Fantasy 𝕸𝖚𝖗𝖉𝖊𝖗 𝖔𝖋 𝕾𝖔𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖐 - 𝓐 𝓥𝓲𝓬𝓽𝓸𝓻𝓲𝓪𝓷 𝓡𝓟

[SheLuvsMusic]

They held the burial the following evening just before dawn. A little plot had been dug up on the edge of camp, six feet down. Teresa’s human form was lost now, but they placed her small wolf cub body in a wooden box with a few of her personal affects – a brilliant red dress Eva would have liked to bury her in if it were possible, an ivory hair brush with a few yellow curls still clinging to the brussels. The last item was a children’s story book that Eva used to read with her on some nights, a small photo of the two of them tucked between the thin pages. They were things that Eva would miss dearly, but wolves could not needlessly keep every item of sentimental value. Instead, she’d clipped a bit of fur off her sister’s body and kept it safe in sound in a locket around her neck so she could take it with her wherever she went. It rested warm between her breasts now, as she stared at the cold bit of ground her sister would be buried in, the pack gathered round to say their final goodbyes.

Curtis stood beside her, his hand pressed into her shoulder as if to lend some support. In actuality it was she who was supporting him, the pack leader too weak from his illness to stand up for extended periods of time. She listened, vaguely, as he quoted some America Poet from his books he loved so much - “And we wept that one so lovely should have a life so brief” – and thought to herself how unfair it was that so much had been stolen from her in her own short life. Everything she had done up until now was for Teresa, and without her, even surrounded by the pack, she had never felt more like a failure and more alone.

They shared a moment of silence together as the lowered the box into the ground, then Eva quietly stepped up to toss the first fistful of dirt on her sister’s coffin. For a brief second, she thought about crawling down in there with her, just curling up around her body to go with her in death, where she could protect her from whatever demons were in the afterlife, to make up for her failures in the waking world. But that would be the easy way out, and Eva was not one to take the path of least resistance.

Tom walked up beside her. He tossed his own fistful of dirt onto the grave then turned to look at her solemnly. “This will not go unanswered,” he said. “When I discover who did this… Elijah, or the vampire responsible, they will-“

“Stop, Tom,” Eva said, putting a hand on his arm to silence him. While she didn’t particularly always like Tom, they had a strange bond. She’d been engaged to his brother before, and so he had always been a source of protection for her. Tom meant well, she just had too many secrets of her own to feel comfortable letting him handle this investigation. She was nervous about what he may turn up, even if she desperately needed answers herself. “Now’s not the time. I want to mourn my sister in peace. Can we talk about the investigation later?”

“Oh, yes,” he said. “I didn’t mean to… I’ll just let you be.” With a nod, he exited the scene. Soon he’d be meeting with the leech, Mr. Grey, anyway, to kick off that investigation. He wondered what he could expect from it. Minimal effort, no doubt. But Tom wanted results.

He went to his room, shut the door. Loosening his tie, he poured a glass of whiskey, then took a few sips to let the alcohol warm his blood. Truth was, he was nervous about this. To be alone with a vampire, especially one as irritating as Oliver Grey was just the tipping point. His species was possibly on the brink of war, and for his pack at least, he had to be the one to lead it. It was a lot for somebody so inexperienced to take on. What if he failed? He pondered this for a while as he waited for the sun to go truly down, sipping on his whiskey for liquid courage, then when the glass was finished, he toughened up and set out.

“Ah, yes, hello again,” he said, staring up at the familiar footman who answered his knock this time. “I’m here to see Mr. Grey. He’s to be expecting me.”

 

[s e v e n]

Do you dare?

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It would have been shameful to admit, or rather in his twisted way to perceive things it would have. To be uncharacteristically excited- many would know that this was not how Mr. Oliver Grey normally acts. Jesse, for instance, had been caught surprised (and equally amused) at several instances- Charles, not so much. Though perhaps it is not so unbefitting of him to crack stupid jokes, tease around and taking most things with a grain of salt, there was something that glinted behind his eyes. Eyes are the mirror of the soul, many claim, and while vampires are often soulless, fire lit behind the glass. After all, when was the last time things were as exciting? When the treaty was born, perhaps. Ironic.

Of course, were this a novel, the raven headed male would have seemed much more than suspicious, though what a dreadful story this would be were the villain so obvious? How poorly is the author indeed! However, a fact is that reality is very often stranger than fiction, and we shall prove that fact for ourselves as the tale continues. Much unfortunately for our beloved vampire, though, the rules of gothic literature has yet to apply in their time period- or perhaps any period at all, for who could really trust the words of a madman?

There has not been much hours to sleep that night, and Oliver had never been the type to easily fall asleep. The voices in his head did not help much, either, he almost regretted having not taken the offer to rest by the headquarter building. Instead, as the sun broke through his curtain the next morning, the man had found himself desperately lacking in sleep. Perhaps he had not slept at all, he could not really tell much for himself, regardless that exhaustion would hit much more later- he was no child after all.

Dressing up to the finest, there was no rule that stated for otherwise. He had the money, he had the tastes. Though he would still get very much upset if his attire were to be ruined, despite knowing for a fact that there is absolutely entirely no way that this would be a clean job. Millions of possibilites ran through his mind, and as he put on his hat he scowled. He could almost predict how his day would have gone, though at the same time, he had not the slightest idea how this quest would end. And he thought he liked surprises.

Upon his short notice of an arrival, Oliver had not yet the time to arrange a coachman for himself, nor any servants for that matter. There was much too little time, again, such unfortunate for his timing where he had simply longed for a nice, home visit to the city he has spent most of his life in. Things have changed, as he noted. The streets were much cleaner, that for one. The buildings, much taller. The streets have flooded in manners he had not seen before, too, the way the crowd stir frantically even by early morning.

Oliver placed his hand up, waving at the upcoming clarence -or growler as the youth say- towards his way. The driver over the carriage yanked back the reigns of the horse, hooves clicking against the concrete and the wheels- well, they growl. Much too big for one person, though the vampire would rather die (again) than take on a hansom cab. The standards that people put on themselves had not changed in the slightest- might as well drag oneself across the city on bare hands if one may. He was reminded of the days where cabs were not yet a thing- who would have known driving with a complete stranger would have been so convenient?

"Where to, my good sir?" the driver tipped his hat, a thick cockney accent escaping through his lips.

"Westminster, please. Er- Charring Cross." For heaven or hell forbid that he reveal their exact location. He found much use to refer to said intersection for anything, really. It leads to nearly just anywhere, with a perk of ambiguity to it. For the Union Headquarter to be located close to the Abbey is quite an amusing little detail, too. He wondered who came up with the idea.

"Charring Cross it is!" he beamed enthusiastically, stepping down from his seat to open the carriage door. "Must I say, sir, I do not really expect to see your sorts in these part of town. Ya see-"

The human male was stopped in his tracks by one look from the vampire. A chilling sensation perhaps, one he could not recognize. But he was wise enough to stop his words, swallowing them back. "Right," he muttered under his breath, tipping his hat forwards once more before he secured the latch to the door, hopping right back up towards the driver's seat and the carriage itself began to move.

Annoying, yet at least sensible. He had forgot how Londoners adore idle chats. Frankly to speak, despite all the time that a vampire might posesses, Oliver liked to think that he has no time to waste. Time is always off the essence, and he was never much of the patient type. This, despite his other principle that contradict this one entirely: that he hated to be on time. He must be late, a minute or five, or half an hour maybe.

It would not have been a long walk after that. Paying the man what is due, the carriage driving off to the distance. The rest of journey felt more of a blur as he soon faced himself, twice that day considering how late that night was, to the gates of their manor. The more he looked at it, the more suspicious it was. How was nobody questioning the purpose of this large building, in the middle of the city, still baffled him. A renovation is due, very soon.

