finally clear again! No, he doesn’t care about his own safety in this. This vampire might endanger the lady!
He will go out there!
But Arthur should stay, he is the scholar, he is sure to find something if given the chance to look through the materials Lord Godalming has here.
Thanking the butler for his assistance and making a show of patting Arthur’s shoulder, John really feels like there’s coals under his heels. This is taking too fucking long. He knows how fast Gregory can teleport if he wants to. Quincy could be in mortal danger right now, and he’s playing around here!
Luckily, there’s only so much protest the butler can produce, and John doesn’t really listen to it anyway. He’s out that door and glad for every single morning he’s been jogging around the stables so he can sustain his dash down the street he saw Quincy turn into. Just about to start mentally yelling the neighbourhood down for his molly, John feels the electricity in his veins crash with relief when he spots their resident beanpole even at a good bit of distance ahead and half hidden between some other walkers.
Thank fuck for that red hair being impossible to overlook!
He’s still rushing after him, running hard to catch up, just in case he relaxes a second too early. John very nearly does a Darcy style jump tackle at Quincy, but manages to just about slow down in time, even more so because Quincy must have sensed him. He’s turned around and looks so fucking concerned already long before John is in range. But no, it’s just them. John asks. The fucking cat isn’t about.
~
Arthur has no idea what’s going on. Why would Gregory claim such a thing about Quincy? Why would he go ahead of them without talking to them? It makes not the least amount of sense. And try as he might, he can’t figure out a way in which this could be a misunderstanding.
Not that he’s seen much of Gregory recently, and certainly not this morning.
What the hell?
And also, even if Quincy were the vampire in question, what’s with this magic sigil that Art’s butler used? It didn’t smell particularly intense, and surely, if mind control were that easily broken, Art would’ve told them?
He hauls his concentration back forcefully, but he’s not sure what he’s looking for here, what he’s supposed to be finding. He takes some notes on mentions of hunter families he comes across, but how would they determine which ones attacked them? It’s not like they’re wearing uniforms or convenient name tags or something.
He’s glad when John returns after about half an hour, because while he would have liked to have found something useful, it doesn’t look likely and Gregory’s weird behaviour is bugging him. What if Radu has actually gotten to him and this is some sort of vampire plot? Trying to turn them against each other or whatever? He wants to discuss it with the others, which he can’t do if he’s alone in this house, now odd and echoing with only the butler there.
When John returns, he looks out of breath and dishevelled and like he has a bruise or something, maybe, growing on his face. And Arthur’s pretty sure he wouldn’t get that from Quincy, playing along or not- it’s Quincy. Since John is all: “Fucker gave me the slip,” and “Gregory’s still in pursuit. Galahad reinforcements on route to the castle, though,” and: “We need to regroup there. Can’t leave the lady alone. Arthur, come, no time to waste. Better to travel during daylight,” Arthur concludes it’s all fake somehow.
He does his best to make the right noises of agreement, and thanks the butler and whatnot, and gladly runs out after John’s half-jog.
They find Quincy around two street corners and shortly, they’re back in a cab to Arthur’s house.
And the bruise really is fake, because Quincy busies himself cleaning it off, which John tolerates with grumbling. Arthur might be wrong, but he thinks Quincy is nervous and doing the cleaning to calm himself down, and John isn’t actually grumbling at him, but just because he’s worried, too. They all agree that they haven’t seen Gregory for days, and that this is really weird. John and Quincy seem very sceptical of Arthur’s idea that maybe it was Radu mind controlling Gregory into it, and Arthur admits he doesn’t find it a very good or convincing idea, either, he just doesn’t have any better ones.
But he has a sick feeling in his stomach, and Quincy agrees that he also thinks something really bad is going on. And then he says that he felt scared of Gregory a few times now.
Which… Scared of Gregory? Well, there’s the tiger form…
They don’t get to discuss this further because they arrive at the house, and Arthur can feel the impatience jittering through all of them as they get the cab driver paid and pile in through the door, up the narrow, creaking stairs, and through to the library. His own stomach is hollow and in knots at the same time.
Darcy isn’t in the library. But when they run out into the hall, Arthur can hear yowling and whining from the direction of the kitchen even before Quincy calls: “That way!”