Closing the gates behind him, he walked over towards the main door, where he saw the back of a man that was rather unfamiliar to him on first glance. He frowned. Again, he hated being on time. Perhaps they were just both late- Oliver considered hiding inside the bushes for fifteen minutes straight, were it not for his shoes.

Perhaps this could go in his favor regardless. A mischievous smile went up his lips. One of the things he adored for being a vampire is the way their footsteps would dissolve in the ground, as light as feather gliding through glass. Perhaps it was the effects of being soulless, that their presence too felt distant. Think of how one would wake up from being stared at, the unconscious movement of the human mind. Now think a vampire.

"That I do, Mr. Howard," Oliver smiled, peeking from behind the other male's shoulder, his hand creeping up his back. "That I do."

He then removed himself off the other male, nodded in greeting. "You didn't bring flowers. For shame. Had a nice rest?"

- Oliver Grey

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code: s e v e n ​

 

[SheLuvsMusic]

Tom could sense before he could feel Oliver sneak up behind him. The slight stench of copper permeated the grounds at this particular estate, he assumed, because it were filled with vampires. It was not that which gave him away, then. But underneath the coppery, metallic tang, there was another smell, something like death and decay, not unlike the sweet scent of an aging man as he inched closer to death. This, maybe, would be undetectable for the average human, but thankfully, or perhaps unfortunately depending on how one looked at things, Tom was equipped with an especially sensitive set of olfactory receptors by nature of what he was.

He turned just as Oliver touched him, pulling away not so much out of surprise as out of distaste at the invasion of personal space, although no doubt the surprise factor was more than likely what the vampire was trying to go for.

He plastered on a fake smile, sensing Mr. Grey was once more in the mood to be cheeky today. “My apologies. I did not realize you preferred to be courted and doted on like a woman,” he said, trying to picture the old vampire in a dress and corset. The mere thought of it was amusing. “Next time I’ll be sure to bring you jewelry. A brooch perhaps?”

As far as rest went, no, he had not rested much or well. The moment the party got back to camp, he had went to check on Eva to see that she was alright. As expected, she was just as upset after the dinner as during it, and thinking it best to leave her be, he had made his way to speak to his father instead.

“Interesting… A vampire fledgling. I’m surprised they even admitted it. If there’s one, I am sure there are others…” Mr. Howard Sr. had mused, punctuated by a long, dry cough. “Who all composed the party?”

“A few men. Mr. Barrington was, I suppose their leader. Said he’s a member of their council. The insufferable Mr. Grey was the one who greeted us, the one whose been tasked with the investigation alongside myself. The fledgling, of course. And the strangest thing – a boy, I’d say, who looked no older than fifteen. Mr. Lancaster, I believe they called him.”

“Hmmm,” Curtis said. “Do not be foolish enough to believe he is really fifteen. He’s probably centuries old. Damn vampires. Cheating death. Nobody deserves to… exist… for such an extended period of time.”

Tom could not argue with that. How unfair it seemed, that vampires lived… existed, rather, as Curtis had said, while humans and immortals such as their own pack were lucky to get decades. Some were not even so lucky as to get one, as evidenced by poor Teresa, who had not lived long enough to see her age grow to double digits.

“I dare say, he did seem the more competent of them all,” Tom agreed. “God only knows why they chose Mr. Grey as their representative. That man’s more of a man-child than the actual man-child.”

Curtis let out a laugh, as hearty as one so ill could make it. “Perhaps he’s the only one who could manage to put up with you,” he said, the sounds turning into another coughing fit shortly thereafter. “In all seriousness, Tommy, this is a grave matter. Teresa will not be the only one if we do not find who did this. As much as it sickens me to have a wolf murder another wolf, I cannot help but hope this was Elijah’s doing. If we find the fledgling’s maker, we can perhaps let slide this little breach of treaty. But to make such a creation and then kill one of us… two strikes against the treaty means an all out war for our species, not just our pack.”

Tom nodded, then messed nervously with his collar. No pressure. “I’ll do my best, father,” he said.

“No, you will do better than that,” Mr. Howard corrected. “If you are to lead when I am gone.”

And like that the conversation had been over. Mr. Howard drank his warm broth, and Mr. Howard Jr. went back to his own to drink his tepid whisky. Try as he may to sleep, his thoughts had kept spinning with visions of Teresa’s cold body. Flashes of his brother’s bloodied, bashed in skull playing on repeat beside it. Elijah’s cold, devoid gaze on his, Eva’s sorrow filled eyes, and Mr. Grey’s annoying smirk.

Back in present, he was met with that annoying smirk once more. “Like a babe, yes,” he said. “I’d ask whether you enjoyed your sleep, but well… I suppose you don’t need that.” That was perhaps the only thing Tom envied the vampires for. He could not imagine the amount of things he could get done, the debauchery that could be had, if only one did not need to waste eight hours of the day in slumber land.

Tiring of the small talk, Tom glanced past the doorman and helped himself inside. “I suppose we have a lot to discuss. We’ll need to sketch out a timeline, I imagine. Figure out where this all begins. Perhaps we start by interviewing our suspects? Where are the little gremlins, anyway?” Tom looked around the estate, realizing that he was only familiar with the few rooms he’d taken a short walk down. The place was large enough to hold many more and he did not have a clue where they might choose to house a couple of prisoners.

 

[s e v e n]

Do you dare?

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"Hm." His lips twisted into a cat-like grin, he eyed the other sideways, as though a predator assessing its prey. Though he know for a fact that is not much the case- this was no ordinary human, after all. And only a fool would look down on a werewolf. "Still more charming than your father, I'd say."

The vampire followed the other male inside, where the doorman has closed the door behind them. The atmosphere felt much more different in the morning, somehow livelier, dare say. A large place, very few people, does not mean it requires less of maintenance. That was all the servants were for, and unpaid for that matter. If only they were slightly more competent or sane.

Among all the others was a maid, a bandage tied cross over her eye. The woman from yesterday- no mistaking it. When her eye met his, she made not a single sound yet quickly she lowered her gaze, back upon her feather duster and the table. Making his way towards her, he pulled her back by her hair. She winced, dropping her duster upon the ground as her fingers felt around her neck for breath.

"Surely you know where they are? Or at least be a dear and call the boy for me? I've taken a liking in you, really. Would be a shame to disappoint me?"

A tear escaped the corner of her eye, the area where the bandage covered began to soak mildly in red. Oliver observed patiently, tilting his head. A person could still cry with their eyes gouged. Interesting.

"Mr. Lancaster is away."

"I beg your pardon?" When he heard an answer, it was the footman. Perhaps he was one of the newer servants, for Oliver could have sworn he saw slight fear cross his eyes, though quickly it has disappeared.

"He is away, sir, though he l-left me a message. I can guide you. To t-the room."

Quiet broke through for a moment. Then Oliver sighed, tossing the woman back upon the ground. She scurried away without a noise. When he walked over towards the other man, and he could almost smell the fright seeping through. The rushed beating of the heart, the forced swallow. Sweat, when the weather is far from hot. He contemplated for a while, for on most days he would most definitely make much a fuss about this. Who had asked him to speak without prompt? Who does he think he is? How dare he?


"That is... quite the unusual," he muttered. For truly it was- knowing how Jesse is. He was not a century old yet, as Oliver had vaguely recalled, and vampires very rarely go out in the sun confidently before passing the age. Perhaps he simply did not know the other vampire well enough as he thought he did. Faces inched apart, he would think he I'm intimidating, though many who knew better would simply say Oliver had absolutely no sense for personal space whatsoever. "Say, what's your name, boy?"

"H-Hamish, sir."

So he still has a name.

"Alright then," Oliver stated simply, walking back towards the staircase. Hamish had evidently sighed in relief, a breath that he has been holding all the while perhaps.

"We are almost in our second day within the case- we have no time to waste. The crime scene would have been littered with the Yard at this rate. Thankfully," he turned, this time facing back at the wolf, leaning against the railing of the staircase. "I knew better than sit around moping. One of my...acquaintance has assessed the spot the moment we heard of the news. We'll pay him a small visit later, after our dear boy Hamish takes us to the suspects- though while we are on the topic, I must ask, where's the body?"

---

William woke up in cold sweat. It was surprising that he could get any sleep at all, perhaps it was just exhaustion finally taking over. The night faded in a blur, a distant unpleasant dream. He woke up in a room that is not his own, however, and he held back a scream. Then he remembered- that this was all much worse than a nightmare.

As he swallowed, his throat felt much hoarser than before. His lips felt chapped, and it was hard to move without trembling. The slightest movement felt heavy, and somehow unattached, as though he did not belong in his body and was being controlled upon by another force. It was pleasant enough however, to know that he himself is still alive at least. Barely, but still. Perhaps not really.

Having regained his composure, he glanced to his side, where another bed lay. He had nearly forgotten the werewolf. Had they spoke of anything the other night? He had vaguely remembered pieces, yet not much. Many had happened to him in such a short time, and perhaps the same could be said about the wolf. He seemed much tired, after all, even perhaps slightly haunted. He dared not imagine what he must have gone through, though for a fact, he knew that the other had definitely known more than him.

The pulse. It was suddenly the only thing he could focus on, as the rest of the scene faded into a blur. The temptation only grew stronger overnight, and he did not know how long he could have lasted. Being alone was fine- having another with him would simply have him fear more, not for his own safety but the wolf’s. He knew not to do anything stupid, but at the same time, were it to be a matter of self-control, could he?

When he saw the other stir slightly, William shifted back. He dug his nails to his palm, biting down his lip. Anything to keep him in check, an extra minute, an extra second- those would mean the world to him if only they cost him his final trace of humanity. He would have not known what time it was, given that there was no clock hanging by the wall, as the scene felt not the slightest different than it had been. William was sure to go mad if this had go on much longer.

"Good morning," he greeted his roommate, though it is quite barely a morning, and much rather one that isn't good. "I- I believe we have not talked. Much, that is."

- Oliver Grey

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code: s e v e n ​

 

[SheLuvsMusic]

Tom gave the vampire a sideways glance. He wondered if Mr. Grey had actually even met his father. The latter had not said anything about it the night before, but he supposed it would make sense if they met once or twice. Likely there was some semi-regular coming together to ensure that the treaty was being respected. “It comes naturally,” he replied smoothly.

Inside, he took a moment to assess the place himself. Things were different in the day light, indeed. It made the place seem less imposing. Almost normal. He still felt uncomfortably out of place, as to be expected as a werewolf among vampires, but the daylight carried with it a sense of safety and security while the shadows of nighttime could conceal the darkest horrors.

As if to remind him he was not safe here even in the daylight, he took notice of the young maid as she walked past, taking note of the red tinted bandage with mild curiosity. He repressed an outward reaction at Mr. Grey’s handling of the poor woman, and then wondered at his words if the girl’s injury had not been inflicted by his hand. Tom found himself disapproving, feeling sorry for the lass. It would seem hypocritical of him, maybe, given his own treatment of Elijah the night before. However, no physical harm had come to the wolf, and he was an exile. His harsh treatment was, at least in Tom’s mind, somewhat deserved. He could not imagine what a poor servant girl would have done to deserve such harsh treatment from Oliver.

He itched for a moment to step in, but the footman beat him to it. Mr. Lancaster, the young looking one as he remembered, was supposedly out. Hmm. Tom did not know what was usual for a vampire or for Mr. Lancaster, but he noted Mr. Grey’s reaction and took it that this was unexpected. He filed the information away somewhere in his brain for later, in case it proved to be important, but alas the man’s whereabouts were of the least concern now.

Tom opened his mouth to respond, eager to get the investigation rolling. He had a mind to start interviewing the suspects. In particular, he had many questions for the fledging. If his creation and the death of Teresa were connected, surely they could start there – but Mr. Grey was already talking, mentioning the crime scene, and then –

“The body?” he asked, face paling when he realized his mistake. “We buried her, of course.” It seemed the logical thing to do, but now he realized that the body was probably the biggest piece of evidence they had. How had he not thought to examine further Teresa’s remains? “But, if need be, it should be no trouble to exhume her,” he added quickly. Eva would be upset. Angry, even. If it were necessary to catch the killer, however, then he saw no issue with it.

---

Elijah had a bed now. Pillows. A whole room, even. By all this, he should have felt more comfortable in the vampire’s room than he was in that god forsaken dog crate Tom had made him stay in the night before. Instead he stayed up all night, tense, unable to sleep, in the vampire’s presence. There were too many things going through his mind regardless of that, even, to rest comfortably at all. Images of Teresa played behind his images, the stark contrast of the charming little girl he used to know, and her bloodied cub body in the woods beside him that night. He dreaded the thought of remembering what happened that night while he wore his wolf clothing, but also desperately wished he could recall the events to put an end to the mystery.

Meanwhile, he did not dare let himself close his eyes near the fledgling. While he was awake, Elijah knew he could protect himself if he needed to. If he willed it, he possessed the power to turn himself into a wolf. But while sleeping, if he let his guard down, he may not have time to do so. And even if he did, even in natural defense, to do so would immediately paint him as the true guilty party. Damned if he did, damned if didn’t. But he did not have a death wish, so he kept his eyes open, warily keeping close watch on William.

When his unfortunate roommate stirred, Elijah sat up straighter. Observing the young man, he could tell he was struggling, perhaps with the thirst that was the vampire’s curse. Elijah could not be offended, for he knew this was out of the young man’s control, but he still eyed him closely, carefully sure to maintain his distance lest he tempted him anymore.

“Good morning,” he said. The fledgling was right in that they had not shared many words. The previous night’s events had likely left the two of them a little worse for wear. They had chosen their sides of the room, spoken long enough to exchange brief introductions, but by the sound of things one of them was struggling to remember. Was that a side effect of his lack of blood, he wondered?

“No, not much,” he affirmed. “I’m Elijah,” he said, reintroducing himself. “And you are William.” He had a look about him this morning that resembled something of a hangover. Elijah wondered briefly whether vampires could even consume alcohol, and if not, he was thankful he was not one himself.

“Are you feeling alright?” he asked. “I don’t know much about what it’s like to be a vampire, but you seem…” he trailed off, not wanting to offend. So instead, he shook his head and gestured to the bell that Mr. Lancaster had pointed out when he dropped them off. “You can ring the bell if you need to. No need to make yourself uncomfortable on my account.” He didn’t say it, but it would also make Elijah feel better. Despite how disturbing the thought, he’d prefer William satiate his needs lest he risk doing so via his own blood.

 

[s e v e n]

Do you dare?

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As they walked, led by the servant whose name he had already forgotten, Oliver could not help but anxiously tap his fingers against his sides. It was surprising that the werewolf had agreed to dig up the body, even though there was quite little point to burying it in the first place. Perhaps they had never thought that such a matter was to spread so? Or rather, an attempt at hiding evidence?

No. If he had not wanted to show, he would have burnt the body. Perhaps Thomas had simply seen no point in arguing- after all, given the hypothetical fact that they were both innocent, there should be little to no need to hide anything at all. After all, they were supposedly working towards the same end. Every once in a while, Oliver glanced at the wolf, his expression in-different, no attempt to hide himself. Let it be known that trusting is not an easy task when one is a vampire, especially towards the filth of feral beasts they were.