As soon as they’re out the backdoor in the kitchen, Arthur can distinguish that it’s not just the puppies, but also the cats and even the squeaking of the rodents.
John is cursing as they run full-out, but then Arthur leaves him behind to reach the splash of red hair where Darcy lies, on the ground, fallen, half out the door of the animal hospital. Four of the puppies are milling around her, making distressed noises and licking at her.
Arthur crashes to his knees, and maybe he shouts her name, but he’s not sure because his concentration is on pulling up his healing. He sets a hand on her shoulder and shoves with the magic.
Except it has nowhere to go.
The spell collapses, leaving Arthur dizzy for a moment, disoriented. Darcy’s shoulder feels cold beneath his palm, even through her dress, and there’s a puppy trying to climb onto his back. Then Darcy stirs weakly, makes a sound like she wants to say something, and John arrives.
~
Fuck! That’s both a thought and a loud exclamation, only better underscored by Quincy’s shriek at the sight. But John has a far-too-dark a suspicion and fuck if he shocks Arthur, but this… this is like that time when Darcy hardly could make it out of bed. Just even worse. But when he crouches down and checks if he has one more fucking reason to plot murder, no, Darcy’s legs this time aren’t blood smeared.
That does exactly nothing to make him suspect Gregory any less. She’s been lethargic before, been it most every morning until Quincy arrived… Until Gregory stopped raping her every shit morning! Yes, okay, he’s furious alright! But he’s done this so often. That’s his girl. He knows how to help her. At least he hopes so. This is far worse than it has ever been before.
Her skin is clammy, she can’t even focus her eyes on them when he tries to gently rouse her, she’s so fucking cold that he shivers when he pets her face. Still, if he knows one thing about his girl, then its that she probably is asking them to make sure the animals are safe, so he kisses her forehead. “Yes, culver, I know. I’ll check on everybody. Your sang du coeur is going to take care of you. It’s going to be alright. You’ve always gotten better again, even if this time he did more than ever before.”
No, shoo, that dipped too negative. He knows she has no capacity for negative right now. No, she needs encouragement and warmth and love. And one more thing, so he tells Arthur and Quincy: “Convince her that she isn’t just a victim. She needs that.”
~
He? Ever before? Who’s ‘he’ and what is this and if this has happened before, why has no one said anything?
Arthur’s sure there’s a reason, and it’s going to be one he utterly hates, but for now, he fishes the puppy out from behind his back, (Frimble,) and holds him in his arms to soothe him, and says: “I can’t heal this, whatever it is. I’ll go see if any of the animals are hurt.”
Because John is right, Darcy will want them to look after them, and she makes a little noise and relaxes a little in relief, he thinks.
So he scurries off to check on the fallen cages, and to close the door on the puppy pen so they can round them up again. Pops Frimble inside with another soothing ruffle to his soft, floppy ears, and then turns to the rats and mice first, because they’re the smallest and most fragile.
To his utter relief, none of them died. He heals broken tails and paws and shock, and feels an odd pressure in his chest, of some violent emotion, but he can’t tell which it is. Because those are his rats, too. He’s nursed them back from their poisoning so carefully, and it looks like someone pushed their cage over onto the floor.
~
Quincy knows that he’d prefer to be in a soft bed if he’d feel that terrible, but this is his forest goddess and John said to give her agency back. So no, no carrying her to bed. Instead, he lifts her up into his arms and listens to her thoughts as he helps her make a round of her beloved animal hospital. He had a suspicion, especially with the way John checked under her skirts. But it’s really that recurring thought of hers, that ‘feel empty’ and ‘smell that isn’t a smell’. Yeah, this was Gregory, this definitely was Gregory. The same bloody thing he did to Quincy on the roof on Christmas Eve. Quincy remembers being too weak to get down for hours after, too.
Together with what Gregory pulled on him today, no, this needs to be dealt with. He’s not the right person for that, though. Well, what does he have a living thunderstorm for a darling? John will protect them both, and Quincy can’t help the chuckle when that thought doesn’t make him hiss but instead gives him a warm feeling of comfort. How unlike him.
But before John can plan bloody revenge, they have to care Darcy better, and that’s his strength. It’s small decisions he can let her make, lifting her hands to specific animals she wants to pet, telling Arthur and John when she has input, and even taking requests on what he hums to her.
~