Digging back up a child's buried corpse, though. Oliver did not need empathy to understand how unethical that may be. Still, a greater cause is lies at its hand, who cares about a small girl who would bound to be forgotten anyway? There was no need to think of it now, though- he simply could not believe it was that easy to convince him. If the soon-to-be Alpha himself had given the green light, the rest of the objections should be deemed invalid. It was not as though he would accept the fact given if the latter had disagreed- he'd dig up that body on his own as he damn well pleases.

"So," he began, nudging the end of his cane against Hamish's back, prompting him to walk faster. "We would stop by the crime scene at least- have a look for ourselves first before anything else. And then we'd get the body- no, actually that's too much work, Val also lives in Southwark, there is no need for so much detour- where have you buried the body anyway? I assume not the Lambeth cemetery because- well, because."

Actually he was not much sure about that. He had never bothered to search for his own grave, if anyone even bothered to make one for him. His past is something he preferred to not dwell upon for long, and what was the point of searching? It took him many years to forget, it would have been foolish of him to undo those years of work. He at least wanted to give her a proper burial. When was the last time he thought of her? Ten, twenty, a hundred years more? Surely he would not want to start now.

He was almost certain Jesse had one made for him. Was he not a Londoner before? A Lancaster, too. It had been a while, he wondered how that family was going. The name had faded into history not long after the son's disappearance, it was uncertain if any living person still bore the name. The blood has ended with him, an immortal cursed with the face of a young boy. The fact that the servant claimed that Jesse was not present still bothered him.

"We have arrived."

When the servant stopped, he did, too. Hamish reached over his pockets, pulling out a key and handing it over to the vampire. Oliver gave Elijah a short glance, a silent statement perhaps. Then he turned the door knob.

- - -

To be completely truthful, William was more than surprised to see how pleasant his company was. Suddenly he felt immensely less tense from the situation. He sounded just as any other man, it almost made him forget that this man could as well transform into a wolf at any given moment. Does he go by moon phases? Or does he change as he please? Again, not a good time to ask. Though if they were to be spending a lot of time together, it would not have been so oddly so.

"That is...very understanding of you. Thank you." And when William smiled, it was genuine. Even he could not have believed it. That his standards had steeped so low, he felt overjoyed at the encounter of one single sane being. And so he was! Someone who was normal, who did not appear to be a walking corpse, oh bless the heavens! What joyous day, if only he could say the things outloud without having to spit out blood.

"If I must say, you are by far the most comfortable companion among all others, sir. Good Lo- hngk pardon. I'm afraid I'd have to pass the offer, though, thank you." He felt sick even to imagine having to gulp down a bowl of blood. Blood. The very same substance that runs through his veins, his sister's veins, the queen herself- how appalling!

"Though not to worry! I would ring the bell if I do need it so, as to not endanger you."

Hopefully, he had thought. For a part of him wished to persist until the very end, though he'd hate to make victim of someone who is just so...pleasant!

And just speaking of the devil, he heard the lock twist, and then with a click, the door knob lowered. Immediately his eyes darted towards it, where as the door was pushed in, a single hand appeared through the gaps, waving.

"Morning!" Oliver peered in, and William did not have enough energy to be scared. He just plopped in his bed, and in case he had not appeared dead enough back then, now he certainly does.

- Oliver Grey

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code: s e v e n ​

 

[SheLuvsMusic]

While Mr. Grey speculated on ulterior motives for why Tom may have agreed so quickly to exhume Teresa’s body, it was actually quite simple. It seemed like the logical thing to do, and he was annoyed with himself that he hadn’t thought to examine the body thoroughly before burying it. The pack was distraught after such a tragedy, and it seemed like getting the burial over as quickly as possible was the best thing they could do to begin to heal. Right after finding the murderer, of course.

“Val?” Tom questioned. “I wasn’t aware that you’d recruited a whole team of detectives, Mr. Grey.” It put him slightly on edge, in fact. He didn’t trust vampires. How was he to know none of them would screw around and hide evidence?

He then scoffed at the suggestion that they’d be so obvious as to bury their dead in a cemetery such as Lambeth. “Obviously not! Wolves do not purchase plots in cemeteries. We move around too much and they are far too public. Besides, she passed as a cub. Can’t exactly explain why a large group of people would come out to the graveyard to bury the family pet, now can you?”

In fact, they usually didn’t bury their dead at all. They burned them on pyres. However, Eva had insisted the burial given the unusual circumstances. She insisted they dedicate a spot to her memory, that this tragedy could not be forgotten. “She’s in a little spot outside of our camp, near where we go during the full moon to avoid the city-folk when we turn. You may send this Val person to our camp and my man Gregory can escort them to the spot. Or we may meet them at the crime scene and I can point out the way. It’s not too far off, really.” He just hoped Eva wouldn’t be around for that.

-----

Elijah ran a hand through his mop of hair, fingers separating some tangles that formed over the course of the night. How he longed for a hot bath, not having the chance to thoroughly clean himself since his last transition. Though he’d been able to wash the blood from under his nails, the clothes he wore now were even fresh since that night, he still felt dirty and in need of washing this entire experience off of him. As he did this, he listened to his companion with abject curiosity, immediately able to deduce a few things.

One, this newly turned vampire almost appeared… innocent. At least, he didn’t behave or talk with as much ego as say, Mr. Grey. At the same time there was a naivety about him that he hadn’t observed with Mr. Lancaster or Mr. Barrington. That didn’t mean that Elijah wasn’t wary of him. One might even consider a new vampire fledgling more dangerous than a practiced one. But Elijah wanted to think his companion was as much a victim of circumstance as he was.

Second, he could tell that William was uncomfortable with his new life state. He didn’t expect most people outside of the supernatural world were aware of them, something that was kept that way very much on purpose, but it didn’t appear like William chose this. He stumbled over a word Elijah assumed was a biblical reference, and when Elijah suggested he take care of his needs, it was obvious the man was very much disgusted by the idea of needing to consume blood.

“Suite yourself,” Elijah said, but he really wished the poor man would just bite the bullet. A hungry vampire was a far more dangerous one. “But if I may offer a word of advice, you will not be able to hide from what you now are for forever. Sooner or later you will need to learn to accept it.” Not that Elijah could relate from personal experience. Werewolves were not like vampires. They were not created, they were born what they were, and he had never known any different. Though, he had seen cubs who were terrified of their first transition struggle a lot harder than the ones who embraced the moon full on.

Unfortunately, if there were to be any real depth of conversation, it was ruined by the arrival of the worst pairing of wannabe detectives that Elijah could ever dream of. He turned his attention to the door. He did not really find the pair of them intimidating, rather he met their gazes with the same annoyance he’d worn at dinner the night before.

“Hello again, Elijah,” Tom said. Then to the other, “William, was it? I hope you two are getting along.”

 

[s e v e n]

Do you dare?

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For a moment, Oliver had simply remained still. He found himself enjoying the position he was currently granted. The way the little fledgling and his little wolf pet stared at him, eyes wide in a mix of confusion and anticipation. Sometimes things as such were much more satisfying than even the taste of warm blood itself. The taste of fear. The vampire did not remember the last time he stood at the other end of the roles, cowering in fear, desperately grasping at final strands of hope. Must have been unpleasant, though very much enjoyable to watch.

When his supposed partner have spoke, their gazes slipped towards him almost at the same time. It was evident how William hesitated on answering, contemplating as though his life depended on it. Legs dangling over the edge of the bed, fingers grasping against the bedsheets. Oliver could really have told him to relax, yet what was the point if he could have some fun with it.

"Tension, why the tension?" he had inquired nonchalantly, sitting on the bed by the curly haired wolf, tilting his head and smiling at him. It was not as though he was unaware that he makes people uncomfortable, oh he is much more than knowing, and he takes it for his advantage. The vampire placed his hand upon the wolf's shoulder. "Don't play so coy, you know what we are here for. None of you will be harmed...if you are willing to cooperate, that is."

Oliver reached over the pocket of his coat, a small notebook resting in his hand along with an equally small ink pen, silver in colour and its nib golden. He popped the lid open, shoving the end at the butt of the pen.

"December eleventh. What were you doing, how did you end up ever so conveniently near the body? Who was Teresa Smythe to you- basically sell yourself to me to prove your innocence and believe me," He looked up over his note, pointing the end of the pen towards the wolf and grinned. "I will know when you lie. And I hate liars."

That, of course, was not a bluff. There is too much predictability contained within the human expression to locate once one were to be used to it. Though of course, there would have been one or two exceptions- yet how small were the chances? It takes a vampire to lie to another, at this point he had the upper hand. And by the looks of it, even his dear companion himself appeared unbothered by the other's execution. It did bring him to wonder- what exactly did he do to get exiled?

"You know what-" he lifted himself up from the beddings, shoving the pen and paper at the other werewolf. "How about you talk to your boy, and I talk to mine? I trust that you can make him talk better than I do. Now- " Oliver shifted his gaze at the little fledgling. Somehow he could tell that this was not the same. At the same time, he knew exactly what was going on.

A smirk crawled up his lips. He slid down the collars of his shirt slightly, revealing his neck in bare. Surely enough, that managed to gauge a reaction from the other. He was not just a vampire yesterday, after all. Oliver sent a short look towards Thomas, a small warning if he may, for he is kind enough.

He made his way towards William, who still have yet said a word, though it was evident by his reaction that he was fully aware of what was going on. This time he sat by the boy's side.

"Please don't," said the other, his voice not much louder than a whisper. The desperation, however, was clear. "I beg of you."

Oliver rolled over his sleeves, then bringing his arm to his own lips, he bit down- hard. Blood began to ooze down his skin, trickling down, staining the white of the sheets and blooming like that of a deadly flower. When he removed himself, hanging his arm over his head, a large wound vulgarly displayed before them, flesh shredded and torn apart, crimson pooling over the hole. His dark eyes lit in ecstacy, darkening than his already nearly coal black eyes. Red stained his lips, his teeth, down to his chin.

"Where were you at December eleventh?"

Something changed within William's expression once again. An animalistic snarl. Oliver smirked at the sight. He licked his own arm slightly, tasting the metallic allover his tongue, before licking his own lips.

"Where were you at December eleventh?" he asked again.

"I don't know."

"Yes you do."

"I don't remember."

At this point, it was visible how agitated the fledgling had become. The clenching of fists, the biting of lips. Clutching against the sheets that might have torn at any time. The frantic unfocused eyes, dilation of pupils, as though a silent plea of help that no one would hear. The once composed and soft-spoken Mister Mortimer was no more- a monster in his face stood instead.

And then he lunged forward.

With a firm grip, Oliver grasped at the other's neck with his unharmed arm and pressed him back towards the wall, casting his bloodied hand far away from the fledgling.

"Where were you at December eleventh, when the sun has fallen down the horizons, where the streets were dark and an innocent young girl was brutally murdered within the lonely streets of Southwark?"

"I don't know!"

The vampire repositioned his grip effortlessly, though as the once blue eyed male had now shifted entirely demonic, it became harder for him to stay put and maintain composure. Darkness burnt at the back of his eyes, within his lips were a set of razor sharp fangs. He began clawing at his own neck, at Oliver's hand that grasped upon him. He only tightened the grip.

"Where were you that night?"

His voice had changed, softening even, and so had William's expression. Both of them knew that this time it was referred to another incident, a specific incident. A brief flash of humanity crossed over William's eyes, a lamentation over horror layered upon another. A wall shattered at the back of his mind, a barrier that had either kept him safe- or invited a form of inevitable demise.

He had let him go, and instantaneously the fledgling went for his arm, clasping it in his hands like a ravenous predator. Oliver simply sighed, leaning back upon the bed with his elbow, gazing at Elijah from the corner of his eyes. "You're welcome."

- Oliver Grey

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[SheLuvsMusic]

Elijah was willing to bet that his two interrogators felt this questioning was as much an opportunity for a game as an investigation. No doubt Tom was already itching at his opportunity to get the revenge that he’d been denied a year before, and to drag it out so painfully slow. He should be shaking in his boots, but in reality Elijah was a ready and willing participant of the interrogation. He had nothing to hide when it came to Theresa. In the matter of her death, he did not truly know if he was responsible truth be told, but if it came to light that he was then he was well deserving of whatever punishment they inflicted on him and ready. But if he wasn’t – then he was eager to know who was, for he was eager for justice to be served as well.

He suppressed an eye roll as Oliver took a seat next to him, the vampire almost sure of his guilt already to assume Elijah had any lies to tell about that night. But the vampire grew bored quickly and changed focus, leaving the exiled wolf in the hands of the only man Elijah really needed to have any reason to lie to. Tom. He met his gaze across the room, and the wolf leader’s son gave him a devilish grin as he crossed the room and leaned up against the bed post.

“There will be questions in a moment, dear pet, but first I must admit I am too curious about the fledgling,” he said, gaze shifting across the room to where Oliver began torturing Elijah’s poor roommate companion. They both looked on, one in abject horror, and the other on curious disgust, as Oliver ripped open his own flesh to extort answers from William. Neither had really seen such a thing – the gore, yes, was something wolves were familiar with, but rather the kind of blinding, seething hunger that suddenly possessed William – that was something neither of them were prepared to witness, though they had each heard tales.

“Fascinating….” muttered Tom. He could see quite clearly in his minds eye the probability of a small child falling victim to such uncontrolled thirst. But to drink from a wolf? He was under the impression that the only real sustenance a vampire was able to gain was from human blood. Werewolves were neither entirely human, nor entirely animal. He wondered what appeal werewolf blood really had for a vampire, even a fledgling one.

Clearly Elijah beside him was not thinking so much of that – he was more so wondering just how close he had come to becoming William’s actual meal, despite the man’s best efforts to appear as though he didn’t crave blood as he knew a fledgling vampire would. Could William be responsible for Theresa, if possessed by the same kind of hunger he just saw? And if so, how was it that the same kind of hunger was not then turned upon him, if he was laying chained up to a tree beside her?

The wheels were already turning in two separate minds, each with their own line of thinking, but one thought they shared. What night was Oliver referencing? The night he had been turned?

“Well… I think somebody probably needs to digest, for a moment, so…. We’ll move onto you, Elijah, for now,” Tom said, turning his attention once more to the exile. “I could answer my partner’s earlier question easily myself, but for the sake of hearing it in your own words, go on. Explain your relation to the girl.”

This seemed rather pointless, but Elijah gave the answer up easily. “Teresa’s part of the pack. I used to be part of that pack. Simple as that.”

Tom shook his head. “No, no. Not as simple as that. Not really, is it? Let me help you along. Who is Teresa to Eva?”

“Her sister.”

“Yes, and… who is Eva to you? And don’t give me the same bullshit pack answer you gave a moment ago. You know what I’m getting at.”

Elijah hesitated, glancing around briefly at the others before answering. “A friend.”

“No, no. Wrong again. She used to be your friend,” Tom said, standing and pacing around the edge of the bed. “But even if friend is the technical term to describe your relationship, we can both agree that you never considered her to be a friend in the same sense that you and I once considered each other friends, now can we? I don’t recall you ever wanting to share my bed, anyway.”

“It’s not like you’re much to look at,” Elijah snarked back, “And anyway I fail to see how that is even relevant. The question was how I knew the girl, and I answered.”

“It’s relevant, because it’s motive,” Tom said. He pointed to William. “His motive is hunger. Your motive is unrequited love. Actually, I think there may be more than one motive, in fact, but I don’t need to spell that one out as much. Catching on, exile?” He was of course referring to revenge, for being kicked out of the pack. “Anyways, it was a full moon, so I can imagine very well what you were doing that night. You were doing what the rest of us were doing. But why were you doing it where you were? How, as Mr. Grey had asked, did you end up next to the body?”

“I didn’t end up next to the body, she ended up next to me,” Elijah said. “I never moved. She wasn’t there when I turned, but she was when I woke. That’s all I know.”

Tom raised a brow. “What do you mean, you never moved?”

Elijah rubbed at his neck, free now where last night it had not been. “The chain and collar. What do you think it was for?”

 

[s e v e n]

Do you dare?

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Thirty seconds. That was all he felt, all he had remembered. The first ten seconds, William had recalled an intense surge of self-justification; or self-denial, based on perspectives. It was the moment of resilience, a moment when a trial becomes a test. A single thread of humanity made of the cheapest of fabrics, and the scissors were ones of the fates’. The moment where Jesus Himself was tempted in the middle of a large desert. Alas, the stone was turned to bread.

Twenty seconds. Evil had won, William had stared into the abyss, and it stared back in the form of a man named Oliver Grey, though very much less a man- yet who was he to judge? For here he was, driven to lust at the sight of the inhumane, clawing at his own neck, throwing his neck back like ones possessed by demons. The sweet nectar, oh, how truly beautiful it was! He would have done anything to acquire said blossom of crimson, the sinful grail made in the pact of the devil. Even if it meant losing his humanity- even if it meant killing someone.

’Where were you that night?’ The question rang in his ears, like that of a distant echo. When he spoke back, it did not sound like his voice at all. The man asked again, and really he did not know! What desire was he to lie? What care did he have for his own life? Much rather if it were ended by someone else, so he would remain innocent in his final days. In fact, he would very much rather if he were to die now, lest he see himself turn into a monster he desires not to see.

Ten seconds. Ten seconds is all that is left between him and what was left of himself. Ten seconds was all it took for the gates of heaven to seal shut before him, angels bearing holy swords pointed right at him. Ten seconds was all it takes for Lucifer to fall.

Crushing gravels. Broken wheels. Blades. Fangs. Knives. Screams.

When he had reopened his eyes, it brought clarity. A rush of ecstasy he never felt before, and regret deeper than any, as well. Staring down at his own hands, watching as the slight colour pulsed back in his veins, William was overwhelmed in such a horror. What have he done? Whose blood were these, that now became his? It did not make him feel better that Mr. Grey was a vampire, for truly these belonged to someone else before. Someone alive.

“Oh dear.” He brought his hands to his mouth, and he felt himself retch. The smell that had been irresistible to him seconds ago were now sickening as the truth dawned over him. “I- I’m so sorry, Mr. Grey, I truly am-”

“Oh no, no, it’s quite alright my dear, really,” the other replied, and began licking at the back of his own arm at the remainder of the blood, the wound has now sealed closed by itself in such a short moment. What may have appeared seductive to some, but as of now William could only think of a cat. A vampire cat, if that even made any sense. “After all, what did you think I expected of you when I did that? Run and fetch the nurse?”

His eyes twitched slightly. Now that was a response he did not expect on receiving from someone he just drained clean, though perhaps he should not have his hopes high either. And perhaps this was the worst time possible to be thinking of such a thing, yet right now Mr. Grey had borne an aura so different than one last night. Somehow he did not seem as intimidating- as other-worldly, at least. A huge assumption made for someone so nonchalant while being drenched in blood.

‘He has a good heart.’ That was what Jesse had told him, and he found himself trusting the boy much quicker than he had liked. Though perhaps in a room of wolves (quite literally at that) one would not have much of a choice. He must take a stand. That final question still sat very strangely with him…

“Well, there’s that.” Oliver stood up, rolling his sleeve back down before he reached over and rang the bell at side of the bed. “People will come shortly, you can follow them and get yourself washed.”

William was sure the statement was aimed at him, though not once had Mr. Grey looked at him after that. Instead, he propped himself on the other bed, hoisting himself up with his elbows. It almost seemed comical from his point of view, as though a few men of good friends lounging around in a room, to play chess past a tiresome event. Though the air would not be so hostile.

“Hello Tommy,” he grinned, looking back at the wolf. “Your boy-toy doing you well? We can always trade spots if he’s not cooperating. ” His eyes snapped towards Elijah, and he licked his lips. “And perhaps I will enjoy that. Very much.”

- William Mortimer

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"How noble of you..." Tom said, regarding Elijah's use of chains to keep himself safely away from humans. "Though one has to wonder why bother staying in London at all. You know the pack frequently travels through here. Why stay? Why not go make yourself useful as a farm hand somewhere out in the country side?"

It was a question Elijah often asked himself as well, truth be told. It would be easier to hide in the country. The only reason the pack even risked it was because it was easier to find work for large groups of people in the city. "I got tired of moving all the time. This was my chance to settle. So I settled. The pack isn't normally here this late in the year, either. I didn't think I'd come across you, honestly." Elijah did have a fair point in that, at least. By now the pack would be on the move to someplace warmer for the winter, if it were not for Tom's father falling ill.

Tom gave a pause at that, debating for a moment whether to reveal certain information, particularly in front of the vampires. Ultimately he decided it would come to light eventually. There was little point in hiding it. So he cocked his head to the side, sighed. "Father's health has declined. He can't travel as he used to. We're staying here for now to sort this matter with the treaty out or until.... well, whichever finishes last, I suppose."

Elijah could have gathered as much, but he still nodded his head as if this were news. "My sympathies," he said. There were no hard feelings towards harvested towards Harold for what happened. Despite everything, the man was like a father to Elijah even if he no longer viewed him like a son.

"Yes, well... my brother's murder certainly didn't do any wonders for his health. So I suppose I have you to thank for that, too."

An awkward silence stretched between them before being interrupted by Oliver. "As much fun as I would have watching that, I'm afraid there is not much to be said that I did not already know. Memories are a fickle thing for us wolves. There will be more learned from the physical evidence than our little interrogation, it seems." He turned his attention to the fledgling, who looked ashamed of himself for what had happened a moment ago. "And what of your fledgling? I think our motives are clear, but... anything else of use?"

Elijah wondered what sort of things were running through William's mind in the moment between control and loss of it. He knew what an animal need felt like - when instinct took over and humanity no longer had any meaning. But still, Elijah had been born a wolf. William had been created. And all the same his prey did not look like him, even if the stories went that wolves were created to counter balance the existence of vampires. The treaty however eliminated any need for that. Now they just... existed. Each living in their own society, blending in among humans as best they could. He could not imagine the struggle the man must be having with himself, especially if he had been a godly one before.

 

[s e v e n]

Do you dare?

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Upon Thomas’ later words, as much as Oliver hates it, he had no choice but to agree. After all, he knew better than anyone that the fledgling did not tell a lie- he really had not remembered. At least not now- for it had taken himself weeks, perhaps months, to finally grasp the cruel reality that had befallen him. The adrenaline would soon pass, and once it does, the shard of glass that penetrates against numb skin, ruthlessly drawing blood and draining souls, and all at once receptors would come to live, the dam that has been closed crumbled down in a matter of seconds. Perhaps one day, in the distant past, he would have even felt pity.

He was just about to speak, yet soon a knock was heard upon the door. A pair of maids made their way in, a brunette with a petite stature and a blonde bearing a larger build, though both wearing a similar sunken look. Eyes unfocused, animatic gestures, pressed lips. The shorter stepped forward, followed by her partner, then they bowed their heads with uncanny synchronization. None of the two appeared bothered by the scene that bends before them, one vampire that sat up-right on one of the beds, eyes wide as though a deer struck within light.

“The servants will escort you out, Mortimer.” Oliver spoke without looking back. “Ladies, be a dear and prepare a bath for our guest, would you? And no, he does not get to wait in the drawing room, blood is extremely hard to clean. Send someone to bring changing sheets for the beddings and- oh,” he turned to look at Elijah and smiled. “Are you hungry, love? I assume you are. Get the boy-”

He frowned. What do people eat, again? It surprised him that there was still someone within the manor that could manage to conjure a plate of something more than just edible meant for the guests the previous night. Something that was not made of fine wheat or everything else, a bag o’ mystery putting sausages to shame.

“Return with anything edible for human- wolf- surely you understand.” Oliver waved a hand at their directions, briefly they shared a look, followed by a small nod of the head. William, while reluctant, brought himself up, avoiding all eye contact as he trailed the two outside, a shameful demeanor in his slumped figure. The door has closed once again, and this time the vampire too had risen up. Saying his regards and farewells, that surely they would meet again soon. For now, they have other places to be.

╬╬═════════════╬╬​

“Well? Prepare the coach now if you know what’s good for you.”

Young Hamish bowed his head, immediately makes haste as he clapped his hands, turning towards the rest of the servants. Meanwhile, being left with a much less than pleasant company, Oliver scowled, not a word escaping his lips. Possibilities clouded his head, a grim reality that may have awaited them hiding under the veils of sweet lies. Fun was one thing- there was much to do, so less a time to be spent lollygagging. He knew more than anyone else what was at cost, right here, right now.

“We might want to visit the crime scene, first,” he finally decided, as opposed to his initial plan. “Valentine could wait. An encounter or two with the Yard may play in our favour given we set our cards right. Furthermore…” Oliver snuck a look towards the wolf, then quickly reverting. “Perhaps it is best that you start thinking about how to get the body out-”

The door slammed open, and even he had not anticipated. Tattered robes, flushed cheeks and scorching blisters painted the young boy’s face as Jesse Lancaster had stormed inside, shutting the door closed behind him as quickly as it had been set ajar. Smoke danced in the air, a mild sizzling could be heard over the pained hissing and uncomfortable scampering. His eyes, frantic and wild, darted across the room as his hood slipped down his head. Back pressed firmly against the door, his eyes met Oliver’s, then he frowned.

“You have questions.”

“Obviously.”

“Well, keep it.” Jesse brushed his skin, sucking in a breath as the stinging sensation shocked, and he tensed. His eyes glanced up for a second towards Thomas, but even he did not feel too much of greetings and formal speech. Instead, he settled for a small nod. As he began to walk off, they bumped shoulders, and Oliver reached over his wrist and grabbed it. Jesse halted in his steps, without looking back, he mustered a sigh.

“Unusual, that I admit. And I know better than to keep things off you, I can assure. Expect an explanation- but not now. I could promise you that, at least.”

And those were the final words of the boyish faced vampire for the day. As he walked into the distance and up the staircase, Young Hamish had ushered them outside, where their carriage had awaited. A neatly folded note rested deep within Oliver’s pocket, slipped in ever so discreetly, an ominous message marked in dark ink.

- Oliver Grey

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Elijah realized with a start that he hadn't eaten anything in a few days. At least not since the last moon. Before Oliver had pointed it out, he might have been able to ignore it, but now he noticed with mostly annoyance the dull ache in his belly. If this was the kind of hunger a vampire experienced around blood, well, Elijah was more grateful than ever that he was wolf instead. He spared a glance with pity towards William thinking so, then back to his captor with a small nod.

However long later, with scraps of food now filling his previously empty stomach and a change of clothes, Elijah sat on his bed waiting for his roommate companion to arrive again. When the young maids returned with him, both of the men now cleaned up, fed, and made comfortable - as comfortable as two prisoners could be - he sat up. The night before there had been minimal conversation between them, Elijah viewing William with more hesitancy than anything else. Now, he had questions of his own.

"You look better than before," he commented, noticing the hint of color (despite what little there was of it) that had returned to the man's cheeks. Odd to think it was because somebody else's life force flowed his veins now - and that that life force, though obtained through Mr. Grey's veins, had originally been somebody else's as well. "Forgive me if I offend you, but you strike me as a man not cut out for this world. The supernatural one, I mean. I take it you did not choose to be a vampire?" Obviously due to the treaty, there had not been a vampire fledgling in years, but he had heard tale that some folks chose the cursed life because it was more or less a means to achieve immortality. Elijah could understand being afraid of death, but he could not fathom living forever. Not at the price it came with.

"How long ago did you...." he paused, was going to say die, but he was afraid it was too harsh of a word. "How long ago were you reborn?" he rephrased instead.

------

Removing the body from the grave was going to be a tricky thing. Not physically, of course. A few shovels and they'd get to it within a few hours. However, hiding that they were removing the body... "A few of my men should be able to help with that," he said. "As for Eva... I'm sure I can manage to find her a few distractions. She'll want to feel useful, of course. She's never been one to be entertained by the usual women things, and certainly not now that she's grieving. Perhaps we can give her some other menial task to perform that will pull her away from camp for a day or so." What that task would be, he wasn't sure at the moment, but they'd be sure to come up with something.

He was deep in thought with this when he finally noticed that Mr. Grey had trailed off, a busied and hurried Mr. Lancaster rushing by in the most dramatic way. He raised an eyebrow at the scene, waiting for an explanation, from the boy or from Mr. Grey. None came. Just promises of later. He waited for the Mr. Lancaster to retreat back inside before returning his attention to the other vampire, but now his thoughts were no longer of Eva or Theresa's body.

"What is his story?" he asked. "Mr. Lancaster's, I mean? Any dirty little secrets I should know about?" The boyish one had more or less implemented this whole thing, but no one should be left underestimated. Tom wouldn't rule anyone out as a suspect, not his own pack, not Mr. Grey despite their current partnership, and especially not anyone who claimed a seat on the vampire's high counsel.

 

[s e v e n]

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The audacity!

As the pair of unlikely duo climbed up the carriage, the poor servant was left quivering by the door step. It should have been a matter of time until one becomes accustomed to the new life style- till this day it still baffled him how anyone would voluntarily decide to be a subjugate. A blood doll, he would call them. To think immortality a gift, how feeble is the human mind. Even more so, a werewolf.

With the slap of reigns, their cart began to move. Perhaps it was true what they said: the older one is, the more they revert, as his little fit of pique is nothing but childish. Somehow he knew he could have brushed it off, or reply in his usual snark, in which both he had not done. Instead, as the clicking of hooves began to fill the air, for a while the vampire had only leaned against the side of the window, eyes drifting aimlessly towards the brimming city of London.

More had gone out that time, as the sun approaches its centre. Women in wide bonnets, pastel dresses and antique scarves. The gates of autumn closes to welcome the ever approaching winter paradise. Some red adornments were seen hanging by the windows of vendors, shops of all sorts open with the tolling of bells. Almost had he forgotten about London’s affinity for Christmas- surely the churches had begun singing hymns. It had not snowed that day, yet he could feel it nearing. He wished he could still miss it, for as time goes by, feelings fade. For better or for worse.

‘Paper!’ a boy have shouted at the top of his lungs, stumbling over his feet bearing shoes two sizes too big. ‘Mysterious murder in Southwark! Grab your morning papers before it’s too late!’

Oliver clicked his tongue. Of course the Yard have gotten to them, in fact, much later than he anticipated. Humans always have their ways, oddly enough. Even without a body, with the scene mostly cleared. Someone tipped someone, then that someone tipped another. Words fly much faster than the Industrial Revolution when in the hands of nosy Brits. He of all people knows best. Not to mention stories that have been much spiced up.

“Move!” he snapped, hitting the end of his cane against the back of the cart. It rocked for a while, a horse neigh was heard, and without further notice the cart accelerated in speed. The scenes before their windows blurred more so, and this time the vampire swiped his gaze towards Thomas, a scowl set on his face. “In case it was not obvious before, I will have you know that I do not like you. At all. And somehow you have made it worse when I thought it was not physically possible to loathe you more.”

And perhaps he would leave it at that. He owed no explanation to the werewolf, not about his life nor others’. Even if he had known, he would not speak. In fact, it was not his story to tell, he knew as much. Say all you want about Oliver Grey, yet he was not so low to take a vampire’s living tale so lightly. He had his own, and everyone else have theirs- none, as he recalled, were ever pleasant. When the wolf had not even bothered to tell him anything about the exile, and he dared inquire a topic so sensitive.

Or maybe he was simply uneducated.

“Assuming that you are stupid- which, you will wish you were,” began Oliver as his expression eventually softened, and for once he had stared back into Thomas’ eyes in gazes that were not a glare. “I shall let this slide, but let it be known that it is generally extremely impolite not to mention insulting to inquire about a vampire’s background. Were you to be extremely curious, do ask the person in question, you will get nothing from me.”

“We will finish this case, and we shall never speak again. I am sure you agree.” He paused. The carriage crossed over the bridge over Thames, and the silence ensues. Then, on a much darker tone, though his lips had reverted to its usual smile, he said: “I can assure you, my dear. No one wants to be a vampire.”

- Oliver Grey

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code: s e v e n ​

 

[SheLuvsMusic]

"A bit touchy, are we? Also a bit daft of you to assume I give any care as to what you think of me," Thomas sneered, before messing with a bit of string on his jacket. Vampires. Dramatic and sensitive folks, it seemed. Mr. Grey's reaction was almost as if he'd been the one accused of murder, which... well, to say that Tom didn't have at least some suspicion of him would be wrong.

"Regardless, I think you misunderstand my intentions, Ollie boy," Tom continued. "I'll ignore the hypocrisy of scolding me about my inquiries when you had only, moments before, asked the newly turned vampire lad the exact same questions. Whether any one wants to become a vampire is irrelevant to me. The fact remains that they exist, and little Theresa's murderer may very likely be one. Do not underestimate me by pretending that we only have two suspects in this case. The fledgling boy and Elijah may very well be but scapegoats for the real murderer. Dare I even say it, though it wounds me, that they are also victims of circumstance? Shall we investigate them? Yes, sure, fine, but let's not kid ourselves into believing that everyone else is as innocent as they'd like us to believe." Little Jessie Lancaster included. And Oliver dare call Tom stupid? He was the only one thinking smart, as far as he was concerned. He wanted to know what sort of man Mr. Lancaster was, so he could understand his enemy, to understand his possible motives.

It was clear however that he would get no answers from Mr. Grey, at least not concerning Jessie, but Tom would take his advice, perhaps just this once. With a dramatic sigh, he leaned back into his seat. "Very well, though, I concede. Your uncooperative nature, as counter intuitive as it may seem, has actually solved a dilemma of mine." Maybe this was exactly the sort of useful distraction he would need to pull Eva away from Theresa's grave long enough to exhume the body. What she didn't know wouldn't harm her any, and even better if the distraction could actually prove helpful. "I'll send Eva to the estate while we examine the body. I'm sure not even hundred of years can dull the sensitivity of teenage boy urges. Perhaps he'll be so happy to have even but a moment of female company that he'll spill something of interest."

That was something that Tom had never really related to himself - the attraction of female company. Though he'd seen it in action with almost all the men he knew, he just did not quite understand the appeal. He had grown up watching men lust over them - tension grow between his brother and Elijah because they lusted over the same one - yet... whenever he laid in bed at night, desperately trying to relate by picturing the empty space next to him filled with Eva or any other women he'd known, it just felt lackluster and awkward. He couldn't explain why and he likely would never fully comprehend the reasons himself, but he'd yet to come across another to admit these same faults in themselves, so he pretended that he was not different.

To Oliver, he turned, a smirk teasing at the edges of his mouth. He knew doing so risked pissing a dangerous vampire off even more, but toying with him was temptingly fun and he could not resist. "I assume it it would be unwise to take your advice of asking directly to inquire as to what your own story may be then?"

 

[s e v e n]

Inspector Abberline, otherwise known as Frederick or Freddie, could not have asked for a worse day to fall into investigation. His dear wife Emma Beament had very recently gone through a miscarriage, and he had promised to stay by her side all the while. However, calls as the bell of his room tolled, a grave expression over the eyes of the messengers when a letter had fallen in his hands, the stamp unmistakable over its seal. An outmost despicable dilemma, he had kissed his love's cheek on early morning, as she slept soundly and unbothered. As he was about to close the door, he held it ajar briefly, his eyes meeting the face of his wife. Under his breath, he told her he would be back soon.

Proud member of H Division, Whitechapel, it took him no longer than a few past half hour to reach the scene in top speed, having gathered his files and inspection necessity. The weather had not ceased to grow cold, only peaking later in the weeks. Abberline latched his coat closer together, rubbing the palms of his hands by his sides. The streets of Southwark has laid abundant, the inspector spent most of his time ushering curious eyes away, as truly there were not a single thing that could limit the curiosity of a Londoner. It was strange enough, he thought, as despite the multiple reports, the scene had been nothing but clean. Not a trace of blood scent, not even a string of hair. The alley was just as any other- dirty and cramped, the signature pungentness of their great borough.

"Should we have headed home, sir?" One of his subordinates had inquired. "Another hoax, I assume, though a rather elaborate one must I admit. Even had a report from poor Madame Kelly, oh bless her soul! That woman would not have gone out even if the world were to fall into ruins."

"Search more thoroughly." There was a short grumble, yet without another word he bowed, slipping up his mask before rushing back towards the darkened alley. A yellow tape is stuck on either side of the walls, Abberline pinched the bridge of his soul, clicking his tongue. It had not been so long after the establishment of CID, some people claim as the new Yard. Perhaps they were smartly enough- this was the perfect time to do crime. Yet how would there be one, if not even a body could be found?

A carriage rolled on their way from afar, and his eyes flicked upwards. Pitch black carriage, both of its curtains pulled shut, rattling on its way. Very much out of place within the rugged streets of Southwark, one can only wonder who, or rather what, inhabit those seats.

As it pulled over, Abberline felt a mild shiver down his back, and it had not been from the cold. The door opened, and stepped down a pair of gentlemen clearly of class. Habitually almost, his eyes immediately went from top to bottom, observing the two in great detail. And yet, he could find almost nothing, as though all his experience in the force, never had he encountered people as such. There were many individuals of the upper class within their environment, most, which the Inspector is aware of. Neither of the two rang bear any resemblance to what he might have recognized.

"Gentlemen," he greeted, though despite the charm in his tone, his expression remained stern. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Inspector," one of them have replied. When their eyes met, Abberline felt a sudden sink in his stomach, and briefly he remained in spot, breathless and unmoving. Then the man had reached inside his coat pockets, where he had pulled out a piece of paper, extending his arm in front.

"Allow me to introduce myself," the man had said, and as he does so, he had lowered his top hat before him. "I am called Jasper Swann, though I suppose Inspector Swann would suffice. And to my left here is my associate. We are sent directly under the name of Sir Edmund Henderson."

"By God! Do my eyes fool me? Sir Henderson himself!" Abberline slipped on his glasses, squinting at the paperworks that were given, for it was true, down to the signatures and marks. Yet he could not help but wonder: why would the London Metropolitan Police Head himself send men for such a trivial case? "My, how absurd. I regret to say that you might be terribly disappointed by this, sir, for there is nothing to see but empty cans and sickly street cats. But please, I beg of you," Abberline lifted the line for them, allowing the two to step in the scene. "Do enjoy yourselves."